Page 40 of Against The Rules

“Who’s ready to eat?” Jacob asks, and from the annoyed expression on his face, I can tell he doesn’t like that my parents are eating this whole farce up.

“Come on, Peaches,” I say, tugging Savannah over to the table my mom painstakingly set this morning.

“I’ll bring these,” she says, grabbing her box of peaches from the kitchen and following along.

I like the feel of her hand in mine too much, so when I sit next to her, I grab it again.

She laughs, giving me a weird look.

Jacob rolls his eyes at me as he sets down a platter full of bacon, joining the French toast casserole and egg and sausage casserole already sitting there.

“I’m going to have a hard time eating if you insist on holding my hand the whole time,” Savannah says.

“I can feed you,” I tell her, grinning.

“You two are too cute,” my mom gushes. “Aren’t they cute, Ken?”

“Sure,” my dad says, much more interested in pouring syrup on his serving of French toast than whatever Savannah and I are doing.

But I want to be cute for Savannah, so I raise her hand to my lips and press a kiss against her knuckles.

When she squirms in her chair in response, her lips falling apart, I let her hand go, feeling like victory is mine in this little game of relationship one-upmanship we’re playing.

For a moment, the dining table’s silent save the clink of forks and knives on plates, Savannah helping herself to a tiny serving of egg casserole and fruit, Jacob and I scarfing down food.

“What did you think of the game yesterday, Savannah?” my dad asks, leaning back and sipping from his coffee cup. “Did you watch it?”

“Ah, kind of.”

“She was there,” I offer.

Savannah goes still, but my mom makes a noise of delight.

“Why didn’t you tell us? We could have met you at the game yesterday.”

“Oh, I didn’t know,” Savannah says. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sure she has better things to do than hang out with the two of us old folks.”

“I should have told you both,” I say, regretting the way this conversation is going.

From Savannah’s white knuckles on her fork, I know she is too. This is dangerous ground.

“Did you know Savannah is starting a small business?” I ask, trying to change the subject.

Jacob shoots me a pained look, and I know him well enough to know that he’s still worried about the fact I’m funding said business.

“Is that right, now? Good for you. Small business is the backbone of this country.” My dad, predictably, is inordinately pleased with this new fact, and Savannah chews exaggeratedly, her eyes wide.

I put a piece of bacon on her plate for her.

“Yep. She makes art, and she’s going to start selling it as, what did you call it, Peaches? High-end stationery?” I don’t think she ever called it that, but it has a nice ring to it.

She presses a cloth napkin to her lips, making a show of swallowing as she nods.

“Yes, though you’re the one who called it high-end. Did you know how good Tyler is at marketing? He has a whole plan for the social media aspect. It’s brilliant.”

She’s laying it on a little thick, and I give her thigh a warning squeeze under the table. I’m rewarded with a swift kick to my shin, and I try not to wince as she grins at my parents.

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