Page 71 of Fever

“Like?”

“You’ve never told me what your parents do for a living. This house is humongous.”

“It’s not bigger than your father’s.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” I said, sweeping an eye around the large columns that helped hold up the colossal structure.

“My father is a former marine, and my mother served ten years in the air force.”

I lifted a brow. “That’s quite a combination.”

“Tell me about it,” she said.

I parked, and we left the vehicle, making sure to grab the strawberry shortcake we’d had made for Mrs. Summers and a bottle of Brandy I was gifting to Mr. Summers. We announced our presence with the ring of the doorbell, and Mrs. Summers opened with an elated smile.

“Oh my God, come on in,” she beamed, pulling Santana in for a hug. Smoothly, Mrs. Summers rubbed a hand up and down her back and pulled me in next.

“How are you, Mrs. Summers?” I asked.

“I’m well, it’s nice to meet you finally, Josiah, I’ve heard so much about you,” she gushed.

“As have I,” a deep voice thundered.

We all turned our attention to Mr. Summers as he approached. He was a few inches taller than my six-foot-three. Just about the same height as my father. Broad shoulders and burly hands hung at his side. Swiftly, I shifted the bag I carried and held out a hand that he accepted with a snug shake.

“We’re glad you two made it safely. Come on back. Barbara has been pacing around the clock waiting for your arrival.”

We made our way to the large kitchen where I took the cake off Santana’s hands and sat it down on the counter.

“This is for you, Sir.”

I handed Mr. Summers the bottle of Brandy to which he responded, “How’d you know this was my spirit of choice?”

I gave a half-hearted grin and rubbed my chin. “Lucky guess?”

Mr. Summers grumbled a chuckle then looked to Santana.

“My guess is luck had nothing to do with it.”

I held my hands out, feigning defeat. “I tried.”

“Dinner is ready. I’ve already made plates, and they’re still warm if you both would like to take a seat,” Mrs. Summers said.

We gathered around the table, and I helped Santana in her chair then found mine next to her.

“I hope you don’t mind if I give thanks to the almighty,” I said.

Mrs. Summers perked and glanced at Mr. Summers.

“Go right ahead, son.”

I reached for Santana’s hands and linked them with her mother’s. As I prayed out loud, I inwardly asked God for direction. I couldn’t deny that my feelings for Santana had evolved into much more than I’d initially expected. Even over the last few weeks I’d saw and fell in love with her personality, her love for others, and the unrestricted way she gave herself over to me when we made love. Totally and complete. The significance of her willing to walk down the aisle and bring our agreement all the way to the altar was more than enough to make my love flourish.

Dinner with Santana’s parents was so enjoyable we’d lost track of time. Mrs. Summers had shown me just about every baby photo of Santana, and I must admit, the little plats sticking up on her head and her wide eyes were comical, so much so, that I doubled over in laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Santana had asked.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” I said, holding my gut. “You look so alarmed with the wide eyes.” My guffaw grew, and she pursed her lips and rolled her eyes.

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