Shelby had tried on five different outfits, and none of them were even close to being right. She’d gone through jeans and an off-the-shoulder blouse, a pink sundress, an emerald sheath dress, and even a satiny lavender jumpsuit. But none of them were right. None of them would do when it came to seeing Batton’s parents for the first time in ages.
Somehow, even though Sugar Cove was small, Shelby had managed to avoid them like a spy attempting to dodge discovery. This was no small feat in a small town, and she figured if they handed out awards for such a thing, that she would be the front-runner.
After heading back into her closet and pushing aside the clothes again, she finally found a calf-length sapphire-colored skirt loaded with stylish pleats and paired it with a new plum-colored T-shirt that she had bought. The look was perfect—casual but nice. Sunday dinner wasn’t something to simply wear torn-up jeans and an old T-shirt to. Stephanie took the dinner seriously, starting on it as soon as they got home from their church’s early service. She was home by ten and dinner was on the table by twelve. Plus, it was so fancy that it was never referred to by such a common word as lunch. No, in the South, a nice lunch was called dinner, and dinner could still mean supper.
She put on a light coat of lip gloss and studied herself in the mirror. The T-shirt complimented the skirt perfectly. Her fiery hair hung in loose waves over her shoulders. It was done but not overdone, as if she’d tried too hard. And she kept her makeup to a minimum—mascara, blush and lip gloss. Now was not the time to apply her after-five face.
Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. She took a deep breath. “This is going to be fine. You know these people. Don’t worry.”
She scraped off gloss from the corner of her mouth with her pinky and headed into the living room, where her grandmother sat snapping green beans. One of the farmers up the road had sold a ton of them to her grandmother. Crops came in late this far South, which was good because that meant they had fresh vegetables and fruit well into fall.
She stopped snapping beans as soon as Shelby entered. “You look nice.”
“Thank you,” she replied, giving a mock curtsy.
“Stephanie will be impressed by your royal manners.”
Shelby rolled her eyes. “That was only for you.”
“I’m so blessed,” she replied not unkindly. “So, things are going well with Batton?”
“So far.” Why was her stomach doing all this flip-flopping? “We’ll see.”
Her grandmother pulled a string off one side of the beans and dropped it onto a plateful of the castoffs. “Y’all two never should’ve broken up.”
It was impossible to respond to that since Batton had done the breaking up so that Shelby could be with her grandmother and not feel guilty about leaving her.
“And it wouldn’t have bothered me at all if you’d gone off with him,” she added.
“What’s done is done.” A knock came from the front door and her stomach dropped. “Time to go.”
Though Shelby wanted to charge right on out of the house, Batton stepped inside, caught sight of her grandmother.“Mrs. Thompson, so good to see you. You been doing all right?”
“I’ve been doing just fine.” She smiled widely. “Things are always good in Sugar Cove.”
His eyes flashed on Shelby. “Yes, they are.”
Pinpricks danced down her spine when he looked at her. It seemed that her body didn’t forget how to respond to him. When he touched her, it felt like fire was blazing down her skin, and when their gazes caught, butterflies took flight in her stomach.
It was annoying that her body wouldn’t settle down.
“Can I help you snap some beans?” he offered.
What was he doing? They were going to be late.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I insist.”
And before Shelby knew it, Batton was seated on the couch beside her grandmother, snapping beans. Which made Shelby look ridiculous as the lone person out, so she said, “Scoot over. Let me help.”
They snapped beans for a good ten minutes while her grandmother shot questions at Batton—How’re things? How’s your mama? I’m so sorry to hear about your dad. He doing okay?
Frustration built inside Shelby. She didn’t know what was going to happen with Batton, and she didn’t want to give her grandmother ammunition if he left suddenly, abandoning her again. The last thing she needed was to hear, He’s such a nice boy; whatever happened to him? It’s a shame things didn’t work out—again.
That would only put salt on the wounds that would appear if their relationship failed one more time.
Wait. Was it a relationship?
It was certainly something.
Finally Batton brushed his hands and rose. “Looks like we made a good dent in them. If you’re still working on them when we return, I’ll help you finish.”
Her grandmother swatted him. “You don’t have to do that to impress me.”
“I’m not trying to impress you. I’m impressive enough as it is,” he joked in that charming way of his.
