Page 41 of Sunflower Persona (Classic City Romance #2)

Kori

E xcitement fills me as we pull up the long paved driveway that leads to my childhood home.

My parents must hear the rattling roar of Gage’s car, or maybe they still keep tabs on my location, either way, they step out onto the front porch before he has a chance to put the parking brake on or kill the engine.

My boyfriend, on the other hand, is frozen in the seat beside me.

His spine grew stiffer as we drove through my neighborhood’s streets, and that mask of stone-cold indifference covered the relaxed smile I adore.

After a few seconds of sitting in silence, he squeezes his hand on my thigh and takes in a deep breath.

“You ready for this?” he asks with a rasp to his words.

“They are going to love you. I promise,” I reassure him.

What isn’t there to love?

He nods, climbs out of the car, and comes around to open my door for me.

I’ve told him time and time again he doesn’t need to do that, but he insists it’s something he wants to do, so I let him have it.

I’m sure my parents will appreciate the gesture; my dad has always made a point to “show his girls exactly how women should be treated.”

His grip on my hand borders on painful as we walk to the door. I squeeze back, trying to calm him, but it does nothing to alleviate the tension holding his body rigid beside me.

“There she is,” my mom says as she pulls me in for a hug.

My fingers slip from my boyfriend’s grasp during the exchange, and the distance is only made worse when my dad swoops in to hug me the second my mom lets go.

“How have you been? How are classes? Nothing giving you too much trouble, I hope,” he says as he pulls back.

“No. I—” I start, but I’m interrupted as my mom sets her sights on my guest.

“Oh, and you must be the boyfriend,” she gushes.

I don’t even have to look at my man to know his ears are likely growing flush from the attention.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m Gage Maher. Thank you for inviting me to your home.”

It’s so strange seeing him so formal. My Gage commands rooms with a few words, not whatever this is.

My dad greets him with a firm handshake, and once the initial introductions are done, my mom ushers us inside with the promise of dinner.

The stench of burnt garlic slams into us as we walk through the door.

I lock eyes with Dad and stifle a groan.

It looks like Mom is on a cooking kick again.

I guess it was too much to hope they would order in tonight.

“There are pizza rolls in the freezer if you are still hungry later,” my dad says with a wink as he throws his arm over my shoulder. We both know my mom’s cooking is hardly ever edible. She knows it, too, but that hasn’t stopped her from trying.

Gage trails behind us without grabbing my hand again. Even though it’s only a few feet, that distance between us aches. His touch has become a constant for me—a lifeline when the world gets to be a little too much. I hate how empty my hand feels without it.

As we approach the table, my parents bombard me with their endless stream of questions.

He sits without a word, content to let my parents get it all out.

I take the seat next to him as my mom brings out whatever ungodly concoction she created in that casserole dish.

My hand finds his under the table, and I squeeze his fingers tight in mine.

Nothing is said for several minutes as we all make our plates.

Thank God for premade sides. I can survive off rolls and bagged salad if I need to.

It wouldn’t be the first time. I grab some mac and cheese, too, even though I know it will be runny.

Mom insists on rinsing the noodles once they’re done cooking, even though the instructions explicitly say otherwise, so the cheese sauce never sets right. It’s a real tragedy.

Once everyone is settled, my dad turns his attention to Gage.

“So, Gabe—”

“Gage,” I correct.

“Right. Gage. How old are you, exactly? When Kori said she was bringing home a boyfriend, I was expecting a classmate, not a grown man.”

“I’m thirty-four,” Gage answers, falling into the curt deadpan he uses around strangers.

“I take it you didn’t meet in class, then?” my dad asks.

My head falls back as I stifle a groan. I put my hand on his leg and give it a reassuring squeeze.

“No, sir. I’m not a student.”

“What is it you do, then?”

“I’m a bartender,” Gage tells him, and his shoulders rise as he sinks in his seat.

“And he works at an MMA gym. He’s the head of their kids’ program,” I cut in. I’m not going to let him sell himself short.

“Oh, that’s neat,” Mom says. “So you like children? Do you want some of your own?”

Now it’s my turn to sink in my seat. It’s barely been two months. The topic of kids hasn’t even loomed on the horizon, and now it never will because my mom is going to scare him away by bringing up things that she shouldn’t.

“I love kids. When I was younger, I had dreams of having a large family, but having children isn’t something I want to rush into.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve accepted that it might not be in the cards for me.

I’m not going to pin my hopes on something that might never happen.

” He glances at me, and the look in his eye isn’t something I can place.

He wants kids? Why didn’t I know he wanted kids?

A wave of panic washes over me. Do I want kids? Fuck, I’m practically still a child myself. If I decide I do want kids, it won’t be for several more years. Will he resent waiting? Am I holding him back?

Gage grabs my hand and gives it a soft squeeze, tearing me from the thought spiral.

A revelation strikes me like a bolt of lightning, clearing away all my fears. I do want to have his kids. Not now, but in a few years, I would love to give him the family he’s always dreamed of. For a moment, the mental image of our future is so clear I’m sure it’s a premonition.

“That’s a wise outlook to have,” my mom says with a thoughtful nod. “And how do you feel about crafts?”

Gage pauses for a moment before a smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

“Depends on the type of crafts.”

“I’ve got a large paint by numbers I could use some help with, but I’ve got a few coloring books floating around here somewhere if that’s more up your alley.”

The rest of dinner passes in the same way—my mom asks Gage a million questions, each unrelated to the last, and Gage indulges her curiosities.

