What kind of outfit does one wear to meet the parents? Do I introduce myself as the girl that isn’t in a relationship with their son but wouldn’t mind sleeping with him? The girl who completely appreciates just how awesome his tongue skills were? I snorted. His mom would kick me out and his father would probably congratulate him.

No. He said that his parents knew of me because of the attack. I shook off the jitters and told myself that I was meeting them as just another person he’d helped. He probably did stuff like this all the time. Saved someone and then befriended them . . . wait. Did he save women and then seduce them? I froze, with one leg in the jeans I was pulling on. Did he?

My gut, which was right as often as it was wrong, told me he didn’t. He had looked almost nervous about inviting me to dinner. Men who did something all the time didn’t get nervous about it. When Brandon would lie to me, he had always been convincing. Calm.

Okay.

I kicked the jeans off—they were the wrong color anyway—and dove into the pile that was still next to my closet mirror from last night. I tried each pair on, again. But they didn’t feel right, too tight, too loose, too dark, too light.

I finally decided on a chocolate-brown peasant shirt with tiny yellow flowers and yellow ribbons and my yellow denim shorts. It screamed happy and wholesome.

Then I cleaned up the rest of what remained of Hurricane Failed Date that turned into Awesome Oral with Hot Greek Guy before grabbing my brown cowboy boots and shutting my closet doors.

By the time Kayson arrived, my apartment was spotless and smelled of cinnamon and apples. Around noon, I’d decided that flowers weren’t enough and had tossed my kitchen, looking for the ingredients to make . . . something . . . anything to bring with me. Thankfully, I had everything to make a pie. If it tasted half as good as it smelled, then it was going to be a hit.

“Did you cook?” Kayson asked with astonishment.

“Yes. Don’t act so surprised. I’m a pretty good cook. But today I baked an apple pie to bring to your folks.”

Speaking of desserts, Kayson looked delicious. He wore khaki cargo shorts and a navy T-shirt. His forearms stretched the fabric at the sleeves, making it seem as if the shirt was made just for his body. Ripping my eyes away from his biceps, I slipped my purse over my shoulder and nodded to the pie.

“Could you grab that for me?”

“Of course.”

I locked my apartment and then went through my safety routine: lock the door, check the deadbolt, and fix the tape.

“Always the same way?” he asked.

“Always. My apartment doesn’t allow the installation of security systems.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Because if the next tenant doesn’t want it, then there are all these wires and the box. And to hardwire them, the techs have to crawl into space between apartments.”

“That is fucked up.”

He and I were in agreement on that point. There were new wireless systems for apartment renters, but the monthly monitoring fees were astronomical.

Kayson opened his truck door for me and helped me in, pressing the auto start on his key fob, then once again leaning over to make sure the air conditioner vents were directed toward me before closing the door. He placed the pie on the floorboard of the backseat and then moved a towel and what looked like a first-aid kit around it to keep it from sliding around. It was a sweet and thoughtful gesture.

“I wish I were a mind reader,” Kayson said as he brushed my cheek with the back of his knuckles.

“Just thinking about how you take care of things, like putting stuff around the pie so it didn’t slide and get all smashed.”

Kayson put his truck in gear and pulled out of my apartment complex.

His eyes darkened, and his voice softened. “There are a lot of things that I want to take care of.”

Red flares flashed in my brain, telling me to abort, abort, abort. I needed to pull this conversation back onto my safe ground.

“So, tell me about your mom. What’s her first name? Are you sure she won’t mind?” I picked at a loose thread at the hem of my shirt. “What about your daddy, will he care?” That damn thread bothered the hell out of me.

Kayson took his right hand off the steering wheel and gave my leg a quick squeeze. “Let me try to remember all those questions. My mom’s name is Christine, she is nosy and will ask a million questions, but she is the kindest person I know. My dad, we call him Pop, will love having you there if for no other reason than Mana will be happy. That is all that man worries about.”

“I’m sorry. I’m nervous. Thank you for this morning.” I felt heat rise in my cheeks when I realized exactly what all I was thanking him for and not just breakfast. Well, not just my breakfast.

