Page 114 of Meant to be Mine

“Good. I’m officially an unemployed loser.”

She laughed. “How does it feel?”

“Honestly? Pretty great.” I unlocked my car and slid into the driver’s seat. “What are you up to?”

“Come over to my house for dinner. Mom’s cooking.”

“What’s she making?”

“Does it matter?”

“Not really. I’m on my way.”

I ended the call and started the engine. The drive to Kensey’s parents’ house was familiar, but everything felt different now. I wasn’t just Drew, the family friend who’d been around forever. I was Drew, Kensey’s boyfriend. The man who’d upended his entire life to be with her. And she was upending hers to be with me.

I pulled up in front of the house twenty minutes later. Kensey was waiting on the porch, wearing cutoff shorts and one of my old T-shirts. She must have grabbed it from my place at some point. Seeing her in my clothes did something to me.

“That was fast,” she said as I climbed the steps.

“I was motivated.” I pulled her against me and kissed her, not caring that we were in full view of the neighborhood. “Missed you.”

“You saw me this morning.”

“Still missed you.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled against my mouth. “Come on. Mom’s almost done with dinner.”

I followed her inside, the smell of home cooking hitting me immediately. Mrs. Blake was in the kitchen, stirring something on the stove. She looked up when we entered and her whole face lit up.

“Drew! Perfect timing. I hope you’re hungry.”

“Starving,” I said, which wasn’t entirely true but I knew better than to turn down her cooking.

Mr. Blake appeared from the living room, newspaper tucked under his arm. “Drew, how’d the handoff go?”

“Smoothly.”

“Good, good.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “Strange feeling, isn’t it? Walking away from something you helped build.”

“A little,” I admitted. “But it’s the right move. I have no doubt about that.”

“Sometimes the right move is the hardest one.” He said it like he knew from experience. I knew he’d retired last year. I imagined he did know what I was feeling.

Dinner was pot roast with all the fixings—roasted vegetables, mashed potatoes, homemade rolls that were still warm from the oven. We sat around the dining table, the four of us, and it felt completely natural. I’d eaten at this table hundreds of times over the years, but this was different. This time I was here as Kensey’s partner, not just her friend.

Mrs. Blake kept piling food onto my plate despite my protests. “You’re too thin,” she insisted. “Kensey, is he eating properly?”

“Mom, he’s fine. Trust me, he packs away the food.”

“He looks like he’s been living on takeout.”

“I have been living on takeout,” I admitted. “But I’m working on it.”

The conversation flowed easily through dinner. Mr. Blake asked about my new role with the investment portfolio, and I explained as much as I understood so far. Mrs. Blake wanted to know when Kensey was planning to start job hunting, which led to a discussion about schools in the area and which ones might be a good fit.

“There’s that charter school in Pasadena,” Mrs. Blake said. “I heard they’re always looking for good teachers.”

“I’ll look into it,” Kensey said. “I’m meeting with Victoria next week. She said she has some contacts.”