Page 118 of Friends Don't Kiss

“This is imp—thismeanssomething to me, Colt. Going to your parents’ house for dinner with you. Withusbeing together.”

“It means somethin’ to me too.” I go to pull her in my arms to give her kiss, but she stands back.

“You don’t understand. It means I could losethistoo. Them.”

She means if we break up, which I suppose she assumes there’s a risk that I will. Although that’s laughably out of touch with my reality, I can’t really dismiss her fears with a chuckle. So I tell her the truth. “Pretty sure if we broke up—which we won’t, not on my account—they’d choose you over me.”

She lets me pull her in for a kiss. “You’re just being nice.”

“No I’m not. Just saying the truth.” I lean over to kiss her nice and full before the next couple of hours force us to keep the PDA to a minimum, when the door opens wide, casting light on our embrace.

“Last one before dinner at the old folks’?” my dad bellows. “Honey! The kids are here. Told you I heard the truck.”

Once inside with the door shut behind us, he adds, still loudly enough for Mom to hear, “You were right! Looks like she didn’t bring dessert.”

Kiara turns a deep shade of red. “I didn’t—” she starts.

I shut her up by placing my hand on her mouth, pulling her side flush against mine, and saying, both for Dad and for her, “Now you know how they really treat family in this house.”

Dad makes a face at me and adds, “Your mother made fruit salad.”

I mock clench my heart. “How brutal. Mom looking out for your health.”

“Yeah-yeah-yeah,” he says, then drags Kiara away from me and places his hands on her shoulders. “I’d say welcome to the family, kid, but you’ve always been ours, in a way. It’s just this dimwit here that took his sweet time figuring it out.”

Kiara’s shade of red isn’t showing any sign of improvement. “Um… thanks. I-I’m probably as much to blame—”

“No… nope,” Dad says.

“Dad. Why don’t you leave her alone, yeah, ’fore she changes her mind ’bout me.”

Mom pokes her head out of the kitchen door. “Kiara dear, come over here and help me, will you?” she says, giving Kiara an excuse to leave. “I have no idea what I’m doing here,” she mumbles, and we all know it’s a little white lie to pull her deeper into our fold. No speeches. No teary-eyed declarations. Just what Kiara needed.

At some point during dinner, the conversation rolls to our visit with Annabel Plum. “Oh, I’ve heard of her,” Mom says. “She has her own TV show.”

Dad shakes his fork in the direction of Kiara. “See, that’s what I don’t get. She thinks you’re better’n her. Why don’t ya take her with you to go see the bank? Heck, why doesn’t she finance you?”

“Now that’s an idea,” Kiara jokes. “Seriously though, she said she’d try and help me get into that program in France. Put in a good word for me.”

I wipe my mouth and take a sip of water. “She said that?”

Kiara nods. “Couple days after we left, she emailed me.” She glances my way and shrugs. “It’s a long shot.”

“Well that sounds very exciting,” Mom says. “How long is this training for?”

“Three months.”

Mom glances my way. “Oh, that’s not too bad.”

“I’m also looking at renting space somewhere,” Kiara says, taking a long sip of water as if she’d said something stressful.

“Oh that’s wonderful,” Mom gushes. “Any place in particular?”

“Nothing set yet. But I’m looking at the Dewey’s barn.”

“Oh,” Mom says. “Isn’t that a little out of the way?”

Kiara’s face lights up. “It outside the village, but it’s so dreamy. When you’re inside, all you see is nature. I just love it!” Her enthusiasm quickly dies off. “That’s also a long shot, to be honest.”

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