Page 68 of Miss Fortune

“Thank you,” I murmured as he pulled out my chair.

My dad’s gaze fixed on the gesture with approval in his expression.

Picking up my menu, I tried to quell my anxiety over having my worlds collide over brunch.

“So, Caleb, are you from around here?” my father inquired.

Caleb’s body stiffened, but it was over and done so quickly I doubted my parents noticed.

“I grew up south of here in Orange County, but I’ve lived in the LA area for the last ten years.”

My mother meticulously spread her linen napkin on her lap. “How long have you two been together?”

I instantly interjected. “We’ve been friends for a few months now.” Which I’d already told her in the car.

“Guess we have a different definition of what friends means in the Midwest. Daisy tells us you’re a lawyer. What type of law do you practice?”

“Family law.”

I hoped to derail the inquisition with talk of food. “The French toast here is divine. So are the chocolate chip pancakes.”

My mother didn’t miss a beat. “You know what the doctor said about your diet, Daisy.”

I sucked in a breath while my father admonished, “Gina.” I knew she wasn’t concerned about my weight, but about my overall heart health which helped soften the comment.

Even so, feeling like a defiant teenage girl, I declared, “I am definitely getting the French toast.”

Caleb took my hand under the table and gave it a squeeze. If I’d ever wondered about my feelings, he had to go and say the most attractive words ever spoken. “If you’re having the French toast, then I’ll get the pancakes.”

My mother huffed. “I’m only worried about you.”

My teeth ground together. “Rest assured I take good care of myself. Now, then, can we have a conversation about anything other than my health?”

“We could talk about your wasted education instead.”

Dammit, Mom, you didn’t make it easy. “On second thought, I’ve lost my appetite. Daddy, it was nice to see you. I hope you enjoy the rest of your visit in LA. Caleb, can you drive me home?”

I stood up, watching as he followed suit, concern etched on his face.

“Buttercup, sit down, please. There will be no more talk about anything other than the weather, the food, or you, Caleb, because you’re new, and frankly one can only talk so much about the weather and the food.” My father gave a pointed look at my mother, who gave a curt nod in agreement.

I sat down slowly, feeling my face heat at the fact my non-boyfriend was witnessing all of this family drama.

But as he reseated himself, he showed himself in rare form, deftly shifting the conversation. “So what’s the weather like in Iowa this time a year?”

Every piece of French toast went into my mouth to make a point to my mother, causing me to continue way beyond satiety. My dad and Caleb weirdly got on to the topic of barbeque and were fervently discussing the importance of a good smoker. Most people only saw Caleb as a successful divorce attorney, but he seemed far more comfortable discussing his plans for his backyard with my father.

“You need to try ribs on your new smoker with maple wood for flavor. Low and slow is the key, with a nice dry rub and saving the sauce for the end,” my dad said, making me smile. The man loved his ribs. With Iowa the nation’s top pork producer, we’d had plenty of it while I’d been growing up.

“We could do a barbeque today if you don’t have other plans.”

Wait. Had Caleb just invited my parents over to his house for dinner? On a Sunday, no less?

My father turned to my mom. “I think that sounds nice. Don’t you, Gina?”

“It does sound nice. Thank you, Caleb.” It was the first thing my mother had said since our blowup.

“It’s a plan, then.”