There’s strategy.”
“Fantastic,” my father had said. “We can discuss Clausewitz.”
My mom and he had chuckled, but I yanked my hand away.
“I’m doing this for you,” I sulked.
Gina had been working at the kitchen table and watching this performance, but I didn’t care. In truth, I was more trying to convince myself this wasn’t crazy.
“Alright, alright,” my father finally said. “Bring your fighter. I’ll give him his time in the ring.”
Light bloomed in the dark street outside. I held my breath as it grew, and then Sean’s SUV rolled into view and parked across the street.
I hadn’t told him anything about how to prepare. I was already scared asking him for this favor. My heart nearly seized as his door creaked open.
A black leather shoe and the sleeves of dark pants slid out. It was a good start, but when he came out into view and I had to hold back a gasp.
Sean was wearing a full three piece suit.
He checked himself in the mirror then crossed and started up the cobblestone walkway. With the lawn lights cast on him, he looked like a Forbes magazine model. His suit fit his form exactly, his hard edges cast shadows on themselves and his blonde hair looked golden.
This wasn’t fighter Sean. This was business Sean. If he walked into a room, people would think he was a CEO.
I looked through the peephole as he paused and adjusted his tie at the door. I let him knock once, then peeled the door back.
“Hi there, stranger,” I said.
He smiled broadly, and looked me over up and down. I had on a soft cream skirt and blouse - nothing special. His gaze was fit for a queen, especially coming from those gorgeous green eyes.
Sean gathered me in a tight hug and whispered into my ear. “Hey, Cadbury.”
“Hey yourself,” I whispered back. “Thanks for coming.”
“Sure, it’s every guy’s dream to meet his boo’s parents five dates in.”
He turned his admiring look to our tall airy lobby, fixing on the chandelier that dangled far above. The look on his face was like a kid gazing at a rocket taking off. I cut the urge to downplay the money we had and instead saw my house the way he saw it.
“Do people get killed by those things falling?” he asked. “Is that like the main way rich people die?”
“No, that would be private plane crashes.”
“I see. So I guess I have to worry about you falling instead?”
I smacked him on the back. “Ok, you know we’re nowhere near that rich.”
“Gabrielle?” my father’s voice boomed down the hallway. “Are you going to bring your guest in, or should we move this table out there?”
Sean’s body went rigid, but I hooked him by the elbow and led him down the hall. Dad wasn’t an executioner or something, though I could imagine how it must feel. He was still passing judgment.
And I’d be a liar if I said it didn’t matter to either of us.
Sean’s eyes popped again as we came into the wide island kitchen setup. He looked at the gleaming metal stoves and the spotless granite counters. His gaze finally shifted left and saw my family waiting at the dining table.
My dad sat on one edge of the long side. He didn’t look all that intimidating in his loose black polo, but his arms lay folded and his face was covered by a veil of steam from the green bean casserole before him. He studied Sean like he was a prototype someone had brought in for approval. Gina sat next to him, looking at Sean like he was blurry, and Mom took the other end wearing a forced smile.
“Hi there,” Sean said, tipping his head.
I led him over by the seats across from them.
“Mmm mmm,” Sean said. “This smells freaking amazing. Gabi, you make this?”
“No, Mom’s the Cajun cook in this house.”
The table held a chicken jambalaya with a fiery smell and a small okra soup along with the green beans. Sean eyed it hungrily, and I could feel Dad waiting to see just what he would do.
Sean caught himself. He came around and offered his hand to
“Fantastic,” my father had said. “We can discuss Clausewitz.”
My mom and he had chuckled, but I yanked my hand away.
“I’m doing this for you,” I sulked.
Gina had been working at the kitchen table and watching this performance, but I didn’t care. In truth, I was more trying to convince myself this wasn’t crazy.
“Alright, alright,” my father finally said. “Bring your fighter. I’ll give him his time in the ring.”
Light bloomed in the dark street outside. I held my breath as it grew, and then Sean’s SUV rolled into view and parked across the street.
I hadn’t told him anything about how to prepare. I was already scared asking him for this favor. My heart nearly seized as his door creaked open.
A black leather shoe and the sleeves of dark pants slid out. It was a good start, but when he came out into view and I had to hold back a gasp.
Sean was wearing a full three piece suit.
He checked himself in the mirror then crossed and started up the cobblestone walkway. With the lawn lights cast on him, he looked like a Forbes magazine model. His suit fit his form exactly, his hard edges cast shadows on themselves and his blonde hair looked golden.
This wasn’t fighter Sean. This was business Sean. If he walked into a room, people would think he was a CEO.
I looked through the peephole as he paused and adjusted his tie at the door. I let him knock once, then peeled the door back.
“Hi there, stranger,” I said.
He smiled broadly, and looked me over up and down. I had on a soft cream skirt and blouse - nothing special. His gaze was fit for a queen, especially coming from those gorgeous green eyes.
Sean gathered me in a tight hug and whispered into my ear. “Hey, Cadbury.”
“Hey yourself,” I whispered back. “Thanks for coming.”
“Sure, it’s every guy’s dream to meet his boo’s parents five dates in.”
He turned his admiring look to our tall airy lobby, fixing on the chandelier that dangled far above. The look on his face was like a kid gazing at a rocket taking off. I cut the urge to downplay the money we had and instead saw my house the way he saw it.
“Do people get killed by those things falling?” he asked. “Is that like the main way rich people die?”
“No, that would be private plane crashes.”
“I see. So I guess I have to worry about you falling instead?”
I smacked him on the back. “Ok, you know we’re nowhere near that rich.”
“Gabrielle?” my father’s voice boomed down the hallway. “Are you going to bring your guest in, or should we move this table out there?”
Sean’s body went rigid, but I hooked him by the elbow and led him down the hall. Dad wasn’t an executioner or something, though I could imagine how it must feel. He was still passing judgment.
And I’d be a liar if I said it didn’t matter to either of us.
Sean’s eyes popped again as we came into the wide island kitchen setup. He looked at the gleaming metal stoves and the spotless granite counters. His gaze finally shifted left and saw my family waiting at the dining table.
My dad sat on one edge of the long side. He didn’t look all that intimidating in his loose black polo, but his arms lay folded and his face was covered by a veil of steam from the green bean casserole before him. He studied Sean like he was a prototype someone had brought in for approval. Gina sat next to him, looking at Sean like he was blurry, and Mom took the other end wearing a forced smile.
“Hi there,” Sean said, tipping his head.
I led him over by the seats across from them.
“Mmm mmm,” Sean said. “This smells freaking amazing. Gabi, you make this?”
“No, Mom’s the Cajun cook in this house.”
The table held a chicken jambalaya with a fiery smell and a small okra soup along with the green beans. Sean eyed it hungrily, and I could feel Dad waiting to see just what he would do.
Sean caught himself. He came around and offered his hand to
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