Page 43 of Room to Spare (The Fixer Upper #2)

NINETEEN

Keaton’s hands tightened on the steering wheel as he pulled into his parents’ driveway, his knuckles white against the dark leather.

The familiar two-story colonial with its perfectly maintained landscaping loomed ahead, simultaneously comforting and intimidating.

Tonight felt different from any other dinner with his family, and it wasn’t only because they were meeting on Friday instead of Sunday.

Tonight, he was bringing Jules to officially meet his father, not as Paige’s friend, but as his partner.

“You know,” Jules said, breaking the silence that had stretched between them since they’d left town, “your death grip on that wheel is making me think this dinner might be more dangerous than you let on.” They reached over, gently prying one of Keaton’s hands from the wheel and lacing their fingers through his.

“What’s the worst that could happen? Your dad doesn’t approve of us dating and I have to fake my own death and move to Canada? ”

Keaton snorted, the tension in his shoulders loosening slightly. “My dad will like you just fine. It’s me I’m worried about.”

Jules raised an eyebrow. “Your dad doesn’t like you? That seems unlikely, given how much Paige talks about him bragging about you to anyone who’ll listen.”

“It’s not that.” Keaton killed the engine, turning to face Jules fully. “I just… I’ve never brought anyone home to meet him before. Not like this.”

Understanding dawned on Jules’s face. “Ah. So this is a big deal then?”

“Yeah.” The admission felt heavier than it should, laden with years of seeking approval, of trying to live up to expectations. “My dad’s opinion means a lot to me. Probably too much, if you ask my friends.”

Jules squeezed his hand. “Well, lucky for you, I’m extremely charming. Just ask your mom and sister. They adore me. Besides, it’s not like I’ve never met your dad before.”

Keaton couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. “That’s true. Though Paige would love anyone who makes fun of me, so I’m not sure that counts.”

He didn’t point out that Jules being Paige’s friend was much different from this.

While his dad had always made it abundantly clear his love was unconditional, Keaton knew he struggled with his son’s sexuality.

And having someone who basically flipped the bird to social norms by his side ran the risk of upsetting the apple cart.

“It absolutely counts.” Jules leaned over, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “Come on. I’m starving.”

As they climbed out of the truck, Keaton noticed his thumb absently tracing the old scar on his hand—a nervous habit he’d never quite broken. Jules caught the movement, reaching out to cover his hand with their own as they walked up the path to the front door.

“It’s going to be fine,” Jules murmured.”I promise not to bribe him into telling any embarrassing stories about you. At least, not until dessert. Besides, I’m pretty sure Paige has already told me most of them.”

Before Keaton could respond, the front door swung open, revealing his mother with her arms already outstretched.

“There you are!” his mom exclaimed, pulling Jules into a warm hug. “I was starting to think you two had gotten lost.”

“Sorry, Mom,” Keaton said, accepting his own hug. “We got held up at the apartment.”

His mom waved a dismissive hand. “Well, you’re here now. That’s what matters.” She ushered them inside, her hand on Jules’s back. “Your father’s out back tending the smoker. Paige is already here, nursing a glass of wine and complaining about the school board.”

The familiar scent of home—a mixture of his mother’s perfume, fresh-baked bread, and furniture polish—enveloped Keaton as they stepped into the foyer.

Family photos lined the walls, chronicling years of milestones and mundane moments alike.

He caught Jules glancing at them, a smile playing at the corners of their mouth.

“Oh my god, I forgot you used to have braces.” Jules pointed to a particularly awkward school photo.

“That’s eighth grade,” his mom confirmed with a laugh. “He was so mad about having to get them right before the spring dance the year before.”

“Mom,” Keaton groaned, feeling heat creep up his neck.

“What? You were adorable.” His mom patted his cheek before turning back to Jules. “I have an entire album of his awkward phase if you’re interested.”

“Absolutely,” Jules replied, grinning. “I need all the blackmail material I can get.”

From the living room, Paige appeared, wine glass in hand and a mischievous gleam in her eye. “Jules! You actually came!” She pulled them into a one-armed hug. “I was beginning to think my brother had chickened out.”

Keaton rolled his eyes. “Nice to see you too, squirt.”