My dad doesn’t contribute; he watches with a tight-lipped look on his face.

It’s strange; Mom is the more vocal of the two, but Dad isn’t normally one not to engage. I don’t think I like it very much.

“This was great, Mom,” I lie. No one other than Gage took more than a bite from the cursed casserole, and he didn’t merely eat it—he cleaned his plate and got seconds. “We’ve had a long day. I think it’s time I show Gage to his room.”

“Of course. Tomorrow we can give him the tour. I’ll dig out the scrapbooks. Oh, you’ll just love them.” She turns her attention to him. “Kori was the cutest baby with those chubby cheeks and little pigtail puffs on the top of her head.”

I jump out of my chair and try to pull him up with me. This mission is headed toward catastrophic failure; it’s time to abort. He lets me drag him to his feet but doesn’t divert his attention from my mom.

“I’m looking forward to it. Do you need any help cleaning up before we head to bed?”

Ugh .

Curse him and his manners. Why can’t he be, like, thirteen percent more asshole sometimes? I tug at his arm, but he doesn’t budge until Mom shoos him away, ensuring him she can handle it on her own.

I huff as I drag him up to my room. He isn’t allowed to stay in here with me, but I’m not ready to say goodnight yet.

The door swings open, and I’m hit with the comforting scent of home .

My parents haven’t changed anything. The bed is unmade, covered in a bright pile of blankets and an embarrassing number of plushies, and the walls are still adorned with all my favorite things.

They didn’t let me paint them yellow, no matter how much I begged, so I covered every square inch with posters and art.

You could spend five minutes in here and know everything there is to know about me.

The only things missing are the clothes I took with me, my PC, and Daisy.

With overdramatic flair, I fling myself into the bed, letting the avalanche of covers consume me. The mattress dips with my boyfriend’s weight a few seconds later.

“You good, Low?” he asks, and his hand burrows through the blankets and finds my shoulder.

“I’m sorry. Mom can be a lot sometimes.”

“I think your mom is great. She reminds me a lot of you.”

“What? Really? People normally say I’m more like my dad. I don’t always know how to interact with people, especially strangers, so I tend to fade into the background and observe. Like him. Mom is so sociable. She can talk to anyone without even trying. I don’t have that skill.”

“You could never fade into the background, and those people clearly don’t see you the way I do.”

“And how do you see me?”

“Joy incarnate. My sunflower. The brightest thing in any room.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious. The first time I ever saw you, I was captivated. You were you: wholly, happily, and unapologetically, even if you were out of your element. I wanted to bottle it up and store it away for a rainy day. I guess in a way, I did. I found a way to keep you by my side.”

Tears prickle behind my eyes as my heart swells.

I love him.

I love him so much that it’s a physical pain in my chest.

The words fight against my lips, begging to be let out, but I can’t.

Saying them and hearing nothing in return is far worse than never saying them at all.

If he feels the same, he will say it, and then I’ll let him know how I feel.

I push the words away by sitting up and capturing his lips in a kiss, putting every unspoken feeling into it. That’s all I can give him now.

After a moment of searing heat, Gage pulls away with a groan.

“As much as I love where this is going, it’s best we don’t get carried away. Your dad already hates me. Let’s not give him even more of a reason to.”

“Dad doesn’t hate you,” I protest, but I do put some space between us. He is right that we probably shouldn’t get too physical under my parents’ roof.

“Did you not see the glare he was giving me all throughout dinner?”

“That’s just his face.”

“It’s not the face he was giving you or your mom. I think he about had an aneurysm when he realized how old I am. Honestly, if I were in his shoes, I’d hate me too. You’re his kid, and I’m some older man with no real ambition who’s come to try to take you away.”

“Gage…you know that isn’t how things are between us, right?”

“I know that, but I also know how we look to the outside world. Fuck, I’m probably closer to their age than I am yours.

People are going to talk, and they are going to judge.

I’ve accepted that. You mean far too much to me to let the opinions of others hold any water, but I’m aware of them.

Your dad is too. He might be misguided, but he has your best interests at heart, so I can’t blame him.

Hopefully, by the end of this weekend, he will warm up to me, and if he hasn’t…

well, if he hasn’t, I’ll just have to keep trying.

I’m not the most patient of men, but for you, my reserves are endless. ”

“No bullshit?” My whispered voice cracks from the emotion welling in my throat.

“No bullshit.” The look in his eye is so sincere, so sure, that I can’t help but believe him.

It takes everything in me not to throw myself at him and rip his clothes off. That feeling of all-consuming love courses through me again, begging for an outlet.

“I think I should show you to your room now, or I’m going to do something that would definitely get you on my dad’s bad side.”

“That’s a good idea.” His hoarse voice sends a shiver of need through me.

The air between us is charged, and that feeling doesn’t dissipate as I lead him down the hall to the guest room.

“I’m sorry if it’s a mess. Mom uses it as a workshop sometimes, and the level of chaos depends on her current project.”

I push the door open and breathe a sigh of relief that things are actually organized—at least by Mom’s standards.

It looks like she has come back around to the quilt she’s been working on for the past eight years, but she has the scraps of fabric neatly folded out of the way.

I hover in the doorway, wanting to follow him inside but knowing that defeats the whole purpose.

“I guess this is goodnight, then,” I say, making no actual move to leave.

“Goodnight, Kori.” He cups my face and gives me one last smoldering kiss before he steps away.

“Goodnight,” I mumble, my mind still reeling with need.

The door latches with a soft click , and only then do I let the whispered “I love you” slip out.