The One In My Heart

FOR DINNER WITH HIS PARENTS, Bennett dressed down significantly. Instead of a three-piece suit like the one he had worn for our meal the night before, his outfit consisted of a blazer and a turtleneck over jeans.

I took off the belt and the statement necklace I’d used to punch up my basic grey sheath and swapped out heels for a pair of oxfords. “Should have told me earlier you were going casual.”

“My dad has an instinctive mistrust of men who are too fashionable.”

“Why did he ever work with my father then?” Pater had taken great pride in his fashion-forwardness.

“His prejudice can be overcome, provided the man knows what he’s doing. But we aren’t at that stage yet, so…I’ll pretend to own only jeans and humble blazers.”

As you pretend about so many other things.

“Are you sure you don’t feel a little defenseless in only jeans and a humble blazer? Like you are the Death Star with its shield down?”

He snorted. “I do, unfortunately. And thanks for that simile, by the way, since we all know the Death Star is doomed.”

I patted him on the arm. “It’s okay. I’ll totally blow up Luke Skywalker to save your evil behind.”

Such a beautiful smile spread across his face that for a moment I lost my breath. He laced his fingers with mine. “Thank you for being willing to destroy my childhood idol. And thank you, by the way, for setting up this dinner.”

It never failed to startle me when he held my hand. “You might have spoken too soon,” I told him, tamping down the fluttering in my stomach. “Thank me afterward if you still want to.”

“I’ll be grateful even if it’s a complete disaster.”

“Why?”

“Because you cared enough to make it happen.” He kissed the edge of my palm. “Ready?”


WE ARRIVED AT THE LOBBY a few minutes before eight, but Bennett’s parents were already there—as were Rob and Darren, who immediately greeted us. My heart sank as I smiled and hugged them—would Moira McAllister’s name come up?

The older Somersets came over. Bennett introduced everyone and we engaged in a round of small talk. Rob and Darren had spent their day visiting nearby vineyards and were now headed out to dinner at a little place they’d heard about.

“Let us know if you like the restaurant,” said Bennett.

“Will do,” Rob said cheerfully.

I exhaled: They would go to their dinner and we to ours.

Then Darren, with an affectionate grip of Bennett’s shoulder, said to his parents, “You have a great kid here. I was Moira McAllister’s accountant. After she had cancer for the first time, she was kicked off her insurance and couldn’t get coverage again. So when her cancer came back five years ago, the hospital bills started stacking up—eye-popping sums.

“But Bennett here rode to his old landlady’s rescue and took care of everything—more than once. Which was truly a gift of friendship and generosity. You should be very proud of him.”

All three Somersets looked stunned by this revelation, with Bennett also more than a little discomfited.

I quickly wrapped an arm around his middle. “Oh, they are,” I told Rob and Darren, my voice as full of hearts and kittens as I could make it. “We’re all beyond proud of Bennett. He’s the best.”

“Stop,” Bennett murmured, “you’ll make me blush.”

I went the extra mile and kissed him on his cheek. “Please. I live for it.”

Rob and Darren laughed. They wished us a good evening and left for their dinner. I let go of Bennett to face his parents.

There would be no airing of grievances at this particular dinner—that was for later, between father and son. Tonight was about the truce, about showing that they could sit at a table without being at each other’s throats, to lay the groundwork for when they could be at each other’s throats without once again tearing apart the fabric of the family.

It would have been better accomplished without Moira McAllister’s name being brought up—but it wasn’t as if she wouldn’t have been there anyway, the white elephant in the room.

I smiled at Mr. and Mrs. Somerset. “I admire a man who’s willing to be the knight in shining armor to his ex, especially when they have both moved on. Now, should we head to the restaurant?”


BENNETT AND I HELD HANDS as we walked into the restaurant behind his parents—and let go only when we’d been shown to our table. The reluctance was not on his part alone: My stomach was knotted so tight I felt the strain all the way up in the vertebrae of my neck.

It was too late to run; I was in the trenches with him. If he didn’t succeed, then I’d always carry this failure with me.

But we certainly looked like a family, at least attire-wise: Mr. Somerset too wore a blazer over jeans, and Mrs. Somerset’s dress was a strong echo of mine, except hers was a cheerful coral in color.

As the waiter handed around the menus, Mrs. Somerset asked her son, “You’re still a vegetarian, Bennett?”