Between school and sneaking around to see Alistair, the days flew by. Now, we’re on our way to his parents’ vineyard. I don’t get the jitters until he announces we’re about five minutes away from the property. The knot of anxiety becomes tighter in my stomach, and my hands turn clammy. Looking out the window to appreciate the view does nothing to ease my worries.
What if his parents hate me? What if they think I’m too young for their son?
A charming country farmhouse appears straight ahead. The driveway is lined with tall oak trees and beautiful landscaping. It’s a place that belongs on a postcard or a Pinterest inspiration board.
Alistair parks in front of the house and turns to me. “Ready?”
“No. What are their names again?”
“You’ve asked me a dozen times already. Duncan and Molly. You got this.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’ve never met the parents before.”
He chuckles as he unbuckles his seat belt, then leans across the gap and kisses me. For the first time since meeting him, I don’t melt right away. I’m too nervous to let myself properly enjoy the kiss.
Alistair moves away, frowning a little.
“Don’t worry, Goldi. It’s going to be okay.”
He gets out of the car, and I do the same, but I stay rooted to the spot while Alistair grabs our duffel bags from the trunk and walks around the car toward me. He laces his hand with mine and tugs me toward the house. My heart is beating so fast, it’s a miracle he can’t hear it.
The front door opens before we step onto the porch. A tall man with gray hair fills the frame. He has a full trimmed beard, unlike Alistair, who prefers a scruff. However, it’s impossible to not see the resemblance.
“Hey, Dad.” He hugs the man.
“Alistair, you arrived just in time for lunch.” He turns to me, smiling. “And this must be the lovely Chiara I’ve heard so much about.”
Shit. What could Alistair have possibly told his parents? Do they know I’m his student?
There’s a twinkle of mischief in his dad’s eyes, and I can’t figure out why. I glance at Alistair with a question in my gaze.
“Dad’s being sarcastic. I only told them about you a couple days ago.”
“Oh, that makes me feel so much better,” I joke.
Duncan grins. “It’s okay, honey. Alistair can be a little stingy about sharing information.”
“Nonsense! I tell you everything,” Alistair rebuffs.
His father rolls his eyes. “It’s amazing how you can say that with a straight face.”
“Well, he’s an actor,” I chime in, earning a glare from Alistair.
“Whose side are you on?” he asks.
“Oh, I like her.” Duncan winks at me. “Come in already. I’m hungry.”
Duncan heads inside, but I hesitate until Alistair places a hand on my lower back and pushes me forward. With slow steps, I cross the threshold, taking my time to look at everything. An open living space greets us. The décor is rustic but also homey. I can tell a lot of work was put into picking every piece. It’s lovely.
Alistair drops our duffel bags next to the massive brown leather couch and continues down a wide hallway. The delicious smell of food tells me that’s where the kitchen is. His mother, a petite woman with a red bob, turns as she hears us. She’s wearing an apron that says “Kiss the chef” and holding a wooden spoon in her hand.
“Ah, just in time. Lunch is ready,” she says.
“Dad told us. What did you cook, Mom? It smells delicious.” Alistair places a kiss on her cheek, then proceeds to peer at the pan on the stove.
I remain at the kitchen entrance, unsure of what to do. All my insecurities decide to come to the surface, and I have to control my urge to fidget nervously.
“I figured I’d dust off my old recipe book and make something Italian for Chiara.” She looks at me, smiling. “Come here, sweetie. Don’t be shy.”
I do as she says, not expecting her to hug me. I reciprocate, looking a little startled at Alistair. He just grins at me.
“Oh, my. You’re more petite than I am. I hope you’re being gentle with this one.” She turns to Alistair, and embarrassment makes my cheeks burn.
Is she implying what I think she’s implying?
“Mom! Come on, don’t start.”
Yes, yes she is. I want to die.
Alistair circles around Molly and grabs my hand, dragging me away from the kitchen.
“Where do you think you’re going? Food is ready,” she calls after us.
“I’m going to take our stuff to the guest house and wash up,” he replies.
“Forget it, Molly. I think we’re eating alone,” Duncan grumbles.
I bite my tongue, waiting until we’re outside the main house to turn on Alistair. I hit his arm, not hard enough to do any damage though.
