Page 83 of The Promises We Were Never Meant To Keep

No one made lasagna with a thick layer of shredded spinach and fetta between the noodles. No one bothered with extra sauce, or the shaved ham fried in a pan with butter before being sprinkled on top to crisp with loads of cheese in the oven.

Kenny always teased that I was nuts, until Mom visited, and I invited him over for her lasagna. If Dad wasn’t there, I’m pretty sure he would have proposed. I’m not entirely certain he didn’t whisper some offer to run away to the Caribbean with him while he hugged her goodbye as she stood next to Dad.

It’s a good thing Mom loves Dad. Kenny is a catch.

I enter the unfamiliar house tucked into a patch of trees at the base of the mountain about seven minutes from town limits. It looks like it sprouted from the land it stands on, all stone and timber and earth tones.

I slide out of my shoes. “This is nice, Pop.”

Dad claps a hand on my shoulder, squeezing as he gives me a fatherly shake. It’s a little rough and chocked full of familiarity. “You like it?”

“I do.” I don’t have to ask to know Dad built it for Mom. He always said, when his boys move out, he’s building Mom her dream house. He’d have done it sooner, but Mom wanted us to live in the house she brought us home to until we chose to go.

She always blabbered on about the little boy memories she had of us. Honestly, I’m surprised she let herself move from that house at all.

I guess she still frequents it, though, being that they gifted it to Faye and Tate. Those memories aren’t really gone.

At least not until Faye sells. Or maybe she won’t sell at all. Maybe she’ll bring another man in.

The idea of Faye inviting another man into my childhood home has that knife twisting in my chest. Dad mentioned Tanner was sniffing around…

Jeez, no. No. Not going there.

Prickly heat licks at the back of my neck.

I clear my throat, but Dad beats me to speaking. It’s probably a good thing.

“Got two acres and a shop way bigger than I need.” Dad tucks his fingers into the front pocket of his jeans as he widens his stance. “And the view don’t hurt none.”

The sound of glass clinking precedes Mom’s high-pitched, “Ohhhhhhh you’re heeeerrrrreee!”

She beelines for me, plowing into me the way mothers do. At least, it’s the way my mother does. Every. Time. She. Sees. Me.

“Hey, Mom.” I hug her close.

“I wasn’t sure you’d really come.”

It’s true, I hadn’t agreed to it. Not really.

My eyes slide to Dad’s. He’s wearing the look only a winner wears. I’ve seen it, although rarely, from the opposing team on the ice.

I smirk, letting him know I’ve accepted the challenge—whatever that may be.

His grin drops. He rocks back on his heels as he commands gruffly, “Let the boy in, Elise.”

I catch Mom’s eyes roll as she leans back. Experienced in the art of appeasing Dad, she pats his chest on the way by. “Of course, darling. The lasagna is just finishing up in the oven. Will you stay the night, Holt?”

“No.”

Dad’s head turns like it’s on a swivel. “No?”

“I’ve got a place in town.”

“My son isn’t staying in a damn hotel in his hometown.” Dad says a little too loudly. He takes the beer mom offers but doesn’t take a swig. “We’ve already got a room made up for you. Don’t worry, you’ll have privacy.”

“Thanks.” I take the beer Mom offers me. “I don’t have a hotel room. I’ve got a condo.”

Mom’s brows shoot to her hairline. Dad narrows his eyes as he takes a long pull on his beer. I take a pull from my own, waiting.