Page 78 of The Sweet Spot

“Ten bucks Luca’s texting Sweet Spot,” Matt calls, jumping down from a rock. “I can tell by the shit-eating grin on his face.”

Kellan snorts, glancing over at me. “At least he’s smiling.”

I send Wren a selfie, with the falls and my friends in the background.

Luca: How’ve things been going with your pops?

Wren: they’re good <3

Crazy how different things are since last spring break.

We barely knew each other back then.

Luca: glad to hear it

Wren: Would you want to do dinner

w/us one of these days?

The same hesitance that’s kept me from bringing Wren to my parents’ house hits now. I want to be there for Wren, and I’m definitely curious about her dad, but things get exponentially more complicated when families and friends are introduced.

Kellan shoulders me as he passes.“Do we need to confiscate your phone, young man?”

I elbow him and turn away, focused on Wren’s invitation. I used to not care about shit like this—parents were just people and meeting them was no big deal. But Wren’s not just a girl, and the situation with her father feels fragile. Even if things are going well between them, meeting him feels significant.

The speech bubbles pop up on Wren’s side of the conversation before disappearing again. I reply before she starts feeling weird, which she might be because it’s taking me forever to give her an answer.

Luca: You sure? I know you don’t get a lot of time with your pops.

Wren: No pressure.

Only if you want to.

Yeah, she’s backtracking.

Luca: Definitely.

Just give me a time and place.

Wren: Okay.

Great picture, btw.

* * *

Kellan’s parents took Dallas and a friend to Maui for spring break, so Kell’shousesitting. Matt and I drive over with him on Saturday, pulling into the Morgans’ long, winding driveway just before noon.

Matt pops his head into my guest room as I respond to a text from Wren, waggling his eyebrows. “That kitchen is hooked up, bro.”

I follow him back downstairs, pausing at a group of family pictures on the landing. There’s a classy black and white series of Dallas racing in a regatta. Spoiled little fucker. I wonder if Wren would’ve been his plus one for Hawaii had the two of them still been fooling around.

Eh, maybe I don’t want to wonder.

Kellan’s tinkering around in the kitchen, popping open beers and hauling burgers from the deep freezer. Matt wasn’t lying—the fridge, pantry and countertops are loaded down with fruit, bread loaves, chips, dips and salsas, cookies and every drink imaginable.

My eyes fall on a note stuck to the fridge, held in place by a sailboat magnet:

Kellan,

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