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I know what he’s asking without him actually saying the words. “Yeah, your grandpa said you weren’t home, so…”
He nods, refusing to meet my eyes. “So dinner?”
“Yeah.” I smile. “Dad got some deal on steaks, so he’s grilling.”
Jace’s eyebrows shoot up. “Steaks, huh?”
I nod, bite down on my lip to stop my grin from widening.
Flicking his hair away from his eyes, he asks, “Is your mom there?”
“No.” I haven’t seen or spoken to her since the night she admitted she’d rather me dead. The night before Jace told me I was beautiful. Sometimes she picks up extra shifts and opts to sleep in the hospital. Other times, who knows? All I know is that she’s barely home, and I prefer it that way.
“Just give me fifteen to shower, and I’ll be right over.”
As promised, Jace shows up fifteen minutes later, parking his van in the rear of the property instead of the driveway. He’s switched his running clothes to dark jeans and a gray shirt beneath a navy-blue, unbuttoned short-sleeve button up, and it’s clear he’s dressed up for the occasion. Not at all necessary, but I’mdefinitelynot complaining.
He greets my dad first, a firm handshake followed by, “Thanks for having me, sir.”
They have a brief conversation before he makes his way over to me sitting on the back steps. He’s barely sat down beside me before I say, “You didn’t have to dress up.”
He shrugs. “You look so pretty, I thought it was a special occasion.”
I look down at what I’m wearing—a simple white summer dress with tiny purple flowers. It’s nothing special, but I don’t wear dresses to school or work, and so Jace has never seen me in one before.
You look so pretty.
Such simple words, and yet, it’s enough to make the butterflies swarm in my stomach.
You look so pretty.
I carry the words with me all throughout dinner, barely able to focus on the conversation occurring right in front of me.
Dad and Jace talk ball, of course, from college to pros. They talk about invitationals and combines, and Jace even brings upGlory Road.Dad suggests other movies and documentaries he should watch, and the only thing I can think about, the only thing I can clearly hear in my head, is:
You look so pretty.
After dinner, Dad asks Jace, “You have a ball with you?”
“Always,” Jace replies.
Dad flicks his head toward the backyard. “One on one?”
Jace’s face lights up. “Sure.”
“Go easy,” Dad tells him. “It’s been a while.”
It’s clear after five minutes that whatever skills Dad gained playing ball, even in college, are nowhere even near Jace’s level now.
“Harlow,” Dad huffs, already out of breath. “Give your old man a hand.”
Ball held at his side, Jace looks toward me sitting on the back step again and quirks an eyebrow. “You play?”
I stand and remove my sandals, then put my hands out in front of me, asking for the ball. He throws it to me, and I catch it, then take two steps forward.
I shoot.
Score.