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I nearly died.
The two of them came inside, and Marin took the gifts. Her cheeks flushed the second her hands wrapped around the vase.
“The innkeeper gave that to us,” Marin’s mom said. “She told me to tell you to be careful with it. Marin, are you breaking people’s things?”
Marin paused a second, looking down at it, shaking her head.
“No, Mama.” Marin bit her lip, trying not to laugh. “It’s a joke. She’s a friend. Never mind.”
She walked everything over to the island and set it down, careful to place the new bouquet on the other side of the counter, next to the fridge.
She turned around and noticed the large gap between her parents and me. They looked at their daughter, waiting.
“Oh, um,” Marin said, looking ten shades redder. She took a step forward to stand next to me. “Mama, Papa, this is Macon. Macon, these are my parents, Henry and Margarete Mueller.”
I was relieved to see genuine smiles on their faces, especially Marin’s mother, who I knew was the more skeptical of the two.
We shook hands, and I offered to take their coats. Marin opened the wine and poured everyone a glass, excluding me, of course.
If her parents were curious, they didn’t ask.
I grabbed a Coke out of the fridge, and everyone sat around the sofa while I headed to the kitchen.
“Macon offered to cook if that’s all right, Mama?” Marin said.
“You found a man who can cook for you?” Margarete’s brow raised. “No wonder you’re staying.”
“Did you know she lives off of takeout?” Henry asked, to which Marin rolled her eyes.
“And ramen,” I chimed in.
“Cooking is hard.” She pouted. “DoorDash is not.”
I looked over at her, and I felt every ounce of tension leave as I started prepping for our meal.
This I could definitely get used to.
* * *
“They loved you!” Marin declared with a jolt of enthusiasm.
We’d just watched her parents drive away. They were headed back to the inn, and tomorrow, they would drive back home.
They had seemed satisfied with Marin’s decision.
“You sure?” I asked as I cleared wine glasses from the coffee table.
“Yes. My mom even leaned over at one point and said, ‘He’s so handsome!’” She grinned, swooping in to grab the glasses from my hands. “Let me take those.”
“I’d better not meet your sister,” I joked as I watched her snag the rest. “I’ll have all the Mueller women wrapped around my finger.”
She rolled her eyes.
“I’m okay, by the way.” I gestured to the glasses stacked in her hands. I then proceeded to prove my point by taking the leftover wine and moved toward the kitchen. She gave me a dubious stare. “I told you, it doesn’t bother me.”
“Are you sure?” She walked to the sink and set them down. “Like, not even a little?”
I shrugged, handing her the bottle. “Maybe a little, but I never really drank until…” I let out a staggered breath. “My dad didn’t set the greatest example in that area, you know?”
