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It has dark wood floors throughout, and a long staircase with a white banister is against the wall on one side of the hallway Drew leads me down.
As we pass through, I notice beige lace doilies on the tops of chairs and sofas. A large circular one is on top of a piano in the corner. It looks like they never changed anything after Drew’s mother died.
The hall opens, and we enter a bright kitchen. This part of the house seems more lived in, and it smells delicious. The Frogmore stew sits steaming on a massive platter in the center of the bar.
Frogmore stew is actually what some people call a low country boil. It’s boiled shrimp with red potatoes, sausage, and corn on the cob. When Mack would make it, we’d sit outside and drink beer.
When I see Carl Harris standing on the opposite side of the room, I know it won’t be that kind of an evening.
“Daddy, you remember Grayson.” Drew has one hand on my arm. The other she holds out to her dad as if beckoning him to come closer.
The old man stands straight, not smiling, a crystal tumbler of whiskey clutched in his hand.
“Good to see you, sir.” I give him a nod, since I don’t think he’s ready for me to rush forward and shake his hand.
“Andrea said you’ve been back a few weeks now.” He takes a stiff step toward where we’re standing. “I heard you re-opened your uncle’s garage.”
“For now.” I’m not looking to spill my guts with this guy, but I’m not afraid to answer his questions.
Drew walks around to the cabinet and starts taking down plates, gathering utensils. Mack and I would eat straight out of the pile with only a roll of paper towels between us. Again, this isn’t that kind of dinner.
“What is that supposed to mean?” He pulls up and squints an eye at me. “You’re not planning to stay?”
“The fellow working with me now has a good head for the business.” I’ve only just started working out this plan in my mind, but I’ll be damned if I let Carl Harris think he intimidates me. “I’m thinking about letting him run the shop while I do other things.”
Drew pauses, mid-preparation and blinks at me. “What other things?” Her voice is high, and her dad looks from me to her slowly.
“My degree is in civil engineering. I’m thinking about Ralph’s offer. Maybe I’ll help him run his orchard.”
Drew shakes her head, and when she takes wine glasses from the cabinet, I notice her hands trembling. It’s a pretty tense evening, that’s for sure.
“Ralph Stern has some wild ideas,” Carl muses. “Still, he has an entrepreneurial spirit. He could make something of himself after all.”
Clearing my throat, I swallow my reply to that statement. My uncle was a small business owner in this town. I’ve taken over his small business. Heaven forbid something as concrete and reliable as a garage fall under the heading of entrepreneurial.
“Ready to eat?” Drew smiles, and when I catch her eye, I don’t really give a shit what this man thinks.
All I care about is being sure he’s wrong about one thing—I want to be strong enough to deserve her.
The food is delicious, but I’ve never been so glad to get to the end of a meal. Drew brings out a key lime pie, but her father declines. I hold up a hand myself, even though it’s my favorite dessert.
I’ve drunk one glass of white wine and a tumbler of whiskey. The wine was for Drew. The whiskey was for Carl. I wasn’t about to say no when he offered me a drink.
Now I’m ready to stop before I have a fucking headache in the morning.
“Grayson, I appreciate your visit.” Her father stands, and all three of us rise. He steps over toward me, and for the first time all evening, he extends his hand.
Stepping forward, I grasp it firmly. I’m about to let go, but he holds it a beat longer, his brown eyes boring into mine. “I hope we still understand each other.”
I’m not sure how to respond to his statement. I’m sure he knows I remember what he told me all those years ago at the garage. Don’t you ever touch my daughter again.
Something about the way he says still makes me want to step even closer and tell him how many times I’ve touched his daughter and how many more times I intend to do it. It’s a rebellious teenager response, I know. This guy has always brought out the worst in me.
“I’m not sure what you mean, but it was interesting seeing you again, sir.” Take that, fucking Carl Harris. Two can play at this game.
“Okay, then!” Drew steps toward us, hands clasped in front of her. “If nobody wants dessert, I guess I’ll walk Gray out. Maybe we can take a stroll around the neighborhood.”
“It’s late, Andrea.” Her dad snaps at her, lingering in my personal space.
