Her mother just laughed at them and, holding on to my arm, walked with me to their truck.
“I hope you really like my daughter, Eli, because he’s going to put you through the wringer. It's safe to say that after what happened, he trusts no man around our Gwen.”
Well, this is just going to be a good ol' time.
“I do—I really like her,” I said to her, stopping just short of the car as Guinevere and her father talked about something.
He pulled her into a one-armed hug, and of course she couldn’t stay angry, even though she was trying her best to do so.
“I do. Really, ma’am. I’m not sure if she told you, but I would rather just get it out in the open now. It was my fiancée that hers ran off with. Are you going to put me through the wringer, too?”
She smiled. “I guess time will tell. You are here for the whole weekend, after all.”
I wasn’t sure what I was in for.
Guinevere came back to where I stood. “I’m sorry about him, he’s just being…well, being my dad. We are ready to go. Have you ever sat in the back of a pickup truck?”
“It’s fine, and no, I haven’t.”
Whatever he was going to throw at me, I didn’t really mind.
Guinevere
“Wow,” he whispered as we drove farther and farther from the Cypress airport. My home, like most houses there, was in the forest. The way was lined on both sides with thick, moss-covered Sitka spruce trees. He stared up at them like we had traveled into a whole new world, and in a way, we had. The sun peeked through the tree line above us, and everything glowed. It was a…
“A moment of peace in a life of chaos,” he said, his eyes still on the sky above us.
“I was just going to say that. How did you know?”
“You said it once, in an interview.” He looked back at me. “It was for the Forbes article on upcoming artists a while back. They asked you how you liked it in New York, and you said it was nice, but you missed Cypress. For you, it was a place of peace in a life of chaos. I didn’t understand then, but I think I do now.”
“Eli, that interview was almost four years ago.”
“It was.” He smirked, mostly to himself, taking my hand and not going into it further.
I squeezed his hand, smiling to myself. “I have this image of you up late, researching me.”
“That doesn’t sound like a stalker at all. It was after our debate at NYU. I saw how all the students were in love with you, and I wanted to know more. Then you showed me your gallery, and I wanted to know what other people thought, too.”
“Oh no,” I groaned. “I got a few really bad reviews.”
“Screw Jeffery Carlyle from the New York Times. Only a man with a defective heart could be such a critic of your work,” he said.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s what Mr. D’Amour said about you.”
“I wasn’t a critic, I was just…” He tried to think of the word.
“A critic?”
“Uneducated. You can hardly blame me for that. Once I knew a paintbrush from a canvas, I was able to realize you really are talented…stop smiling at me like that.” He leaned toward me, laughing, and rested his head in my lap. “Honestly, though. When I first saw it, I was moved, and you keep moving me.”
“Why can’t I see his head?” my dad yelled.
Eli quickly sat back up.
I wanted to jump out of the car. “Dad!”
“Sorry, sir.” Eli held me back as I turned to the man whistling in the front seat like he hadn’t just killed our moment.
“This was a bad idea,” I muttered to myself.
“Why? You don’t think I can take it?” he asked when we pulled to a stop. “Don’t worry about your dad, Guinevere. Whatever he throws, I’ll do my best. Plus, look at this face. How could anyone hate it?”
Rolling my eyes at him, I stood up.
He jumped out first, reaching up to help me.
“She’s been jumping out of things since the day she was born; she doesn’t need your help, city boy,” my father called out, letting Taigi off his leash.
“It’s called being a gentleman, Dad,” I said to him, jumping down on my own.
“It’s called being a—”
My mother gave him a look, and he didn’t finish his sentence…thankfully.
Eli brought our bags out from the car.
I turned back to him. “You can still run. The airport is only twelve miles from here, that would be a breeze for you,” I said quickly.
“I’m not running from your father, Guinevere, especially after only a few verbal jabs. By the way, your house is beautiful,” he said, stopping to take it in.
Our house was a large log home that sat on the right end of the lake. It was only when you stood at the lake's edge that you could see all the other homes around it. The mountains hung in the background. I took a deep breath, enjoying the warmth.
“Gwen!”
I jumped back when three grown men in plaid shirts and mountain boots ran toward me, lifting me up.
“Guys! Down, now!” I yelled at them as they threw me up.
They laughed, catching me and putting me back on my feet.