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“I’d love to have lunch when you have time . . .”
“. . . Delicious burgers.”
“Harbor says wonderful things about you . . .”
“. . . I like that.” Lark’s smile is genuine, and her sincerity felt in all she does.
I love her—unexpectedly and unabashedly.
That my parents adore her means the world. It also means it might be easier when the time comes to tell them we’re moving in together.
A sense of peace washes through me, and I finally feel settled in my skin. I’ve gotten past my reputation while building on the positive changes I’ve made. I would never use my girlfriend for my own benefit, but I can’t stop thinking that Lark Summerlin might be my saving grace.
Holding up his phone, my dad announces, “The kids are here.”
We all wander to the front of the house, not rushing out the door but lingering in the living room. My mom says, “What a spontaneous and entertaining night.” She turns to John. “Thank you for having us in your home. It’s lovely, and so were the burgers and beer. We had a great time.”
I don’t think John’s used to getting that kind of gushing review, but he takes after his daughter when too much attention is paid to him. “It’s nothing.”
While Dad and John start talking about the shop and him stopping by to check out the cars, my mom pulls Lark aside, and says, “It is such a pleasure to finally spend time with you. We’d love to have you and Harbor to our home the next time Loch is in town.”
“I’d like that.”
“Good, then it’s settled. I’ll send Harbor dates.” Opening her arms, she and Lark embrace. Sometimes I worry that life is too good, that the bad has a place in my happiness. This is one of those times. Other than my siblings, everyone I care about and everyone who loves me is here in this room. And now they’re always tied together as well.
Everyone wraps up their conversations and head for the door, except my mom and me. I hug her, and say, “It was a good night.”
She replies, “It was a good night. And Lark is so lovely. I’m happy for you, Harbor.”
When I look over my shoulder at Lark, our gazes catch, and she smiles. It’s not big or proud or even shy. It’s delicate as if she’s only smiling for me. “She really is. I’m a lucky guy.”
“You are.” My mom pats my cheek. “Take care of yourself, son. Love you.”
“I love you, Mom.”
My dad’s arm comes around her back, and they move to the door. Mom stops, and says, “Oh, and the Brussels sprouts were delicious.”Polar opposite of John.
I burst out laughing, knowing he wasn’t happy with the side dish. “It’s my mom’s recipe.” She smiles, but I hear John grumble about the sprouts.
Lark pats his back. “I’m proud of you for eating your vegetables, Dad. And you survived. Double win.”Then she cracks up.
I’ve already mentally noted:Don’t make Brussels sprouts again.
After we get my mom and dad on the road, we say goodbye to John and get in the car. That Lark’s so sexy in the driver’s seat is the only consolation prize for being a passenger in my own vehicle.
Snug in the driver’s seat of my car, she rests back with the engine running and rolls her gaze to me. “Let’s go home.” She doesn’t realize that it makes my heart clench and that all I hear is “let’s go, home,” as if, to her, the word home itself is my name.
These days, I’ve found my pride and joy might be more invested in the woman behind the wheel rather than the vehicle.
“I had a good time.” She looks my way, but her gaze quickly returns to the road ahead. Silent questions darken her eyes as she pulls away from the curb. Her fingers tightening around the wheel whiten her knuckles, and her body somehow looks even smaller as if she’s letting the voices inside her head win. “The Bensimones are a powerful family.” Glancing at me, she asks, “Do I need to worry about repercussions aimed at my father or his shop?”
“I think they’re safe.”
“What about me?” Her voice is quiet, the sound of the road under the tires giving her solid competition.
I don’t want to worry her since nothing may come of it, but there’s an inkling of fear clawing toward the surface of my personal concern for her safety. I don’t think they’d hurt her physically, but I’m not sure about emotional revenge. They tried to do me in. Reaching over, I hold her hand. “We’re honest with each other, Lark.”Not a question.Just stating facts.
“We are.”
