Page 81 of Changing the Play

He scoffs. “It’s different. I’m not meeting him as my professor. I’m meeting him as my boyfriend’s dad. It’s completely different and you know it.”

I take his hand, rubbing my thumb along the back, stopping him in his tracks, and urge him to turn to face me. “Hey.”

He smiles, his chest expanding on a heavy breath. “Hey.”

“It’s going to be fine. My dad already likes you. He thinks you’re respectful and intelligent, and he’s going to be thrilled we’re together. And my mom will probably beg you to talk about books. It’s like… her whole thing. The two of you could start your own little book club.”

I lean up on my tip-toes and press a kiss to his lips just as the front door opens. I drop back down on my heels and turn to find my mom poking her head out. West tries to back away from me, but that’s not happening, so I just tug him closer and start walking again.

West swallows hard, dropping my hand to hold his out to my mom. “Mrs. Sinclair.”

Mom smiles. “Oh dear, don’t call me that. Elle is fine.” She takes his hand, giving it a shake before dropping it and pulling him into a hug. I catch his eyes widen seconds before she wraps him up in her arms. She’s a tiny slip of a person and seeing her reach so far to hug West has me fighting back a laugh.

When she releases him, he looks a little shell-shocked. She turns to me with a grin. “And my baby.” I get squeezed half to death for a second. “How are you?”

She lets go of me and ushers us in without even giving me a second to answer. “Come in, come in. I’m trying to keep your dad off the food. He’s trying to eat it right out of the pot. I’m going to chop his fingers off for that one of these days.”

I shake my head as West and I follow her into the house. Cutting his fingers off is a threat I’ve heard since I was a small child. It used thescare the crap out of me, but it didn’t take me long to realize she was joking. Then Dad started sneaking my dessert off my plate, and part of me had wished shewasserious.

We trail behind Mom into the kitchen, where the scent of freshly baked garlic bread hits me square in the face. My mouth starts watering almost immediately. It’s been way too long since I’ve been home for dinner.

West inhales deeply beside me, groaning a little under his breath. “Oh my. It smells amazing.”

Mom’s laughter rings out, but it’s Dad who answers. He turns from the stove, trying to look innocent, but there’s a bit of pasta sauce clinging to the corner of his lip. “Thank you. We worked hard on it.”

My mom glares at him. “We?We is a little strong, don’t you think?”

Dad shrugs. “I helped.” He turns to West, holding his hand out. “Thanks for joining us, Weston.”

West shakes his hand. “You can just call me West, sir.”

“Bill.”

“I’m not sure I can call you that,” West says with a small grin.

Dad lets out a booming laugh and leads us into the dining room. “Wine?”

West glances at me like he’s not sure what the right answer is, so I nod. “Sounds good.” I know whatever Mom paired with dinner will be delicious, but my wine knowledge is limited to red, white, and blush.

Dad sets wine glasses in front of us and Mom pours us each a glass, before they disappear from the room together and come back with serving dishes full to the brim with food.

“Oops, forgot plates.” Mom glares at Dad as he takes his seat. “I’ll be right back.” She looks from Dad to me to West. “Ifanyof you touchso much as a crumb of garlic bread before I get back, I swear I’ll start swinging.”

Dad holds his hands up in supplication and West looks at me with wide eyes, like he’s asking if she’s being serious.

Chapter 27

Weston

Is she being serious?

It kind of seems like she was. I glance between Professor Sinclair—there’s no way I’m calling him Bill—and Darcy. Both of them are sitting with their hands in their laps, barely moving. That doesn’t really inspire confidence, so I drop my hands to my lap too. I lean close to Darcy. “I wasn’t going to touch it,” I whisper. I sort of feel like I’m being accused of a crime I didn’t commit.

Not even a crime I wasgoingto commit.

Okay, maybe I was going to. It just smellsso good.

Darcy laughs. “She’s playing. Threats are her love language.”

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