I’m not sure how many beers my dad has drunk, but this is very unlike him. He looks sober. Glancing at Harbor, he, for some reason, doesn’t look worried at all.

This is a horrible plan.

And just might be our undoing.

“They’re coming over,” Harbor says enthusiastically.

Crap.

I bolt from the stool and run to the living room. I leave the TV on since the game has started, but I turn down the volume. I fluff the pillows on the couch and drape the throw over the back of the couch. Taking the hem of my shirt, I run it over the dusty side table and am about to starfish the coffee table to wipe it down when my dad asks, “What are you doing, Lark?”

“Straightening.”

“I straightened before you came over.”

“Just a few missed spots.”

“Are you embarrassed?” Direct. Leaving no wiggle room to fib.

“I’m not embarrassed of you or the house.”

He sits down in his chair and rests forward, his eyes locked on mine. “Look, Pipsqueak, it’s not the Ritz-Carlton or Beacon Pointe, but it’s our home, and it’s almost paid off. So you can run around here like your head was cut off and try to nitpick your way into a pretty picture, but your roots will always be here with me. Sports on Sundays. Your pink room from when that used to be your favorite color. And iced tea or a cold beer on the back patio. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Harbor grew up in The Pointe Estates.” My dad’s eyes are steady on mine, no crack in expression. “I’m not telling you to upset you. I’m telling you to prepare you. His parents still live there. It might even be the biggest property in the estates.”

Harbor leans against the wall that divides the kitchen and asks, “Is that a problem?”

My dad stands, walking through the kitchen, and replies, “Not for me, but you two might want to have a conversation.”

When he goes out back, Harbor and I are left standing there. The silence extends between us as we stare at each other. He finally says, “I need to ask you something, Lark, and I need you to be honest with me.”

“I’m always honest with you.”

He nods, looking down at the can of beer in his hand. He takes a deep breath and then looks up again. I’m not sure if it’s his stance and how he fits right in here, the way disappointment and sincerity flickers through his eyes, or what it is, but a sense of devastation fills me.

Harbor stays where he is, and says, “I love you, Lark. More than anything I’ve ever loved before and have a feeling anything from here after. That’s how strong I feel about you. Do you love me the same?” Direct. As if he learned from the best.

“I do.” No hesitation. I speak from the heart. “I love you so much. That’s what I fall back on anytime I struggle with the curveball thrown that day.”