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Austin: I’m on my way.
How do I respond? Then I realize I’m making more of this than I need to. If I’m still me, and I am, then he’s just as much still Austin.
Willa: The PB&J will hold.
Austin: I was hoping for grilled cheese and Grey Poupon.
Willa: I guess I can have the cook make that instead.
Austin: You mean your mom?
I love that we can joke about my parents’ status. It doesn’t faze him at all. He looks at me and sees Willa, not the product of two gorgeous former celebrities. When he learned who they were, I discovered he knew the condensed version of their story and couldn’t name any of their works to save his life.
Wanting to mess with him, I type out my response, giggling when I hit send.
Willa: Don’t be sexist. My dad is cooking tonight.
Austin: *properly chastised*
Willa: You’re so easy. He burns cereal.
Austin: You weren’t kidding when you said he was talented. The light changed. See you soon.
Before I can respond, the three bubbles appear, then disappear, and this pattern repeats two more times. I’m holding my breath, waiting to see if the third is the charm. When it comes through, I release it, leaving me a bit lightheaded. Or that could be due to what he finally sent me.
Austin: We should talk, baby.
Shit. That can’t be good.He did call you baby;my optimistic half reminds me. This is true, so maybe it’s not bad. Yet I can’t help replying with a dragged out okay and a grimace emoji.
Austin: Don’t fret, little one. Trust me.
Willa: I do.
That is what calms my fears and allows me to remain so while I wait for him to arrive, and when he does, I shush the pessimistic side that tells me not to do what I want to, which is rush into his arms.
He catches me without hesitation, stopping midway up the walk, and squeezes me as if he needs the closeness as much as I do. I tilt my head back, not even attempting to let go as he doesn’t seem inclined to allow it, and peer at his face, searching, seeking some kind of clue as to what’s going on.
Austin has been affectionate with me since the day we met, though not to the level he was then. Much to my disappointment. Oddly though, I’m not upset that my first kiss didn’t take place in public. And it gives me a thrill that he confessed he was in the same boat. I was shocked to learn that, yet oh so happy at the same time.
The fact he wanted to break that with me has to mean something, right?
“Miss me?” He asks with a grin.
“Nah.”
“Well, I missed you,” he informs me, then he nuzzles my neck. My. Neck.
“Austin?”
“That’s what I want to talk to you about,” he asks, seeming to read my confusion about what he did.
And just then, the door opens, giving my dad the award for the worst timing ever, as he calls out, not in the least subtle, “I assume this the “friend,” Austin.”
If I had any doubts as to Austin’s feelings for me, and I did, they’re wiped away with his next words. “You’re half right, sir. I am Austin.” Then he glances at me, a satisfied smile curling his lips when my eyes widen at what he just implied.
He takes my hand, places a kiss on the back of it, and we walk into my house together, neither of us paying my dad any attention as he grumbles while shutting the door behind us. And locking it.
Austin doesn’t flinch, act intimidated, nor impressed with my dad or what now surrounds him. Our home is not ostentatious with belongings flaunting my parents’ net worth, individually or combined, as that’s never been their way. Despite what some would assume, dad and mom prefer the simpler things in life, and that includes where we live.
