Page 116 of That Time We Kissed Under the Mistletoe
“Actually—” She pauses for a breath. “They want to talk to you.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
Three
Plot twist: Sara’s mom and dad have been parked in the driveway this entire time waiting to be invited in. To a house they own.
Apparently, once Sara explained what went down with us ten years ago—plus our last few days together, not to mention her plans to relocate to Abieville—the Hathaways insisted on coming here to have a face-to-face conversation with me.
Gulp.
As a side note: their driver has the day off, so Mr. Hathaway actually drove his family here himself in their town car. For three hours. On Christmas.
Big gulp.
I hear a car door slam out front, and my heart starts thrashing. Or, more accurately, my heart starts thrashing evenmore, because my engines started running pretty hot the moment Sara said she wanted to move here.
For the record, I’m no longer worried about the Hathaways saying something negative about me. Even if they did, I’m not that same kid with a chip on his shoulder I was back then. Muchas I’d like to gain Sara’s parents’ approval, their opinions can’t sway what I know to be true about myself anymore. And anyway, I have to believe Sara wouldn’t bring her parents down here if they were going to thoroughly object to us.
Either way, if we’re going to have a future together, we’d better believe in each other beyond a shadow of a doubt.
She flashes me a quick smile as she pushes through the door just ahead of her parents. They’re both sporting winter-white pants and turtleneck sweaters that look a tad on the itchy side. As if this moment isn’t awkward enough, I’m still wearing the joggers and hoodie I had on when I fell asleep last night. I stand to meet them, extending a hand. Sara’s dad reaches me first.
“Merry Christmas, sir.” I immediately regret the opening line, but my greeting is nothing if not accurate.
“Hello, Three.” His grip is firm, maybe a little extra firm, which makes sense under the circumstances.
I nod at Sara’s mom, my eyes bouncing between her and her firm-handed husband. “It’s good to see you again, Mrs. Hathaway.”
“Please.” She offers me a tentative smile. “We’re all adults. Call us Kate and Charles.”
“I will.” This is what I say, but I’ve already decided Imighttry not to use their names today. Or ever. “Thanks for coming all the way out here.” I glance out the window. “Quite the drive.”
“Sure.” Charles surveys the room, like he’s seeing it for the first time since the renovation. Then again, he probably is. “I used to make the same trip back and forth every weekend over the summers we stayed here.”
I duck my head. “I guess you did.”
“Anyway, we’re glad to get the chance to catch up with you,” Katherine pipes up. “And the place looks wonderful.”
Sara offers to give them a tour, including a stop by the storage room. I stay behind, building a fire in the fireplace, and soaking up the surreal pivot this day has taken. When the three of them return to the living room, Sara joins me overby the mantel, reaching for my hand. She gives my fingers a quick press, and I immediately feel more at ease. That’s the effect she has on me in less than a week.
Well. Less than a week, plus four summers.
“Should we have a seat?” Katherine suggests. She and Charles each take opposite sides of the couch, and Sara moves over to sit between them. While the Hathaways are creating their own little coed triumvirate, I take the lone armchair.
I miss Sara’s hand already.
“If you don’t mind”—Charles tugs at the neck of his sweater—“Katherine and I would like to clear something up with you right away.” I nod in wordless agreement, and he darts quick peeks sideways at his wife and daughter. “Sara shared with us what you overheard here—many years ago—and I’ll be honest with you, Three, I don’t remember that conversation.”
Right.
I’m not surprised the details aren’t burned into Charles Hathaway’s brain. After all, he got his way that day. Within hours, Sara and I were over, which is exactly what the man wanted. Mission accomplished.
“But while the specifics may have escaped me,” he adds, “Idorecall my general sentiments at the time. And I was not in favor of you and Sara pursuing a serious relationship.”
Another nod from me. “Yes, I figured that out.”
“I’d like to claim you misheard me,” he continues, “but that wouldn’t necessarily be true. I probably did say exactly what you remember. And if I sounded judgmental, or my words knocked you down, I’m sorry.”
