“Should I call you Jonah or Mr. Parkes?” she asks.
“Jonah’s fine, and don’t feel like you have to keep your distance. If you’re nervous or you need to talk, come get me and we’ll go inside.”
As much as I’d prefer to introduce Teagan as my girlfriend, the chances of that news getting back to Mary would be guaranteed. Everyone at the firm knows my sister and her husband. The only reason they aren’t coming today is because the in-laws invited them to the lake house for the weekend—a fact Mary kindly informed me of when she showed up at the house yesterday afternoon without calling first.
Luckily, Teagan and I had just gotten back from grocery shopping and were in the middle of putting away packages of meat and paperware. If my sister had shown up even ten minutes later, I have no doubt she’d have walked in on a much more outrageous game of hide-the-sausage.
Not being able to touch Teagan or introduce her as mine means I’m going to have to keep an eye out for bachelors on the prowl—namely Mike and Austin.
Teagan finishes molding the burger patties and then washes her hands. “Do you need help bringing anything out?”
Frankly, I can handle the rest, but she’s obviously nervous and looking for a way to occupy herself. I hand her a stack of paper plates and napkins, then motion for her to follow me out to the deck where I’ve set up a long buffet table and a separate round table with folding chairs. More chairs and two more tables are positioned on the freshly mowed lawn, plus a small picnic table for the kids.
I give Teagan the task of draping the tablecloths while I uncover the veggie platters and fill a big bowl with potato chips. When I notice her standing off to the side, hugging her middle like she’s trying to comfort herself, I wrap my arms around her from behind.
“They’re gonna love you,” I tell her.
She gives me some of her weight and sighs. “How do you know?”
“Because I love you.” I kiss her cheek and nuzzle her neck, pulling away just in time for Austin to waltz through my backyard gate like he owns the joint. Come to think of it, he may have installed the gate himself, but that’s beside the point.
“Hey, man,” he says, holding up a foil-covered baking sheet. “Where’d you want these?”
I point to the table beside the gas grill. Austin likes to slow-cook his ribs in the oven for a few hours before finishing them off over a flame. They’re damn delicious, though you’d be hard pressed to get me to admit that to his face.
“Austin,” I say, “this is Teagan, the girl who’s staying with me.”
“Hey, Teagan.” He sets the tray down and offers her his hand. She stares at it for a second, like a deer in headlights, before finally taking it. “I hear we have much in common.”
She squints. “Like what?”
“An appreciation for big, hearty breakfasts, for starters.”
Her mouth tilts into a shy, confused smile.
“Excuse my VP,” I say. “He mistakes bad jokes for conversation. Austin, come help me bring out the meat.”
“The man needs help with his meat.” He winks at Teagan and follows me into the house.
“She seems nice,” he says to my back.
I grunt in response. Once we’re in the kitchen, I hand him the tray of burger patties and tell him, “Don’t get any ideas. She’s off limits.”
“Just making an observation.” He smirks. “How old is she, anyway? Eighteen? Nineteen?”
“Somewhere in that ballpark.”
He lets out a long whistle. “That’s a dangerous age. Old enough to think you know everything. Too young to know better.”
At thirty-eight, I suppose I should know better than to get involved with a girl who’s not even old enough to drink. By society’s standards, Teagan’s way too young for me, but society can go fuck itself. I was meant to find her, meant to take her in and care for her when she needed me most. Hell, part of me wishes I’d found her sooner. Anything to have spared her even a few minutes of the pain she experienced growing up in the system.
Back on the deck, I start up the grill and ask Austin to prop the gate open so people know to come straight through rather than ring the doorbell. While he’s off doing that, I give Teagan’s hand a reassuring squeeze.
“You’re doing great, sweetheart,” I tell her.
A few minutes later, Lamar Jones, my VP of Construction, announces, “The party has arrived,” as he strides through the gate, his arms weighted with brightly-covered canvas bags.
Lamar’s three little girls come rushing through behind him, followed by his wife Cherise—our Chief Estimator—carrying a large container of some kind of salad. I leave Austin to man the grill and jog over to take the salad off her hands.