“What?” Mac replied.
But no one answered because Will, who had been filling up water glasses at the refrigerator dispenser, continued staring at me and Mac in stunned confusion while liquid overflowed onto the floor. Becca nudged him gently with an elbow behind her, and Will snapped to attention, cursing and moving the glass from beneath the flow of water.
Without batting an eye, Maggie turned from her place by the stove and tossed a dish towel to her son, whacking him in the side of the head as he bent to clean up his mess.
“Oh, Jesus. Let’s just do this,” Mac breathed. “Everyone!” she shouted. “You know Brady Judd. He’s joining us for dinner. Get over it.”
It was coordinated chaos that had reached an awkward silence, and then suddenly everyone was rushing to say hello and welcome me.
I smiled and greeted them because I’d had twenty-eight years of experience charming folks, and just because Mac was as ornery as a raccoon caught in a tree, it didn’t mean I couldn’t have a nice time.
I shook hands with her dad and uncle, both of whom I’d met many times. Patty Clark gave me a warm welcome and said she was happy to see Mac and I were getting along. Daughter had then given her mother a severely betrayed look.
Will had approached slowly under Mac’s watchful gaze. He gave me an uncomfortable nod and pointed to my Carolina Panthers sweatshirt. “How’s your, um, team doing?”
I grinned. “Not in season, but nice try.”
Becca laughed and patted Will sweetly before reaching out and snagging my arm. “Come on, Brady. Help me finish up the salad.”
“Yeah, Mac,” Larry called. “I need your help getting some potatoes from the basement. You can help peel them too.”
Mac groaned, undoubtedly resistant to the inquisition that was about to go down.
I found myself grinning as Becca tugged me over to wash my hands before placing some cutting boards and vegetables on the countertop.
“I hate chopping tomatoes,” she confided, like it was a secret she was deeply ashamed of. “They feel so awful. Like you’re digging around in someone’s intestines.”
“Do you have experience with that?” I asked, deadpan.
She laughed like it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard, and I liked her even more.
We spent the next twenty minutes chopping vegetables next to one another, and I was grateful to have something to do with my hands. The repetition helped ease the discomfort of feeling like a zoo animal in an unfamiliar enclosure. Becca was sweet, and we chatted easily. And I was glad to not be standing awkwardly next to Mac. I didn’t think I was very good at hiding my feelings. So it was probably safer that she was on the other side of the kitchen, aggressively peeling potatoes and fielding inappropriate questions from her cousin.
The meal came together around us, everyone chipping in to make it happen. It reminded me a little of dinners at my parents’ house. But our group was smaller and less animated. Here, with the Clarks, there was always someone laughing or talking over someone else. A television was on in the other room while country music played in the kitchen. Maggie hummed along and shot me a wink whenever I caught her eye.
I felt welcomed even if Mac hadn’t wanted me here.
What I didn’t expect to feel was cowardly, like a fraud. I was dragging my feet on talking to Mac about us. I had been for a while now. The truth was buried beneath an effort to keep the peace and the threat of losing her.
Standing in her family’s home where Mac was loved and accepted, I knew I wanted to be invited back. I wanted a place here with these people. And I didn’t know how she’d feel about that. Uncertainty pressed down on me now, heavy and oppressive.
“You okay?” Becca asked gently, drawing my attention as she touched the back of my hand—the one frozen on my knife handle while I thought of all the ways I’d messed this thing up with Mac by trying to keep us hidden away.
Becca’s blue eyes were earnest and concerned. “I know Maggie tricked you both here tonight,” she whispered. “But she means well. We all do.”
“I know,” I said, and I smiled so she knew I meant it.
Mac and I ended up walking into the dining room at the same time.
Her elbow jostled mine, and I realized we had an audience. Her family members were watching us as they got settled at the table.
“You call those cucumbers equally diced?” she said smugly.
I shot her an incredulous look and mouthed,What the hell?
“Sorry, I couldn’t think of a good burn,” she whispered.
Mac roughly deposited the bowl of mashed potatoes on the oak tabletop and hustled back to the kitchen. I rolled my eyes and followed.
