looking down at my appearance. My attire of black on black had suited me well the last four years, but at the moment, seemed plain and downright ugly. Not to mention my pale skin coupled with the written tattoos on my wrists. I was a parent's worst nightmare. I definitely wasn't the type of girl guys brought home to meet mommy and daddy.
"You can do this," he said seriously, sensing my inner turmoil. "Unless of course, you're chicken."
"I hate you," I muttered, climbing out of the front seat. I'd do this, and when his parents hated me on sight, I'd have the satisfaction of being right. But the question was would it be a victory I really wanted?
Dean walked around, joining me at the front of the jeep. "Piece of cake," he said, lacing his fingers through mine. I didn't flinch from the contact. Over the last two weeks, Dean had slowly chipped away at my defenses. "You can stop looking like you're about to step foot in a serial killer's house," he teased, tugging me toward the front door.
"I'd prefer that," I answered as he turned the knob and pushed the door open.
Several things hit me at once as I stepped into his large sprawling house. First, the room we entered was huge. It ran the length of the front of the house, forming a perfect square. A large kitchen separated by long high-top counters sectioned it off from the living room and dining room which was visible from where we stood. Obviously, the builder had gone for an open floor plan. The delicious smell of spiced pumpkin permeated the interior of the house, and I couldn't help sniffing it appreciatively. The smell was warm and welcoming as it enveloped your senses. The only thing my house had ever smelled like was the cleaning solutions June used when she cleaned our house each week. It was the decor in Dean's house that drew me in the most. The walls were painted a warm taupe and adorned with numerous family pictures that were tastefully hung in rich wooden frames. Seeing them made me want to peruse each frame, dying to see actual family pictures.
That idea was put on hold when two little girls came tearing through the kitchen and tackled Dean around the legs, screeching his name at decibels I was pretty sure dogs five miles away could hear.
"Hey, Thing 1 and Thing 2," Dean said, ruffling their hair. "Have you two been driving Mom nuts today?" he chastised as a slightly flustered looking woman bustled out of the kitchen.
"Ashley and Dora, get in your playroom and clean it now," she said, putting her hands on her hips.
"But Dean's home, and he bought a fend ," one of them said with a cute lisp as she dropped her R's. I had next to no experience with kids, but I had to admit, Dean's sisters were pretty cute. Their hair was made up of platinum corkscrew curls that bounced every time they moved. Rounded cheeks and rosy lips gave them the appearance of cherubs you'd find in some Greek painting.
"I see that. Room, now," she said, pointing beyond the kitchen.
"Hi, I'm Dean's mom, Sarah," she said, holding her hand for me to shake after the identical twins had torn away through the kitchen.
"Madison," I said, holding out my hand, taking the plunge into actual contact. I waited with bated breath for her to judge me when she took in my tattooed wrist.
"The writing on your tattoo is lovely," she said, surprising me as she flipped my hand over to study it more closely.
"Thanks, it's called Elegance," I said self-consciously.
"What does 'forget' mean?" she asked, finally releasing my hand that had grown clammy.
"Um, it goes with this," I said, flipping my other wrist over to reveal the word "Me."
"Oh, I see. Sometimes the past can be quite trying. I'm sure all of us would like to be forgotten at times," she said uncannily.
I waited for her next comment. Surely, now would be the time she'd tell me in no uncertain terms about how great her son is and how he needs to stay focused so he can continue on to bigger and better things. I waited for her to tell me I didn't
"You can do this," he said seriously, sensing my inner turmoil. "Unless of course, you're chicken."
"I hate you," I muttered, climbing out of the front seat. I'd do this, and when his parents hated me on sight, I'd have the satisfaction of being right. But the question was would it be a victory I really wanted?
Dean walked around, joining me at the front of the jeep. "Piece of cake," he said, lacing his fingers through mine. I didn't flinch from the contact. Over the last two weeks, Dean had slowly chipped away at my defenses. "You can stop looking like you're about to step foot in a serial killer's house," he teased, tugging me toward the front door.
"I'd prefer that," I answered as he turned the knob and pushed the door open.
Several things hit me at once as I stepped into his large sprawling house. First, the room we entered was huge. It ran the length of the front of the house, forming a perfect square. A large kitchen separated by long high-top counters sectioned it off from the living room and dining room which was visible from where we stood. Obviously, the builder had gone for an open floor plan. The delicious smell of spiced pumpkin permeated the interior of the house, and I couldn't help sniffing it appreciatively. The smell was warm and welcoming as it enveloped your senses. The only thing my house had ever smelled like was the cleaning solutions June used when she cleaned our house each week. It was the decor in Dean's house that drew me in the most. The walls were painted a warm taupe and adorned with numerous family pictures that were tastefully hung in rich wooden frames. Seeing them made me want to peruse each frame, dying to see actual family pictures.
That idea was put on hold when two little girls came tearing through the kitchen and tackled Dean around the legs, screeching his name at decibels I was pretty sure dogs five miles away could hear.
"Hey, Thing 1 and Thing 2," Dean said, ruffling their hair. "Have you two been driving Mom nuts today?" he chastised as a slightly flustered looking woman bustled out of the kitchen.
"Ashley and Dora, get in your playroom and clean it now," she said, putting her hands on her hips.
"But Dean's home, and he bought a fend ," one of them said with a cute lisp as she dropped her R's. I had next to no experience with kids, but I had to admit, Dean's sisters were pretty cute. Their hair was made up of platinum corkscrew curls that bounced every time they moved. Rounded cheeks and rosy lips gave them the appearance of cherubs you'd find in some Greek painting.
"I see that. Room, now," she said, pointing beyond the kitchen.
"Hi, I'm Dean's mom, Sarah," she said, holding her hand for me to shake after the identical twins had torn away through the kitchen.
"Madison," I said, holding out my hand, taking the plunge into actual contact. I waited with bated breath for her to judge me when she took in my tattooed wrist.
"The writing on your tattoo is lovely," she said, surprising me as she flipped my hand over to study it more closely.
"Thanks, it's called Elegance," I said self-consciously.
"What does 'forget' mean?" she asked, finally releasing my hand that had grown clammy.
"Um, it goes with this," I said, flipping my other wrist over to reveal the word "Me."
"Oh, I see. Sometimes the past can be quite trying. I'm sure all of us would like to be forgotten at times," she said uncannily.
I waited for her next comment. Surely, now would be the time she'd tell me in no uncertain terms about how great her son is and how he needs to stay focused so he can continue on to bigger and better things. I waited for her to tell me I didn't
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