Page 8 of The Secret to a Southern Wedding

She led him from the entryway into the living area of the home as he spoke. His dad brought up the rear behind them. “Your dad has a few shirts here. Go put your shirt in the wash and put on one of his.”

Cyril’s brows raised as he looked at his dad. “He does?”

His dad grinned but lowered his eyes. He cleared his throat and waved his hand. “I messed up one of my shirts when I helped Linda clean up the other day.”

“Uh-huh,” Cyril said not believing his dad for a minute. He wasn’t going to press. This explained the few nights his dad came home late or not at all. “You don’t have to worry about washing my shirt, Ms. Kemp. I’ll get rid of the mustard stain later. Let’s not make a big deal out of it.”

The sound of the front door opening was preceded by a woman’s voice. “Mom! You here? The door was open.”

Ms. Kemp’s face lit up. “Yeah, baby, in the living room.” She hurried toward the foyer as she spoke.

No sooner had Linda made it to the hallway did a woman enter. Linda squealed in delight and held open her arms. The woman did the same and the two were wrapped up in a huge hug. Cyril looked at his dad, who grinned at him, and nodded before looking back at both women. Cyril couldn’t suppress his own smile. His dad was not just happy. He was giddy. An emotion he never thought he’d see again on his dad’s face after his mom died. He may not have understood why his dad suddenly decided he wanted to get married, but he couldn’t say he was against the decision. Not when faced with the excitement and joy on Preston’s face.

Cyril looked back at Ms. Kemp and her daughter, preparing to greet her and start the process of getting to know the woman who would become his stepsister. But when his eyes collided with the golden brown gaze that had trapped his heart earlier, he sucked in a breath and pointed.

Her brows drew together, and she pulled back from her mom. She pointed at him, as well. “What are you doing here?”

Imani stared back at the man in her mother’s living room with shock and dread. Why was he here? She’d already embarrassed herself by squirting mustard on him in her bad attempt at flirting. Now he stood in her mom’s living room looking at her as if she were the intruder.

Her mom turned back to him then frowned at Imani. “This is Preston’s son, Cyril.” Her mom gestured to the other man, an older version of the guy from the Dairy Bar. He gave her a nervous grin and dipped his chin. “Do you two know each other?”

Imani shook her head. “No.”

“We met at the Dairy Bar,” Cyril spoke at the same time.

Her mom gasped and placed a hand on her mouth. “Imani? You’re the mustard girl.”

“W-what? Who said I’m the mustard girl?” her cheeks flamed. They’d heard this story already. Did he really come here and immediately go on about the woman who’d accidentally squirted him with mustard?

Linda slapped her forehead. “I should have known when he said corn dog. You always stop there for one.” She dropped her hand and gave Imani a disappointed look. “Why did you mess up his shirt like that?”

She glared at Cyril. “You told my mom?”

“I explained what happened to my shirt,” he replied in a voice that was way too calm for a snitch. “And in all fairness, I didn’t know she was your mom.”

“But you couldn’t wait to tell someone about the klutz who accidentally squirted you with mustard.”

He held up a finger. “I also didn’t call you a klutz.” He shrugged. “I just said you attacked me with mustard.”

She stood there stunned for a second, then the guy had the nerve to smirk. Her hand went to her hip. “You’re laughing at me.”

His smirk broke out into a full-fledged smile. “I’m making light of an awkward situation.”

“I told him I’d wash his shirt. Now, we really need to,” her mom said. “Cyril, go get one of your dad’s shirts and leave that here. Imani will wash it.”

She turned to her mom. “I’m not washing his shirt.”

“It’s really not necessary,” Cyril spoke simultaneously.

She spun back toward him. “I know it’s not.”

He blinked and the edges of his smile stiffened. “If the stain doesn’t come out then you can just buy me a new shirt.”

Imani sucked in a breath and glared. “I already offered to buy you a new shirt.”

His dad stepped forward. “Now, kids, let’s not get overly excited. It’s no big deal.”

Cyril pointed to the stain on his shirt. “This is one of my favorite shirts.”

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