He choked on a laugh and opened the car door. She followed him up the four steps to the wraparound porch. The double swing in the right-hand corner invited her to sit on it, and the bistro table with two chairs begged for a tray of tea and biscuits.

“It’s so lovely.”

“Thanks.”

A rush of anxiety swept through her and she rubbed her palms down her thighs. Why was she so nervous? It wasn’t like this was a “meet the parents, meet the parents” kind of dinner. It was just . . . dinner. A gathering together to share food and enjoy company. She was there to be a buffer—whatever that meant.

He gripped her fingers and she prayed he didn’t notice they were clammy.

Of course he noticed. “Don’t get too far from me, okay?”

She frowned. “Okay. I thought you said this was safe enough. Aren’t Travis and Asher somewhere watching the house?”

“Yes, they are, but I wasn’t worried about you, I was worried about me.”

“So, you were serious about the buffer thing?”

He shot her a surprised look. “Of course. I haven’t been this nervous since I asked you out for the first time.”

“You get nervous?” He narrowed his eyes, and she bit her lip on a smile. “Are you going to knock?”

“Knock? No.”

“Then should we leave?”

He twisted the knob. “Nope. I guess it’s go time. For better or worse.”

Interesting choice of words.

He stepped inside and she followed him into the small foyer.

“Gavin? Is that you?” The woman’s voice came from the delicious-smelling kitchen.

“Of course it is. You need to lock your door.”

“Not when I know you’re coming.” She stepped into view, drying her hands on a dishtowel. “And you must be Sarah.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m Priscilla Black. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The woman held out an elegant hand and Sarah shook it. “You have a lovely home.”

“Thank you. Well, come on into the kitchen and grab something to drink. We don’t stand on formality around here.” The woman disappeared back into the kitchen.

Gavin squeezed her hand and led her into the bright, open breakfast room. A table to seat eight sat under a five-bulb chandelier, and just beyond the table was a bar with four stools. Mrs. Black pulled a dish from the oven and set it on the waiting hot plate. “I hope you like chicken casserole.”

“I like just about anything,” Sarah said. “Especially if it’s cooked by someone else.”

“I understand that.”

“Smells good in here.” The gravelly voice came from the man wearing a faded Army T-shirt and a Bahamas baseball cap.

Gavin settled a hand on her lower back. “Dad, this is Sarah. Sarah, this is my father, Tucker Black.”