I shifted and reached to the side table where I’d left my phone. “I don’t know, Dad. Let me just pull up this season’s basketball schedule. I’m thinking . . . Who was the team you played last week? It was close, wasn’t it?”

Dad lunged into the room and grabbed a pillow he then tossed directly at my head. “You watch it, young lady.”

I tossed the pillow back at him with little grace or aim. It landed far and wide, about three feet left of where he stood. He looked at me, then at the pillow, then back at me. “It’s a good thing those soccer goals are so wide.” He looked at Simon. “This is why she’d have never made it as a basketball player.”

“Dad!”

He grinned. “Your young man did well today, Lane. He’s fast. Scored the winning touchdown.”

I looked at Simon, my eyes wide. “You score the winning touchdown and all you say is ‘It was intense’?”

“Fine,” Simon said. “I was awesome. Happy now?”

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

“How’s the cooking going?” Dad asked. “I’d have made you come and play had I known you’d be sitting around here.”

“I haven’t been sitting but for the past ten minutes. Abuela worked us like crazy this morning. She’s making a true Puerto Rican feast.”

“It took her three years before she cooked like this for me.” Dad looked at Simon. “You’re lucky she’s taken to you so fast.”

Simon shot me a sideways glance, and my stomach tightened. “I feel lucky,” he finally said. “She’s an amazing lady.”

“As long as her cooking doesn’t stop Maria from baking a sweet-potato pie, I’ll agree with you.” My dad smiled at us both, glancing over his shoulder in the direction of the kitchen. He leaned forward. “I know this engagement isn’t for real just yet”—he paused but continued to nod his head, his smile warm and sincere. He looked at me—“but I think this is a good match for you, Lane.” Then he turned to Simon. “I can tell you care for my daughter, Simon. I want you to know you have my support.” He stood and walked toward the kitchen. “I’m going to say hello to your mother.”

I let out the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding as I watched my dad walk into the kitchen. I leaned my head back onto the couch. “This is wrong,” I said quietly.

Simon didn’t respond. He stood, running a hand through his hair with a sigh. “Do you mind if I borrow your car?” he asked. “I’m going to go for a drive.”

* * *