She swatted him again, and Shelby swore that heat rose on her grandmother’s cheeks. Time to get out of there.
She practically had to pull him out of the house to get them into his car.
When he opened her door, he leaned down and whispered, “You’re not jealous because you think I was flirting with Vera, are you?”
“No. Now get in. We’re already late.”
“We’re not. Mama told me that she was running behind.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
He shrugged. “Because seeing you frustrated while you snapped beans was too much fun.”
She poked him in the chest. “I’m mad at you.”
“Well try not to show it when we reach my parents’ house,” he replied, eyes sparkling with mischief.
It was impossible to be angry with him, but she rolled her eyes and slid onto the seat. He shut the door and got in.
After he’d started the engine and they were on their way, he glanced over. “You look beautiful, by the way.”
“I smell like green beans.”
He chuckled. “No, you don’t.” Then he leaned over and sniffed. “Never mind. You do.”
If she’d had something in her hand, she would’ve tossed it at him. “Thanks to you.”
“Don’t worry. My parents love green beans. It’ll make them hungry.” She shot him a scorching look and he smiled. “I’m joking. They’re excited to see you. All morning my mom’s been demanding I go pick you up.”
She laughed. “Really?”
“Oh yeah. And Dad’s been the same way. I was tempted to call and ask if I could come sooner to pick you up, but changing the time from eleven to nine thirty didn’t seem like the right thing to do.”
“I was taking a shower then.”
“That’s what I thought.” They drove in silence for a moment until he dropped his hand into the space between them, palm up.
He wanted to hold her hand. They hadn’t done that in…years. She shyly slid her palm over his, and Batton squeezed his fingers around hers before kissing the back of her hand.
“Don’t be nervous.”
Her gaze darted to the window. “I’m not nervous.”
“Your palm’s sweating.”
“It’s a condition—it’s called sweaty palms. They have commercials on TV all the time for a pill that’ll cure it.”
“I haven’t seen them.”
She glanced over and caught him staring at her. A knot swelled in her throat, but she swallowed it down and whispered, “Then you haven’t been looking.”
“Oh, I’ve been looking.” She laughed and he smiled, which lessened the tension that bunched up her shoulders. He squeezed her hand again. “My parents love you. There’s nothing to be nervous about.”
“Okay. I’ll try not to be nervous.”
“What’s in the bag?” he asks, glancing down at her feet.
“Oh, it’s nothing. Just a new tea towel for your mother. I hope she likes it.”
“If it’s from you, she’ll love it.”
Shelby could only hope.
* * *
They arrived at the little bungalow a few minutes later. It was exactly as Shelby remembered it—lemon-yellow boards with white trim and sage-green storm shutters. The front door was painted the same cheery coral as it had been for years.
“Looks the same,” she murmured.
“Wait until you see the inside,” he said mysteriously.
“What does that mean? Did they renovate?”
He winked. “Just wait.”
Stephanie and Chuck answered the door together. Mrs. Deats threw her arms around Shelby’s neck and pulled her close. She smelled of vanilla and citrus, two scents that Shelby loved. She’d forgotten how Stephanie always smelled so good.
“We’ve missed seeing you, darling girl,” she told her, pulling away so that Chuck could give her a hug.
Batton’s father smelled like an old pipe filled with oak shavings. He gave her a pat on the back, and when she pulled away, Shelby saw how haggard and tired he appeared. He was still recovering from open heart surgery and looked like he needed to be resting instead of entertaining guests.
“Come in, come in,” Stephanie ordered.
Batton’s mom looked like a mom—her silvery hair was cut into a bob that flipped inside at the shoulders. She wore a turquoise button-down blouse, white capri pants and sandals. She was perfectly round in the middle. Chuck used to affectionately call her filled out, to which Stephanie would pretend to be angry and flick a towel at him.
Shelby remembered those moments fondly. Batton’s house had always overflowed with love, and part of her felt like his parents had been her own, which was another reason why she’d been so crushed when he left. Batton didn’t just cut himself from her life; he also took Stephanie and Chuck with him.
When she stepped inside, it was like walking into a time capsule. The home looked exactly the same. Somehow Stephanie had brilliantly taken the outside charm of the house and managed to transfer it to the inside.
Exposed birch beams lined the ceiling in the living room. The walls were painted bright white, but one wall was covered in birch paneling, giving the home a comforting, almost nature-like feeling.
