Up ahead, he recognized the men he’d met five minutes earlier. But those men now wore bright yellow T-shirts. Matching T-shirts. Along with the rest of the family.
Foster Family Fun-Cation
Christ. Were they for real?
But the closer they got to the group, the more he realized he was being eyeballed. By an older man who must be her father. He stood with his feet shoulder-width apart and his arms clasped behind his back. Military? He looked way too rigid to be an accountant or a salesman. He stood beside an attractive middle-aged woman—presumably Penn’s mother—who held a tiny baby in her arms.
Why didn’t Cole know what her father did for a living? Why didn’t he know anything about any of her family? They’d spent so much time together, though most of the time every word that came out of her mouth was arguing with him.
Cole hadn’t had much experience with the fathers of the women he’d dated. Mostly because he hadn’t dated anyone long enough. This was all new. This was all terrifying.
He wasn’t the man anyone brought home to meet the parents. He was the son of a prostitute, who held no shame in bringing home her tricks. His father— He had no idea who that might even be. He’d often had to steal just to eat, and the cherry on top of his childhood had been the day he was removed from his dirty, unkempt apartment and placed into foster ca
re.
They walked up to her parents, and she squeezed his arm. And just like that, with her simple touch, his uneasiness disappeared.
“Cole, this is my father, Harold Foster. Dad, Cole Murphy.” The older man extended his hand, and Cole grasped the surprisingly solid grip. His salt and pepper hair was cut short, probably with the second highest setting to a shaver. Definitely armed forces.
“Pleasure to meet you, sir.”
“This my mother, Margot.” Penn lifted onto her toes and peeked into the pink blanket. “And this is baby Hannah, Dave and Beth’s little one.”
Cole straightened his shoulders and held out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Foster.” He hoped no one would notice he’d glossed over the baby. He wasn’t much for the goo-goo, ga-ga. “Great T-shirts, sir. Very creative,” he ventured, casting about for something to say.
“Not really, guy,” her brother, Dave, said from his left.
Ian helped Andy pack down some sand into a pail, then flip it over. “Dad, you promised you’d never make us wear these lame T-shirts ever again.”
“Not after the copycat fiasco of 2009,” Beth put in.
Cole leaned down and whispered in Penn’s ear. “The copycat fiasco?”
She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “I’ll tell you later.”
“Nonsense. How else are guests supposed to know who we are and why we’re here?” her father said.
Ian didn’t look too pleased about the Brady Bunch routine. “They’re not. That’s the beauty of this world. Not everyone has to know your business.”
“Beth, dear”—Margot motioned to a pile of bags on the beach—“could you please grab Pennie and Cole a couple of shirts?”
He couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped at hearing her nickname, but he coughed when her hand flew into his stomach.
“I hear you want to compete.” The man didn’t beat around the bush.
Penn tensed at his side. “Yes, Dad. I was wondering if…well, would it be possible if…”
Who was this woman, and what had she done with Penn Foster?
“Then you two are dating?” her mother asked.
The question plunged them into silence. An awkward, tense silence that made it feel like Cole wasn’t the only one waiting for an answer. So was the entire beach.
“No, Mom.” Penn squirmed beside him. “We’re just friends.”
He let out a shaky breath, careful not to make his nervousness so visible. He refused to show any signs of weakness.
“Just friends,” he confirmed, straightening his shoulders and lifting his chin. “From what I gather, your other children have an unfair advantage.” Penn dug her nails into his forearm. He repressed the need to flinch. “I think it’s about time Penn had some equal footing.”