Page 105 of Love on Deck

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Lauren

It didn’t take long to pick up Jack’s fixed car from the shop in Beeler. I followed him back to the Fletcher homestead and parked on the gravel behind his sedan. A weird sense of familiarity came over me, like I was returning home. I had been to Jack’s childhood home a total of once, so this wasn’t exactly warranted. I shook it off to greet his parents on the porch.

Mrs. Fletcher welcomed me with a wide hug. Her hair was still perfectly teased, though it looked a little blonder, if that was possible. “Y’all come on inside, now. It’s cold out here,” she cooed, her voice like warm honey drizzled over cornbread. “What did I do to deserve visits two weekends in a row?”

Mr. Fletcher dipped his head stoically behind her, and I returned it with a smile.

“Had to pick up my car in Beeler,” Jack explained while we were ushered inside, our jackets taken and hung near the door. “Can we stay the weekend?”

“As though you need to ask.” Mrs. Fletcher sounded mildly offended. Her warmth and sense of welcoming was unmatched. She was exactly the sunny, glowing soul who made you want to take your shoes off and stay a while.

“We’re heading to look at a trailer tomorrow,” Mr. Fletcher said. “Afraid it’ll take all day.”

Mrs. Fletcher frowned. “We can be home tomorrow night, can’t we?”

“Might be late—”

“That’s fine.”

He nodded, walking away. “Better see if I can cancel that hotel, then.”

“Thanks, love,” Mrs. Fletcher called, unapologetically.

Jack merely looked amused. “I will choose not to be offended that you were fine being gone through Sunday when it was just me visiting, but now that Lauren’s here, you’re gonna hightail it home tomorrow night.”

“I can’t stay gone with a guest in the house, honey. You know that. Who would make Sunday breakfast?”

“Lauren?” he asked.

I laughed, but Mrs. Fletcher swatted her son. “Don’t pretend you were raised to have no manners.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Mrs. Fletcher took my arm, pulling me into the family room and onto the sofa. “Now, Lauren, are you hungry? I have leftover shepherd’s pie or I can fix you a sandwich real quick.”

“I ate before we came, but thank you. Jack made dinner.” I thought she’d appreciate that extra tidbit.

Her gaze tracked over to her son, her blonde eyebrows lifting. “Guess you’re using those manners after all.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned. “I’m not hungry either, in case that was relevant information.”

Mrs. Fletcher sent him a soft smile before turning it back on me. Being in the middle of their playful, jovial banter was soothing. I was swept up in the homey, comfortable feeling they provided. What made this house different from the rest? Why did stepping inside give me the impression that I could take a load off and breathe? It was nothing particularly special, the sofa no more comfortable than anyone else’s, the smell no more pleasantly distinct.

I looked around the family room while Mrs. Fletcher and Jack chatted about a few mutual acquaintances in town, Jack’s mother doing her best to fill me in on who was who to whom. Not that I was paying much attention or remembering anything she said. Nothing here was new. It wasn’t beat down or aged in a noticeable way, more worn from use and care. That was part of what set this house apart. It had to be. It was thoroughly lived in.

The Fletchers, though—they were the biggest reason.

“Borrowing another nightgown?” Mrs. Fletcher asked me.

“I packed a bag this time.” I caught Jack’s smile and looked away. “I like to be prepared.”

“It’s one of the things I love about her.”

My eyes shot to his, noting their almost imperceptible widening. Phew. It had been a slip of the tongue. Time to joke us back to normal. “Of course it is. How else would we have avoided an extra half-hour in traffic on our way here?”

“Because you looked ahead and figured it out,” he guessed. “That’s actually a pretty normal thing to do.”

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