Page 82 of Tangled

The handle on the door turns and as it opens, I’m greeted with a younger man that matches me in height and build. I’m not a small guy, and neither is he.

“You must be Kane,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest in an attempt to intimidate me, I suppose. It’s cute, but it’s not working.

“Yes, I am. Nice to meet you. You must be Cooper,” I respond, instantly recognizing the family resemblance between him and Olivia now.

“Yup, that’s me. So, what are you intentions with my sister…” he starts just as I hear the pitter patter of feet behind him, Olivia spinning around his frame and cutting him off.

“Dear Lord, Coop. Stop it,” she shoves his chest. “Hi, Kane,” she turns to me now, granting me with that smile that warms my entire body.

“Hi, beautiful,” I greet her with a kiss on the cheek and then hand her the flowers and wine.

“You didn’t have to do this,” she admonishes while pushing Cooper out of the way more so I can step inside.

“Hey, Kane. Sorry about before,” Cooper starts before Olivia cuts him off again.

“You are not. You’re just warming him up before you and Dad start your real inquisition later.”

Cooper nods in agreement and shrugs. “True. Be ready, Kane,” he arches his brow at me before sauntering away.

“He seems protective of you,” I whisper in her ear as I pull her into my chest. I see the goosebumps appear on her exposed skin, and fuck if I don’t love how easily she responds to me.

“He is, even though I’m the oldest. He and my dad will drill you later, just so you're prepared.”

“You already warned me, baby, remember? And it’s fine. It’s nothing I can’t handle. I’ve had grown men scream in my face before. A little tough talk from your dad and brother ain’t nothing.”

Olivia kisses me on the cheek and then grabs my hand, leading me inside. Her parent’s home is a shrine to a life well-lived—framed photographs decorating the walls and every flat surface, showcasing a family and the growth of its children over the years. The furniture is well worn and the space is warm and inviting, decorated in browns and greens with cream-colored walls. You can feel the love as you walk around, and you can smell it too. My God, that food smells amazing.

As I follow Olivia into the kitchen, I’m greeted with a slightly shorter and older version of her.

“Kane, this is my mom, Stacy. Mom, this is Kane.”

The woman flashes me the same beautiful smile that Olivia must have inherited from her. “Mrs. Walsh, it’s so great to meet you. Thank you for having me today,” I reach out to shake her hand while Olivia locates a vase for the flowers and deposits the wine on the counter.

“Please, call me Stacy. It’s so nice to meet you too, Kane. If her permanent smile is any indication, I’d say it seems my daughter is quite taken with you,” she winks.

“Well, the feeling is mutual, I assure you.”

“So, you two work together, right? How has that been going?”

Olivia and I glance at each other, realizing we should probably come forward about our relationship to principal North.

“We’ve been extremely professional at work, if that’s what you’re worried about, Mom. But we’re going to say something to our boss once we get back to school next week.”

I nod in agreement.

“I think that’s wise. So Kane, why aren’t you with your family today?” Stacy asks while gliding around her kitchen.

“My parents live up north, and Olivia invited me here. Plus, I really wanted to meet her family. We’ve gotten to know so much about each other over the past few months, I felt like this was the next step.”

Olivia’s mom looks me up and down before tilting up the corners of her mouth in a smile. “I couldn’t agree more. I think it was time we met too.”

I sit in the kitchen for a few minutes, watching Olivia and her mom move around, preparing dishes and cleaning as they go. The other night she got to peruse me while I cooked, and now it’s my turn. I can’t say I’m not enjoying it. I know Thanksgiving is her favorite holiday and you can see the serenity on her face as she mixes ingredients, teases back and forth with her mom, and looks so at ease—like she is one-hundred percent herself in this moment. And the image is captivating.

“Have you always helped your mom cook?” I ask while taking a sip from the glass of water Olivia filled for me moments ago.

“Yes, as soon as she would let me. My mom and my grandma used to bustle around each other in the kitchen every Thanksgiving and I wanted to be just like them so badly.”

“Yeah, so we finally relented and let Olivia help us when she was about eight, I think,” her mom continues. “But I believe that year we ate green bean casserole with Barbie shoes in it.”

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