“I hope you cleared that with Andrea.”
“She’s sweet. You made a smart choice, butI’m your mother.”
“Whatever you say.” He swallowed a bite ofthe sweet potatoes and then washed it down with some water.
“I hope I’m not too late,” his father said,joining them in the dining room.
“Not at all, dear.” His mother beamed.
His father twisted his mouth at him. “I seeyou’re on time.” Then he settled into his chair.
“I was late only one time. You know thereason.”
“One time too many.” His father servedhimself a plate.
Lance bit the inside of his cheek. Nothingpleased the man. Didn’t he attempt to do everything his fatherasked? He even followed in the man’s footsteps in his careerchoice. Lance leaned back in his chair as his mother talked up astorm about Andrea’s wedding dress.
“Something wrong, Lance?” His fatherasked.
Would it matter? “No, sir. I’m fine.”Eventually, he would explode, but voicing his opinion now was outof the question.
He forced himself to eat the baked chicken,grateful for its succulent taste. Better to forget the past at themoment. The present needed his attention. Chantelle was back inDelta Heights. Lance adjusted in his chair once more.
Should he tell his future wife that his exwas...? Lance sipped more water from his glass. He wouldn’t tellAndrea tonight. She’d be too busy to talk. Another thing he neededto address. He wasn’t going into their marriage without themsetting some boundaries. He admired her work, but as he learnedfrom his past mistakes, a relationship wasn’t one-sided.
Chantelle’s eyes flashed in his memory. Thatwas a relationship with two mutual people. He blinked. No thinkingof an ex when marrying another. Yet, he couldn’t deny the flutterin his chest when he saw her at the cemetery. Though she wasvisiting her late father, she stopped by his sister’s grave. That’show thoughtful she was.
A chuckle escaped his lips, but his parentsdidn’t notice. Getting caught in the rain with Chantelle was thelast thing he thought would happen today. Yet, he liked the way herhair kinked and curled. Rain had slid down the column of her neck.Lance cleared his throat.
“Lance?” His mother raised an eyebrow. “Areyou alright?”
He nodded. He wanted to finish dinner so hecould leave.
“Is there a reason you were late fordinner?”
Lance sighed. He figured his mother wouldberate him, eventually. She was a stickler for keeping time too. “Iwas at the gravesite.”
His mother froze in place, holding her forkof sweet potatoes to her lips.
Lance’s father stared at him across thetable. “Not much has changed.”
“No, it hasn’t.”
“I think you go there too often.” His motherpatted her mouth with her napkin.
“I wish you two would go with me sometimes.It’s as if—”
“Don’t upset your mother.” His father’s eyesbore into him.
Lance sat back in his chair. “Upset her how?Why is it so hard to talk about your daughter? My sister?”
His father’s nostrils flared. “Don’t talk tome about losing a—” His eyes widened as if he caught himself. ThenLance’s father lowered his head.
“Losing a what, Dad?” Lance wanted him to sayit. Would his father stoop that low?
“He didn’t mean it.” His mother alwaysinterjected on his behalf. “He means that if you want to visit yoursister, that’s your choice.”
“I’ve lost my appetite.” His father threw hisnapkin on the table, not bothering to excuse himself.
“I guess that’s my cue to leave.” Lance’s ownchair scraped the floor as he stood.
His mother reached for his hand. “He didn’tmean it. We’re working through things in our own way.”
“It would be easier if we did it together.”It had been a little over a decade, but he wouldn’t voice thethought. Lance kissed his mother’s cheek and said goodnight toGlenda. Once outside, he looked at the night sky, clear from therain that had poured earlier. Stars sparkled and a cool breezefanned his skin.
He’d been through this before with hisfather. Tomorrow at the office, they would get back to work. Hisfather may hint at an apology, but they never talked things out.Lance settled into the driver’s seat of his car. He needed to gohome. Too bad he found no comfort there either.
***
“I still don’t understand how you got caughtin the rain,” her mother said.
Chantelle shivered as her teeth chattered.Her mother made a cup of chamomile tea. She sipped the hot liquid,while resting crossed legged on her mother’s couch.
“I didn’t know it would rain.” She tookanother gulp, loving the warmth spreading through her body.
“I hope you don’t catch pneumonia.” Hermother planted her hands on her slim hips.
“I won’t. It’s only a chill.”
Her mother took a seat next to her. “Are yousure you’re okay?”
“Mom, I’m warming up and—”
“Not that. I mean, seeing Lance again. How doyou feel about profiling his wedding?” Her mother’s eyebrows etchedtogether.
“Why would that bother me?” She swallowed herfavorite tea, dropping her eye contact to her cup.
“Chantelle?”
Setting her cup on the coffee table, shewrapped the throw blanket around her shoulders. “I can handle it,Mom.”
“Do you remember the day you came home whenhe first asked you out?” her mother asked.
Chantelle remembered. She rushed to tell hermother the news that her crush and friend, Lance Taylor, had askedher for a date. Her father had only told her one thing.
“Make sure he treats you right,” he had saidin his protective fatherly voice.
Now, as she sat in her mother’s living room,Chantelle’s eyes diverted to her lap. She had been working on achance like this, grateful to Brenda for recognizing her writingskills. Her skin crawled at the thought of her previous editor, whotold her she’d only succeed by her good looks.
In her eyes, beauty was a curse. She was somuch more on the inside than what others deemed exquisite on theoutside. The first person to see her heart outside of the familyhad been… Lance. Chantelle blinked.
“That’s all in the past,” she said, settlinginto the back of the couch.
“If you say so. If you think you can do it, Ibelieve you,” her mother said. “Get some rest.”
Chantelle nodded, snuggling on the couch.Despite her best judgment, she checked the comments on her mostpublicized article she’d written. She’d profiled a famous NFLplayer and his wife,
