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James stomps the few steps to the table and stops directly across from Beckett. With his eyes locked on my guest, James noisily drags the chair away from the table.
The two of them glare at each other until my dad sets down the large stack of pancakes telling us to dig in.
With carbs and coffee being passed around the table, it’s easy to pretend this isn’t a total clusterfuck as people settle into conversation.
James keeps asking Beckett questions about his time in Chicago, but Beckett mostly ignores him or answers with his own questions. I don’t know why my brother is being such a dick. He’s always been a bit protective, but I honestly didn’t think he’d be this bothered by me being with Beckett.
Forcing the final pancakes onto the boys, Mom leans back in her chair with a huge smile on her face, “This is so nice, just like the old days.”
James snorts, “Not exactly like the old days. Back then what these two are doing would be illegal.”
Dad laughs but Mom cuts James a look that has him shutting up. Then she turns to Beckett, “We’re only planning to stay for a few days, but maybe we could do a lunch with your parents? It’s been so long since I’ve seen either one of them.”
Beckett dips his chin down, “I think they’d like that a lot.”
Mom beams and I slowly slide my hand over to rest on Beckett’s thigh. He’s really getting more than he bargained for this morning.
“Perfect! We were going to stay in the driveway here,” she glances at Dad, “but maybe we should find somewhere else to stay.”
As much as I want them to do just that, I shake my head, “No, don’t do that. You can stay here.”
They’ve done it before, and I know that – for the most part – they’ll stick to their own space.
“You sure?” Dad asks and I nod.
Beckett settles his hand on mine, threading our fingers together.
Nothing like jumping straight into the deep end.
Beckett uses his free hand to pull out his phone and I watch as he texts his mom asking about doing a get together. Based on the number of exclamation points, I think it’s safe to say that Mrs. Stoleman is just as excited about this as my mom is.
He waits for a break in conversation, “My mom said that next Sunday afternoon would work, and that they’d love to host, if you can stick around that long.”
Mom doesn’t even check in with Dad before agreeing, and that’s how I know her claim of only staying a few days was total bullshit to begin with. “Just let us know what to bring.”
Beckett tips his head, “Will do, Mrs. Hall.”
“Oh please,” she waves a hand in dismissal, “call me Mom.”
I choke on my coffee, but the sound is drowned out by James’ curse.
