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“Nonsense.” He pushed his way past me into the house while I scrambled to follow.
“Seriously,” I said, nipping at his heels. “My father hasn’t changed his mind. You shouldn’t be here. Who knows what he’ll do if he sees you. I was going to talk to them tonight. I—"
Thorne whirled around, sucking the wind from my chest. “Breathe.”
I inhaled.
He was right. I needed to relax.
Even as I thought this, my gaze darted toward the sound of silverware clinking in the dining room. The table was set. Any moment, Mom or Dad, maybe both, would come searching for me, and Thorne would be dead meat.
Anxiety inflated my chest like a balloon.
“Do you think for one second if I laid down and played the coward that your dad would change his mind about us?” Thorne asked.
“Well . . .” I fidgeted with my hands. “Probably not.”
“But if I talk to him like a man, face him, and ask him for permission to date his daughter, if I let your parents get to know me, he’ll respect me for it. Trust me. I need to face him man-to-man. I may be young, and I might not have a daughter, but I know how men think.”
Okay, so maybe he had a point. But before I could even agree or disagree, my father appeared in the hallway, and my heart leapt into my throat.
His eyes flickered to Thorne’s hand on my arm, and his gaze turned murderous.
I opened my mouth to defend Thorne’s presence when he stepped forward, hand outstretched for my father to shake. “Mr. Rees, I hope it’s okay, but I came by to speak with you about dating your daughter.”
Holy cannoli.
My heart pounded against my ribs as I glanced between them, afraid of how this might end.
The muscle in Dad’s jaw flickered, and I watched as he eyed the flowers in Thorne’s hand. “Those for her?”
“No, sir. They’re for Mrs. Rees. I can tell you’re a man of integrity. So if I could just have a word and explain the other night, I’d be grateful.”
Silence settled between us, the air rife with tension. After what felt like eons, Dad accepted Thorne’s hand, shaking it somewhat woodenly, but shaking it nonetheless.
“You really think you can change my mind, huh?”
“I do, sir.” Thorne nodded, and while a lesser man would’ve shrunk under Dad’s gaze, he maintained eye contact.
For a minute they faced off, staring at each other, hands locked. My palms dampened. The muscle in Dad’s right eye twitched. Any minute, I expected him to break free and go for the baseball bat he kept hidden in the hall closet.
I had to give Thorne props for courage and idly wondered if they’d do one of those memorial awards at the Oscars upon his death.
So when my father grunted and waved Thorne further inside, I nearly died of shock. “Hope you didn’t eat yet.”
“No sir.”
“Good. You’ll have dinner,” he said, his tone gruff, pointing a finger at Thorne. “One dinner.”
When the three of us emerged into the dining room, Mom gasped and surged forward at the same time Thorne held the bouquet out. “For you, Mrs. Rees.”
Mom blushed, practically swooning by the gesture.
“Oh my goodness, they’re gorgeous. Just gorgeous!” Mom gushed. Pink-cheeked, she headed into the kitchen and returned with a crystal vase full of water where she quickly arranged the flowers. “Aren’t they beautiful, Stephen?”
“Yeah, just beautiful,” Dad said, giving Thorne the side-eye.
“You’ll join us for dinner, won’t you?” Mom asked.