The cream-colored couch with overstuffed cushions still sat in the same corner of the open living room. It was accented with sea-green pillows that were just as welcoming as the couch itself.
The entire space was tastefully done and brought back a world of memories—dropping sandy shoes by the door, playing Monopoly on the kitchen table with his parents on rainy days, her grandmother and her coming over to eat big crawfish boils.
Shelby was surprised that she didn’t tear up when she walked in, but she was able to tamp down the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.
“Come in and tell us what you’ve been up to,” Stephanie insisted. “The roast will be done soon.”
A roast! Batton’s mom made the best roast and potatoes. She always served it with homemade yeast rolls and yep, Shelby smelled the faint trace of yeast mingling with the smell of roasted meat.
They sat in the living room, and she answered every question that his parents peppered her with—How was she? What had she been up to? How was her grandmother?
Batton, that lucky dog, sat quietly beside her, not saying a word. Every once in a while her gaze would wander to him, and he’d be sitting there with a small smirk, watching her get asked all the questions while he enjoyed not being interrogated.
But it wasn’t an interrogation, not really. Talking with Stephanie and Chuck came easily. It was as if no time had passed at all. She learned that Chuck was still recovering from surgery, which was obvious, but that he was slowly regaining his strength.
“I don’t know what I’d have done if Batton hadn’t come to help,” he said.
“He’s a good son,” Stephanie said proudly.
“He is,” Shelby agreed.
Then his mom declared that dinner was ready, and they headed to the table. Shelby insisted on helping, and Stephanie allowed it, giving her dishes to place. She noticed that it took Chuck a little longer to get where he was going, but he wasn’t using a walker or any other apparatus to help, so that was good.
When they finished dinner, Batton pulled her from the kitchen, where she was drying dishes. “Come with me.”
She shot a worried glance to his mother. “But I’m helping.”
“Go.” Stephanie waved her off. “We’ve taken up too much of your time already. You don’t have to help. You’re our guest.”
She begrudgingly finished drying the plate she held and let Batton tug her by the hand into his bedroom. As soon as the door was shut, he kissed her.
Her stomach trembled as if it were filled with a thousand birds that had just scattered. His hands were hot as they held her cheeks, and she stood paralyzed for a moment before letting herself sink and enjoy the feel of his soft lips on hers.
This…this was what she wanted. This was what she had been missing for years. She knew that now. Knew that Batton had been the one and only in her life. She had tried to deny it, to convince herself that she didn’t want him. But that wasn’t the case. The only person she wanted was him. And she didn’t have to ask to know that he felt the same way.
They parted, and he pressed his forehead to hers, breath coming heavy. She wrapped her fingers around the neck of his T-shirt and relished the feel of his skin against hers, of all the comfort that he brought her.
“Well?” she said.
“Well, what?”
“Aren’t we going to play with your race cars?”
He barked a laugh and leaned back against the door. His eyes twinkled with amusement when he said, “You still want to?”
She nudged him playfully with her elbow. “That’s what I came over here for.”
“It wasn’t to see my family and enjoy spending time with me?”
“Nope. Not one bit,” she teased.
He laughed and slipped out from against the door. He took her hand and led her to the other side of his bed, where the track and cars were nestled on the floor, just begging to be played with.
She smiled. “You don’t disappoint.”
A shadow slid over his jaw, and his eyes became troubled. “I don’t want to disappoint you, Shelby. Not ever.”
Her heart swelled up, and she thought it might break for the look in his eyes.
He took a step toward her and pressed his mouth to her cheek, murmuring the words again. “Never. I never want to disappoint you again.”
Her knees wobbled and she felt like she might tip over. Somehow she managed to stay upright and wound her arms around his neck. “I don’t want to be disappointed, either.”
He squeezed her waist and brushed his lips over her forehead. “If I can help it, it won’t happen.”
They stood like that a minute before she said, “Are we going to play?”
“Yes.” He smiled and stepped back, letting his fingers slide down her arm to take her hand. “Which car do you want to be—the white one or red one?”
Her brow curled as she replied, “The red one, of course.”
He chuckled and pulled her down to sit beside him. “Then come on. Let’s see who wins.”
But Shelby already knew who had won. It was her. She was the winner, and it had nothing to do with cars.