My dad hums, his tone telling me he knows more than he’s letting on. “If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say you had one too many to drink last night.” His eyebrow arches, and he meets my apologetic stare. “IHOP, Jules? Come on, give your old man a little credit.”
“Never could fool you,” I quip, picking my menu back up and shooting a quick smirk Greyston’s way.
The table falls silent for a moment while we all decide what to eat before our server arrives. She’s a chipper little thing, but I guarantee she makes decent tips because of it.
“Hi there,” she greets. “I’m Mel, and I’ll be your server today. Can I get you all something to drink?”
We all order coffee, and my parents ask for a few more minutes with the menus. Since I know what I’m having already, I put my menu down and notice that Greyston has done the same.
“You know what you’re having?” I ask him, drawing over-the-menu glances from my parents.
“I do,” he replies with a smile and leans on the table. “And you?”
I nod. “Same thing I always have when I feel like this.” He looks at me expectantly, so I continue, blushing because the sheer amount of food I’m about to consume rivals what I saw Toby put away last week. “The International Crepe Passport.” Greyston looks amused—and somewhat impressed—by my choice. Probably because it also comes with eggs, bacon, and sausage. “And you? What are you having?”
“The Breakfast Sampler.”
The server returns then with our coffee, and Mom and Dad are ready to order. Dad and Greyston let Mom and me go first. After Mom orders her spinach and mushroom omelet, I order my meal, having decided on a banana crepe option.
“So the strawberry-banana crepe?” Mel asks, jotting our food down on her little pad of paper.
“No,” Greyston and I say in unison, drawing the undivided attention of both of my parents.
I’m fairly certain my heart skips a beat when our eyes connect and he corrects the order. “Just banana. No strawberries at all.”
“Oh,” Mel says sweetly, looking at me. “I’m sure that won’t be a problem.”
Dad and Greyston order next, and I find it kind of cute that they order the same thing.
The minute Mel leaves to put our orders in, I look across the table at my mom—who’s looking mighty smug and even a little thrilled. I know immediately that Greyston speaking up about my breakfast order has brought their curiosity back to what they walked in on.
“So, things between the two of you seem to be going…well?” Mom inquires not-so-subtly.
Dad’s posture noticeably shifts to Alpha-male mode, and I give him a light kick under the table. “Be nice,” I tell him quietly.
“Always so quick to assume the worst, aren’t you, Jules?”
I open my mouth to protest, but Greyston clears his throat, and when I glance across at him, he’s got an eyebrow arched. “You can’t refute that,” he challenges.
“No,” I grumble, glaring at him playfully. “I suppose I can’t.” Turning back to address my mother’s original question, I smile. “Things are fine.”
“Fine?” she asks, sounding almost incredulous that I haven’t opened up and told her that things were so much better than fine. That, had she and Dad given me five—maybe ten—more minutes, I was pretty sure I could have convinced Greyston that the kitchen counter could have been the perfect place to finish what we started. “Seems like things are a little better than fine.”
I pick up my coffee and take a sip. I know I can’t avoid having this conversation, but I need to find a way to have it in front of my father without wanting the floor to open up and swallow me whole. As it is, my cheeks are on fire, and my hands are trembling.
“Mr. and Mrs. Foster?” Greyston interjects, surprising me a little because he didn’t use their first names like he did at dinner. I can only assume that’s because he’s still feeling a little weird about this morning—and rightfully so. “I know that what you walked in on today was probably the last thing you expected, but I want to assure you both that I care very deeply for your daughter.” His eyes find mine again, and I smile, wishing so badly that we weren’t diagonal from each other so I could reach out and take his hand. “These last couple weeks with her have been…incredible. I would never do anything to hurt or disrespect her…or either one of you, for that matter.”
“While I want to believe you,” my father speaks up, “the simple fact remains that you’ve known each other all of two weeks. Things seem to have escalated rather quickly.”