Page 103 of Ice Ice Maybe
Nolan nodded. “They do.”
“Mom says it’s perfect since the team’s on the road and you won’t be working. They have an early dinner engagement they already committed to, but nothing planned after that, hence the dessert and drinks. Dad will have the game on the big screen, and we’ll just hang out and enjoy each other’s company. How does that sound? The dessert will be edible, I promise.”
“Sounds great,” Nolan said. “I’ll let them know.”
“And please tell your mom she doesn’t need to bring anything,” I said, then clarified, “Or prepare anything, if you know what I mean.”
“Indeed, I do,” Nolan said. “Please warn your parents that mine are extremely informal, as you saw for yourself. They usually only dress up for weddings or funerals.”
“I’ll let them know,” I said. “And it probably would be a good idea to warn your parents that mine can be the complete opposite of them. They dress up for almost everything.”
Nolan pulled me close, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Maybe we should make this interesting with a wager. Who loses their cool first? Your dad when my mom tries to start a conga line in his living room? Or my dad when he realizes ‘dressing up’ didn’t mean putting on his fancy sweatpants?”
I smiled. “Do you think they’re going to embarrass us?”
“I can almost guarantee it,” Nolan said. “But there’s no doubt in my mind it will be very entertaining to watch.”
My phone chimed again, and I glanced at the screen.
“Uh-oh,” I said, not believing my eyes.
Nolan’s smile faded. “What’s going on?”
I bit back a laugh, then turned my phone to show him the online video of him and Mitch in the elevator in their compromising position. “You’re going viral.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Nolan
I drove down the coastline street toward the Dalton estate in Sunset Cliffs, still shaking my head at the memory of my parents’ shopping spree earlier in the day at Nordstrom Rack. Despite my protests, they’d insisted on buying new outfits to “fit in” with Zena’s parents. Dad was sporting a crisp navy sports jacket over a light blue button-down, paired with tan slacks and loafers. Mom had opted for an elegant knee-length cocktail dress in a soft sage green that matched her eyes.
I pulled up to the property gate and pressed the call button. After a brief wait, the gate swung open, granting me access. I drove up the winding driveway, and then the Dalton mansion gradually came into view.
Dad leaned forward in his seat and gasped. His eyes widened as he took in the sprawling estate through the windshield.
“Good grief,” he muttered. “How much is Mr. Dalton worth?”
“Twenty-three billion,” I said as I pulled up to the front of the mansion and stuck the car in park.
Dad whistled. “I remember when twenty-three thousand was a lot of money.”
“It still is, dear,” Mom said.
As we got out of the car, Dad fidgeted with his collar. “Why does this darn thing itch so much? I must be allergic to new clothes.”
“Dad, you’ve still got the tag attached,” I pointed out, stifling a laugh. “Mom, you may need to start dressing him.”
She chuckled, reaching over to remove the offending tag and smooth out his jacket. “There. Now you look handsome, dear.”
“I hope so,” he grumbled. “This getup cost me a hundred and fifty bucks.”
We made our way to the front door, Mom clutching a potted succulent from Trader Joe’s, despite my assurances it wasn’t necessary. The doorbell’s chime echoed through the house, and moments later, the door swung open to reveal Mr. and Mrs. Dalton, with Zena by their side.
“Welcome!” Mrs. Dalton began, and that was where her greeting ended as everyone’s jaws collectively dropped.
Mr. Dalton stood there in a vibrant Hawaiian shirt and crisp Dockers, while Mrs. Dalton wore designer jeans and a casually elegant top that said, “Hip” across the chest, a far cry from their usual formal attire. The contrast between our parents’ outfits was so ridiculous and the complete opposite of what they were used to wearing.
“Well, well,” Mr. Dalton said with an amused look, breaking the stunned silence, “it seems we all had the same idea. Macy’s?”