Paige stuck her tongue out at him, a childish gesture that somehow never failed to make him feel like they were kids again. “Dad’s been out back for an hour, fussing over the smoker like it might run away if he turns his back. I think he’s nervous about sticking his foot in his mouth.”

“Why would Dad be nervous?” Keaton asked, genuinely confused.

Paige and his mom exchanged a look that Keaton couldn’t quite decipher.

“Because,” Paige said slowly, as if explaining to a child, “this is the first time you’ve ever brought someone home to meet him. Like, ever.”

“I’ve had people over before,” Keaton protested weakly.

“Luke and Finn don’t count,” Paige countered. “You know damn well what I meant. Bringing home someone you’re dating is a huge deal, and you’re not the only one who worries about screwing up.”

Keaton felt Jules’s hand slip into his, a small gesture of solidarity that somehow centered him. “Well, we should probably head out back then,” he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “Don’t want to keep him waiting.”

The backyard was his father’s pride and joy—a meticulously maintained space with a stone patio, a fire pit surrounded by Adirondack chairs, and a sprawling lawn that stretched to a small vegetable garden at the far end.

His dad was hunched over the smoker, his back to them as they stepped through the French doors.

“Dad,” Keaton called, his voice steady despite the flutter in his stomach. “We’re here.”

His dad turned, his weathered face breaking into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes—not from displeasure, but from the careful assessment Keaton recognized all too well. It was the same look his father gave to a potential job site, measuring and evaluating before committing.

“About time,” his dad said, setting down the spatula and wiping his hands on a towel tucked into his belt. “Was starting to think you’d gotten lost.”

“Traffic,” Keaton lied easily, knowing his father would see through it but appreciating the humor.”You know how it can be. The city really ought to think about turning Main Street into four lanes.”

His dad stepped forward, extending his hand to Jules. “It’s good to see you again, Jules.”

Jules took his hand, their grip firm and confident. “Thank you for inviting me, Mr. Anderson.”

“Call me Michael,” he said, his handshake lingering a moment longer than necessary, measuring strength and character in a single grip. “Hopefully, my son hasn’t been telling too many tall tales.”

“Only the good ones,” Jules assured him with a smile. “Though Paige has been filling in some of the gaps.”

His dad’s eyebrow quirked up, a hint of amusement flickering across his face. “I’ll bet she has. That girl never could keep a secret.”

“I heard that!” Paige called from the doorway, where she and his mom were carrying out dishes to the patio table.

The tension in Keaton’s shoulders eased slightly at the familiar banter. This was normal. This was family. He could do this.

“Can I help with anything?” Jules asked, already moving toward his mom.

“You’re our guest,” his mom protested, but Jules was already taking a bowl from her hands.

“I insist. Besides, it gives me a chance to get all the dirt on Keaton from the women in his life.”

His dad chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that Keaton hadn’t heard in a while. “Smart one, aren’t they?” he said quietly to Keaton as Jules followed his mom back inside, Paige trailing behind them.

His dad emphasized Jules’s pronouns as if he wanted it known he’d been informed and was trying. Keaton appreciated that Paige—and it had to be Paige—had talked to him. That had been one of Keaton’s fears about facing tonight.

“Yeah,” Keaton agreed, watching them go with a warmth spreading through his chest. “They are.”

“So, this is serious then?” The question, though expected, still caught Keaton off guard. His father had never been one for beating around the bush.

“Yeah,” he admitted, the single syllable carrying more weight than he’d intended. “It is.”

His dad nodded, his focus seemingly on the meat sizzling before him. “Good. You deserve someone who makes you smile like that.”

Keaton blinked, surprised by the simple acceptance. “Like what?”

“Like they hung the moon and stars just for you.” His dad glanced up, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Your mother used to look at me that way, back when we were young and I wasn’t such a grumpy old man.”

“You’re not that grumpy,” Keaton said automatically, then added with a small smile, “most of the time.”

His dad barked out a laugh. “There it is. I was wondering when you’d stop walking on eggshells around me.

” He closed the grill lid and turned to face Keaton fully.

“You don’t need my approval, son. Not for this.

Not for anything, really. But for what it’s worth, I like them.

From what I remember, they were always respectful when they were here with Paige, and they make you happy. That’s what really matters.”

Coming from his father, that was high praise indeed. Keaton felt something tight and anxious in his chest begin to unravel. “Thanks, Dad.”