“Or maybe I just give him the keys and let him go for a drive by himself?”

“It’s worth a try.” I run my fingers down his plaid button-up and then tap right over his heart. “Oh, and don’t mention The Pointe Estates.”

He tilts his head, his eyes staring through squinted lids. “So don’t mention where I grew up? Gotcha.”

“It’s not about you, babe. It’s about Liz. It’s not worth treading into those choppy waters.”

“Got it. No Pointe. No estates. Beer. Food. Sports. And you.”

“Hey, you made a rhyme.”

He chuckles. “Let’s do this. I have plans for you later.”

Turning around, I shake my ass as I take the last step. “Huh. Wonder if they’ll clash with the plans I have for you.” I glance over my shoulder and give him a little wink.

“Fuck, I hope so.”

I open the screen door and reach for the knob on the front door. “Oh yeah, don’t swear in front of him.”

“Really? I didn’t think your dad was—”

“Her dad was what?” Dad opens the door, pulling the knob out of my hand, and instantly silencing Harbor.

Harbor holds out the food. “I brought a side dish.”

My dad grumbles, looking back and forth between the white baking dish and my boyfriend, and then turns around to go inside. “Better not be Brussels sprouts.”

“There’s bacon in them,” Harbor replies, doing his best sales job. When I look back, a bead of sweat is forming on his hairline. He looks nervous. Now I’m not the only one. “Fuck,” he says under his breath. Whispering, he says, “I knew I should have gone with the mac and cheese.”

I take the dish from him and go inside the house, only pausing once Harbor is in the door, so I can say. “Don’t worry. He’ll eat them.”

The familiar sound of grumbling is heard, but this time it’s Harbor, not my dad. “This is starting off great,” he says sarcastically.

Wishing I could hold it back, but I can’t, so I laugh. “Come on. Let’s go out back.”

I leave the Brussels sprouts inside the oven. It’s not on, but I’m hoping to keep them warm until we’re ready to eat. In the back, I get my dad and Harbor settled in the nice chairs, each with a beer. They’re content watching me rather than interacting with each other, so I try to instigate a conversation that will get them talking. I say, “Harbor gave me a Yankees jersey, a real one like they sell at the stadium shop.”

My dad’s eyes shift to Harbor. “What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion,” he replies. “I knew she always wanted one, so I thought I’d surprise her.” Oh crap.

There are two ways to take that—as defense—he got me what my dad couldn’t afford. Or offense—he got her something that she’s always wanted. I have no idea how my dad will take it.

Gulping the beer, my dad lowers it right after. His gaze moves from me to Harbor when he says, “That’s a nice gift.”