Panic widens his eyes as Harbor looks around. I would laugh, but my dad is actually here in his truck, parked at the curb with the passenger side window rolled down. “You didn’t text me back,” he says, but his eyes are glued to the guy beside me.

With the phone in my hand, I see the three missed texts and one call that went to voicemail. Yikes. “Hey, Dad,” I say, sounding as chipper as I can despite being not only busted with a man he doesn’t know but said man also making me forget to text my dad. I move to the truck quickly before he gets out and this becomes a whole thing that it’s not. “I’m sorry. I stopped at TJ’s to grab coffee and ran into a friend.”

My dad glares over my shoulder, and mumbles, “A friend, huh?”

“Hello, Mr. . . .” Harbor goes quiet after approaching.

Under my breath, I whisper, “Summerlin.”

“Mr. Summerlin. It’s nice to meet you.”

My dad was never a cop, but he gives off the vibes when he wants to intimidate. Resting his arms on the thin steering wheel, he eyes Harbor. “And you are?”

Harbor moves to my side and holds out his hand. My dad doesn’t bother, standing his ground. The left side of his face pinches as he looks him over, and from experience, that’s never a good thing.

Lowering his hand, Harbor replies, “Harbor Westcott, sir.”

“Let me guess,” my dad starts and then leans back. “From Beacon Pointe?” His tone isn’t rude, but he calls things how he sees them.

“Yes, sir.” Harbor’s tone stays as solid as his demeanor, which I think matches his character. My dad will appreciate that. “How did you know?”

“The car might have been a giveaway.”

“Right. Well, speaking of cars, I should probably go.”

Jumping into the exchange, I say, “Harbor gave me a ride home since it was dark.”

My dad looks into the rearview mirror and then back at us again. “How’d you fit her bike in a Ghibli Modena?”

Harbor’s surprise matches mine. He asks, “You know cars?”

I start to laugh when my dad shakes his head. “Yeah, I know cars.” He finally directs his gaze on me. Since the engine is rumbling, he shifts the old Ford truck into gear. “Next time, text me, Pip. I’ll come get you.”

“I will. Sorry for worrying you.”

My dad looks at Harbor one more time. “Thanks for making sure she got home safely.”

“My pleasure.” He receives a glare for that. Harbor is quick to add, “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Summerlin.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Pushing the gas, he pulls away from the curb, leaving the two of us alone again and standing in awkward silence.

When the taillights disappear down the street, Harbor turns to me, and says, “That was fun.”

I burst out laughing, but I feel my cheeks heat. “That was mortifying.”

Gently knocking his elbow into my, he grins. “Nothing to be mortified about. You met my mom. Now I’ve met your dad. All seems right to me.”