I tap my eyes with the back of my hand. “I have a hard time with nice emotions, okay? I don’t know how to process them. Just say something mean to me, and I’ll snap right back.”

“Yeah, silly woman. Not happening.” He opens the door and props it open with his shoe. “And don’t cry, because then my mom will cry because no one cries alone in her presence.”

I close my eyes for a moment and then open them. “There. I’m over it.”

“Just like that?”

“Yeah, I just pretended like you said I couldn’t have a whistle at practice, and it recentered me.”

He shakes his head as I walk past.

Cole leads me into a small living room filled with enough collectibles to fill a small mall. There are baskets and candles and a clock on the wall that’s stopped telling time. Little pink hearts hanging off a rope that’s dangling around the neck of the Swifts mascot. Pictures dot the space—most of them of or including Cole.

“Hi, Palmer,” Lawrence says, rising from a recliner. “Welcome. Glad you could come for dinner.”

“Thank you, Mr. Beck.”

He gives me a look that reminds me of Cole when he’s adorably irritated. “It’s Lawrence.”

I smile at him.

“Are y’all ready to eat?” Casey shouts from the dining room.

“Coming,” Cole calls back to her.

He presses his hand lightly against the small of my back and leads me into a dining room that’s open to the kitchen. Ethan is at the stove with Casey, holding a bowl as she scoops mashed potatoes from the pot into the vessel.

“Get yourself settled at the table,” Casey says. “Ethan and I will be there in just a second.”

“Don’t expect your boy to eat much,” Lawrence says, chuckling. “I think Casey gave him a dozen cookies.”

“Don’t be a snitch!” Casey shouts from the kitchen. “Mind your business, Lawrence.”

I laugh and sit in the chair that Cole pulls out for me. My heart soars, but I don’t have time to really register it as Cole sits at the head of the table beside me. Lawrence sits across from him.

Casey and Ethan join us. They place the bowl of potatoes and the salt and pepper shakers on the table before sitting down.

“This looks wonderful,” I say, in awe of the spread in front of us. It’s nothing short of a small buffet with the roast and vegetables cooked around it. There’s also the bowl of mashed potatoes, ears of corn on the cob, green beans with ham chunks, and sliced tomatoes and onions.

“Yes, Mom. It does,” Cole says. “Thank you.”

“It’s an awful lot of starch,” Lawrence says.

Casey hushes her husband with a look. “We didn’t know what you liked, and everyone likes a starch.”

I laugh.