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Jarret
Jarret pulled his shirt on over his head as he stepped to the window in Zoe’s bedroom. Oak trees with bare branches and well-manicured bushes separated the McGowans’ tidy back yard from neighbors behind and to each side. He’d hate living like that. Like Papa, he loved his privacy.
Zoe gazed at herself in the dresser mirror while combing her silky black hair, a stately look of indifference on her face.
“I don’t see why I have to meet your folks.” He walked around the bed, trying to make eye contact in the mirror. “Just because Keefe went over Caitlyn’s . . . Those are their rules.”
Still combing her hair, Zoe paid him no attention. Her eyes hadn’t even twitched.
“We don’t play by those rules.” He came up behind her, watching her through the mirror. “Why does anything have to change? I like the way we have it. Don’t you?”
Still combing.
He grabbed her wrist.
She shot a glance through the mirror. “I want you to meet my parents.”
He released his grip, took a breath, and exhaled loudly to show his irritation. “What if they don’t like me?” He yanked the band from his hair to fix his ponytail.
She gave him a smile, the kind a girl makes when she sees a puppy.
“What if they won’t let me see you?” With a gentle tug, he turned her to face him. “Are you gonna sneak around with me?” He leaned to kiss her lips, but she laughed, so he landed a kiss on her neck. “I need you.”
She pushed him away. “You don’t need me. You just like—”
The front door creaked open.
Jarret and Zoe spun to face the closed bedroom door. She gasped. He dashed to the window.
“Don’t be silly,” she whispered. “You can’t climb out the window. Even if you could, the dining room is right downstairs.” She pointed to her bathroom door. “Go in there. I’ll go downstairs and give you a signal when the coast is clear.”
Heart pounding, he did as told and ran softly for the bathroom. What kind of a man was her father anyway? What would he do if he found a boy in his daughter’s bedroom?
Jarret stopped at the bathroom door. “Hey,” he whispered, stopping her from turning the knob. “What kind of a signal?”
“I don’t know. I’ll . . . I’ll turn on the hall light.” She opened the door and looked back. “Don’t forget your boots are down there.”
“Yeah.” He ducked into the bathroom and listened.
“Zoe!” A man’s angry voice shook the house.
“Coming.” She descended the steps, making soft footfalls. “You’re home early. I haven’t even started dinner. Do you remember Jarret’s coming over to meet you?” Her voice quieted as she moved through the house. A cabinet door banged, a pan slid . . .
Jarret crept from the bathroom and stood by the bedroom door. She had left it open a crack so he could watch for the hall light.
“Well, where is he? Is that his car in the drive?”
“Shoot!” Jarret restrained himself from hitting the wall. Zoe had told him to park down the street, but he said they had plenty of time, and he could move his car later.
“You weren’t here yet, so he went for a walk.” Zoe sounded relaxed, completely in control of herself. “Maybe he’s in the backyard.”
A screen door slid open . . . shut. “There’s no one back there. If I find out you’ve had a boy in the house—”
“Oh, Dad, don’t be silly. Do you want a pop or spring water?”
“Water. Set it on the table.” He sounded calmer but nearer. “I need to change out of this suit.” A step creaked.
Jarret’s eyes bugged.
Mr. McGowan climbed the stairs.
A surge of adrenaline made a jump from the window seem doable. Jarret turned in a circle, his gaze darting to the window, to the closet, to the bathroom— He dashed for the bathroom and climbed into the tub. He should’ve come over later, at the time they expected him. Would Mr. McGowan peek into her room? What would he think of her messy bed?
Footsteps sounded in the hall. Her bedroom door squeaked.
Jarret’s heart leaped to his throat. He held his breath.
The footfalls continued down the hall. Then the door at the end of the hall clicked shut.
Jarret breathed, his mouth going dry and heartrate quickening. Every muscle in his body felt ready for action. Time to run.
He scrambled out of the tub and scooted to the bedroom door. He was not waiting for the hall light. Inching forward, he peeked around the doorframe.
The door across the hallway hung open, the door to the master bedroom at the end of the hallway . . . closed.
Jarret dashed down the stairs.
Zoe squatted by the pile of shoes near the front door. She stood up with his boots in her hands and her eyes round. “Get out of here. Pretend you were taking a walk.”
He nodded, yanked open the front door, and stumbled onto the front porch. She closed the door behind him. He dropped a boot and shoved his foot into it. Took a step toward the porch steps. Dropped the other boot and—
A white Lincoln pulled in the driveway, parking next to his car.
“Flipping son-of-a duck!” He shoved his foot into the other boot and spun to face the front door, lifting a fist as if he had just come to knock on it.
“Hello.” A petite woman with a silky dark bob peeked at him over the Lincoln. The car door slammed. “You must be Jarret.” She took long steps, walking around the car.
He nodded, still trying to wriggle his foot into his boot. “And you must be Zoe’s mother.”
Fumbling with her purse and car keys, she stepped up and joined him on the porch. She had an attractive smile and dark eyes like Zoe’s. She stuck a slender arm out, reaching to shake his hand. “Nice to meet you, Jarret.”
He wiped his sweaty palm on his jeans and took her hand. “Yeah, same.”
“Come on in.” Mrs. McGowan opened the door and stepped in first. “Zoe, your boyfriend’s here.” She slipped out of her dark heels and dropped them on the pile of shoes.
Jarret pried his boots back off and followed her down the hall toward the kitchen. The house smelled of spicy chicken . . . already. Zoe was fast.
Before they reached the kitchen, Zoe peeked around the corner. “Hi, Mom. Hi, Jarret.”
Mrs. McGowan washed her hands in the kitchen sink and opened a cupboard. Mr. McGowan’s heavy footfalls sounded on the stairs, in the hall, in the kitchen. He stopped behind Jarret.
Jarret’s skin crawled. He turned, wishing his heart would stop trying to break through his ribs. “Hi.”
“Hello.” Mr. McGowan was a towering figure with a grim mouth and vulture-like eyes. “Is that your Chrysler in the driveway?” He pushed past Jarret and grabbed a pile of mail from the countertop.
“Yeah. Did you want me to move it?”
Zoe stirred something in a pan and set the spoon down. Smiling playfully, she took Jarret by the hand and led him to a chair at the kitchen table. “Dad, this is Jarret.”
Mr. McGowan sat across from him, glancing up from the mail. “You came over early, huh?”
“Well, I . . .” He had no idea what to say.
“I told him the wrong time,” Zoe said casually. “Jarret, would you like a pop?”
Jarret nodded.
“You’re kind of young to have a car, aren’t you?” Mr. McGowan didn’t look up from the mail this time.
“Uh, I’m sixteen. I’ll be seventeen in a few months.” Maybe that wasn’t a good answer. Zoe had turned fifteen over the summer. Would he care?
“What grade are you in?”
“Eleventh.”
“What’s your father do for a living?”
“Uh—”
“Honey, stop grilling him.” Mrs. McGowan carried plates to the table. “Jarret’s our guest. Let’s just have a nice dinner.” She flashed a sweet smile at Jarret, but it did nothing to calm the violence inside him.
“Just making small talk,” Mr. McGowan said with his eyes on the mail. “How does a boy your age get a car like that? Do you have a job?”
Jarret gritted his teeth. He didn’t like the man, not at all. And Mr. McGowan obviously didn’t like him. It was only a matter of time before the two of them butted horns. Why couldn’t Zoe have left things the way they were? There was no reason he needed to meet her parents. It’s not like he and Zoe planned on marrying anytime soon. They were just hanging out and having fun.