Page 18 of Fast Track to Forever
“Come in!” My mum slips into her hostess role, well honed by her years at the lodge.
I see Kat first, and need slams me like fresh snow. She's wearing a knee length skirt with pockets and a tank top. Demure, 50s style, yet to me mouthwatering. My family is exchanging hugs and handshakes with Kat's parents, but I'm under a spell.
“Ehem.” Someone's clearing their throat and it snaps me out of my daydream.
“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Featherstone.” I shake hands with them. “Glad you could come at such short notice.”
“Hey.” Kat kisses me on the cheek before I get a chance to do more and gives a tray to my mum. “I made some raspberry lamington. My special recipe.”
She brought out the big guns. My parents look suitably impressed. Daryl nods.
John says, “I adore lamington. Can't wait to try yours.”
“Would everyone like a drink?” I scan the inventory. “There's beer, cider, bubbly, ginger beer…”
I take orders and hand out drinks to everyone.
Kat just grabs a ginger beer. “I'm the sober driver,” she explains.
Stan, Kat’s dad, leans forward. “When is the next race on the circuit, Will?”
I pick up an olive to stall my answer, trying to understand the undertone of Kat's father's question.
“March in the Emirates. I'm not fully free until then, with training and car development, but I intend to spend as much time with Kat as possible, wherever she is in the world.”
Mr Featherstone nods and takes a sip of his drink. Phew.
“What a pretty outfit, Kat. Love your skirt. Did you make it?” My mum is all sugar and honey.
Kat smooths her skirt and smiles shyly. “I did, Mrs de Jong. I've always loved making my own.”
“Of course you have, dear.” My mom’s smile is as bright as the sun. “Are you planning your own fashion business?”
Kat’s eyes get dreamy. “Yes. Upcycled fashion right now. But one day… my own business.”
I could easily help her with that. Very easily. Would she take my help? That's another matter altogether.
“Childish dreams.” Kat's mum tutts. “What Kat needs is to come back here where she belongs and manage the flour mill.”
My dad speaks too loudly, likely cutting off a conversation he’s recognized is quickly becoming awkward. “Oh, and what wonderful quality the flour is, as always. I made the bread with Featherstone flour. My compliments. I've never had a bad batch.”
Kat's parents look so pleased they could explode. I grab Kat's hand and kiss it. Slowly we're making progress.Veryslowly.
The dads move to the barbecue, the mums discuss salads, Daryl and John have already made themselves scarce.
I grab Kat and spirit her away to a quiet spot in the garden, sheltered by some climbing roses, out of direct sight from the seating area. I wrap my arms around her, and we kiss like flames, hungry for each other and starved for oxygen. “It's been ten hours. But who's counting.” I sigh.
Kat bursts out laughing. “You're terrible. I missed you too.” She nods back at the parents. “How do you think it's going?”
“Not too bad.” I pull her closer. “It's getting better by the minute. “
She laughs but her laughter dies when a shout rings out and agitated voices carry through the air. I grab her hand and we stride fast back to the pergola.
“Fritz here was saying we don't pay enough taxes.” Kat's dad, on the slippery slope to drunkenness, is spoiling for a fight.
I sigh and attempt a joke to diffuse the situation. “I pay enough tax for all of us combined.”
Silence ensues and I notice the burger patties and sausages darkening on the charcoal barbecue. My dad must have beenextra incensed otherwise he wouldn't have let them get to that stage. I raise my eyebrows at Kat, and she jumps up to help. We’re of one mind.
