Page 95 of Three Pucking Wedding Dates

“Of course, who could forget the look on her face when she fell in the river?” Theo teases, and I playfully swat his arm, feigning annoyance.

“Hey, I was just trying to prove a point!”

Dad laughs, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “You certainly did, sweetheart, and we’ve been proud of your determination ever since.”

As they continue to reminisce, I find myself listening intently, absorbing every word and anecdote. These stories bridge the gap between years, connecting us and deepening our bonds. It feels like coming home after a long journey, finding solace and comfort in the familiar.

“Remember the time we tried to teach Oakley how to skate?” Theo asks, grinning at the memory. “She was so stubborn, refusing any help and insisting she could do it on her own. She must have fallen a dozen times before finally accepting my hand.”

My cheeks heat up at the reminder of my bruised ego, but I can’t deny the truth in his words. “I’ve always been a bit of a perfectionist,” I admit sheepishly.

“Which is why you’re so good at everything you do,” Dad says, giving me an affectionate pat on the shoulder. “You put your heart and soul into it, and that’s something to be proud of.”

“Thanks, Dad.” My voice is thick with emotion as I wrap my arms around him, grateful for his unwavering support. In this moment, surrounded by love and laughter, I feel truly blessed.

We take our seats, the familiar clatter of silverware and glasses as we serve ourselves a comforting reminder of dinners past. It’sbeen far too long since we’ve had moments like these, just the three of us sharing a meal, talking, and laughing together.

As we eat, I listen intently to the conversation between Theo and my dad. They reminisce about old hockey games, joke about embarrassing moments, and discuss their hopes for the future. It’s a rare glimpse into the friendship they once shared, and I feel a pang of envy at the bond they’ve rekindled so effortlessly.

“Your cooking has definitely improved since the last time I was here,” Theo comments, grinning at me as he takes another bite of chicken.

“Practice makes perfect,” I retort playfully, feeling my heart swell with happiness at his compliment.

“Speaking of practice,” my dad interjects, “I remember when Oakley first tried to make this dish. She was so determined to get it right that she spent hours in the kitchen, refusing any help or advice.”

“Sounds about right,” Theo chuckles, shooting me a knowing look that sends warmth spreading through my chest.

“Hey, I learned from the best,” I say, nodding at my dad. “Besides, I think it’s safe to say I’ve mastered it now.”

“Absolutely,” Theo agrees, his gaze lingering on mine for a moment longer than necessary.

All too soon, dinner comes to an end, and we find ourselves clearing the table and washing dishes in companionable silence. The weight of the day catches up with me, and I stifle a yawn as I dry the last plate.

“Getting sleepy?” Dad asks, a teasing smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“Maybe a little,” I admit, another yawn escaping me despite my best efforts.

“Alright, you two,” he says, gesturing toward the hallway. “I’ve made up the guest room for you, Theo. Oakley, you know where your old room is.”

“Thanks, Dad,” I mumble, exhaustion creeping into my voice. “Good night.”

“Good night, Oakley,” Theo says softly, his eyes meeting mine with a warmth that sends a shiver down my spine.

“Night, Dad,” I add, giving him a quick hug before heading upstairs.

As I enter my old bedroom, a sense of nostalgia washes over me. It’s been years since I’ve slept here, and though some things have changed, others remain comfortingly familiar. I change into my pajamas and crawl under the covers, allowing the softness of the sheets to lull me into a much-needed slumber.

“Ugh,” I groan under my breath, trying to shove my pillow into a more comfortable shape. But it’s no use; sleep remains elusive.

I close my eyes, attempting to focus on something other than the chaos inside my head. The lingering scent of banana pudding fills the air, bringing back memories of simpler times when my biggest worry was whether or not I’d be allowed to lick the spoon after mixing the ingredients.

But just as my thoughts threaten to spiral out of control again, there’s a soft, familiar knock on my door. My heartbeat quickens, and I sit up in bed, pulling the covers closer around me.

“Who is it?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady despite the sudden surge of hope that it might be Theo seeking solace in my company.

“Oakley, it’s me,” Theo’s voice comes through the door, gentle and reassuring.

The door creaks open, and his silhouette fills the dimly lit entrance. His broad shoulders seem to hold back the darkness as he slips into my room, closing the door behind him. The air shifts, charged with an electric current that buzzes under my skin.

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