The speakers flare. “You okay back there, Regina?”
Grinning, I peer down the plane aisle toward the cockpit to find him glancing past his shoulder at me. He’s wearing a headset and has a twinkle in his eye that makes my stomach warm. He winks and says, “We’ll be landing shortly, buckle up.”
I check my seat belt and watch the mix of dry and irrigated Texas land patches come closer and closer. My nerves and excitement keep building. I wonder when I’ve ever looked forward to something as much as I do to spending time with him.
After he lands the plane effortlessly, we head down the tarmac toward a large SUV waiting outside.
Soon we’re heading out of the airport and into the city and toward a sprawling two-story house set amidst oaks and cedars and a driveway dotted with stylishly cut rosemary bushes.
I’m excited to be here. As we head up the driveway, I notice that Tahoe’s more interested in my reaction than anything else.
“You grew up here?”
“In the city, yes, the home, no. I bought it for my parents when I was able to upgrade them—a token of gratitude for putting up with me.” He smirks then leads me toward the front door.
I soon realize that everything is definitely bigger in Texas. The guys, their hands, feet, and definitely their houses. “Mi casa es su casa,” he says with a smirk, drawing it out in Spanish. His hand is light and coaxing on my back as he leads me forward and it makes me feel a sense of protection.
His mother is the epitome of what a mother should look like. Warm, slightly chubby, with rosy cheeks and neatly cropped hair and a lovely old-fashioned dress. His father is tall and blond, as blue-eyed as Tahoe. Their faces light up at the sight of him walking through the front door. But his mother’s smile instantly turns into a frown.
“A beard? Oh no. I like my son clean shaven, thank you very much,” his mom says, kissing him noisily.
“It’s not your beard to shave, Momma,” he smirks, smacking her with a kiss.
“Oh, I can’t stand the feel of facial hair!” She laughs and rubs his cheek, and Tahoe looks at me and gives me a smile that sends my pulse racing.
I can, I think, then I frown and push the thought aside.
“Tahoe! Did you ask Saint about my internship? I’m graduating next year.” A girl of about twenty with blonde hair and a cute sundress walks in from the living room. She glances meaningfully at her watch, as if saying her time is running out.
“I told you, you can intern with me,” he says, rumpling her hair.
She groans. “I want something challenging. Not my big brother cutting me slack.”
“Fine then, I’ll ask Carmichael. He’s the biggest asshole in business this world knows. Content?”
She hesitates, then purses her lips. “Perfectly. Don’t forget, Tahoe. I’m going to ride you on this,” she warns.
“Trust me, I’ll handle it.”
He signals at me then. “I brought a friend.”
His mother’s eyes turn round as saucers. “Oh.” She blinks. “Ohhhh, a girlfriend.”
“No,” I abruptly interject. “I mean, yes, a girl friend, but not girlfriend.”
“My brother doesn’t have girls who are friends, so you’re as rare as if you were the latter,” the sister says wryly. “Livvy,” she introduces herself.
“Gina.”
“Never brought anyone home,” I hear his father say, looking at his son with shining, hopeful eyes before he comes and hugs me.
*
We all sit down for dinner together.
My happiness is momentarily dulled when I compare his family to mine.
I’m relieved when T-Rex drops beside me and hands me a drink, almost as if he sensed I needed it. “Thanks,” I say with a grin.
When his mom and sister bring out the next course, Tahoe kicks my ankle, drawing my gaze to his. “You okay?” he asks. He’s staring at me knowingly, his blue eyes sharp as tacks.
“Yes. I mean…” I shrug, and I laugh ruefully. “I envy your relationship with your parents. I can tell you’re close even if you may not see each other often.”
He frowns thoughtfully, and I can see him start to get frustrated on my behalf. His lips curl in a regretful smile. “How long has it been since you saw your parents?”
“It’ll be two years this Christmas. I love them, and I know they love me. But it’s hard to be close with so much distance. So many years of scattered phone calls. Distance creates distance and then you stop wanting to get close.”
Our eyes hold in silence. He hands me his drink when he sees I’ve finished mine, and I appreciate him not giving me his opinion at all. I appreciate him listening—the fact that he asked.
I sit next to him quietly as everyone chats, and I take a sip, and he takes my fingers in his and squeezes reassuringly. “You’ve got us.”
“Damn right,” I say, imitating his drawl.