A smile titled at the corner of Kayson’s mouth as he drove to a store that looked more like a head shop with its psychedelic spinners and lava lamps in the window displays. But they were set off by gorgeous floral arrangements, and the name Flower Power seemed to bring the whole look together. As we walked in, a lady greeted us by handing me a sheet of waxed paper to hold the buds and blooms that I pulled from the glass refrigerators.

“Each type of flower has a meaning.” I wanted him to understand why I felt it was important to select each flower personally.

“Which ones mean sex?”

Typical.

I laughed and shook my head, pointedly ignoring his question as I selected three large flowers the color of port wine.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Dahlias, they represent kindness.”

“And those?” he pointed to the white flowers I had just pulled from a bucket.

“Mini Calla Lilies, they mean beauty. And these are Zinnias.” I added the fuchsia-colored flowers to the mix. “They symbolize thoughtful friend.”

I arranged the flowers to see how they’d look bunched together and then fluffed the arrangement with a few sprigs of cotton stems and fern before declaring the bouquet complete.

“Are girls pulled aside and taught this flower language at some point in school?”

“Most of us know the basics, red roses for love, yellow for falling out of love or jealousy.”

“What the fuck? There’s a flower to say, ‘I no longer love you’?”

“There’s a flower to say just about anything.”

“How about I’m horny?”

“Do you think about anything else?” I asked.

“Food. Football. You.”

“Charming.”

Kayson held out his hands as if asking for mercy, and I laughed. This man and his words melted my heart, but only a little. I had heard sweet talk before. Hell, my daddy was the king of it.

“To answer your question, coral-colored roses mean I’m horny. They’re a cross between red and orange. Red is passion and orange is fantasy. It literally means passionate fantasy.”

“So, if I say, ‘I’m coral rosing,’ a woman will understand me?”

“Hate to burst your bubble,” I said between fits of laughter, “but probably not. I took a class on floral design, and we learned the meanings. I’m a rare breed.”

“You’re one of a kind.” Kayson’s words were soft, almost a whisper, but I still heard him. My heart had this way of flitting like a butterfly whenever he was around, which was very off-putting. I needed to work harder to steel myself against him.

I gave him a smile and handed over the bouquet to the cashier while I dug into my purse for my wallet. But Kayson beat me to the punch and forked over his card.

“These are from me; I want to pay,” I said.

“Just because I paid doesn’t mean they can’t be from you. When you’re with me, I’d like to do the paying.”

“Neanderthal much?” He smiled as if I hadn’t just insulted him.

He drove to his parents’ house, and we chatted about the difference between Florida and Alabama. Kayson had traveled all over the world but had never been to Alabama. He wasn’t missing much.

“Well, some parts of the state are nothing but suffering, and people are barely making ends meet. Then there are areas where you feel like you’ve stepped back to the antebellum time and everything there seems to move slower. Those are the towns where people sit and chat over a glass of lemonade on the porch for hours.”

When he turned onto Pente Loop, Kayson took over the conversation and pointed out his house and each of his brothers’ houses along the way.

“When we turned twenty-five, Mana and Pop gave each of us a house.”

“Holy shit. Who the hell gives a house as a birthday gift?”

He laughed and gave me a sideways glance. “The type of people who want to keep their kids close. The houses are all on my parents’ property. I think the only reason Pop went along with it was because Mana told him it would make her happy, and he would do just about anything to make her happy. Plus, he owns Christakos Construction, so it wasn’t too much of a hardship.”

Still, that was one hell of a gift.

“My mama always gave me embossed monogram linen stationary,” I said with a cheeky grin, as if that was the same caliber as a house. “And the first thing she expected me to do with my stationary was to write thank-you notes to everyone who gave me a gift for my birthday.”

Kayson gave me a sweet smile.

“Did you design your house?” I asked.

“Damon, my oldest brother, is an architect. He works with Pop. I picked out the style, but he did everything else.”

“Can I see it?”

“We can go by after dinner if you want.”

“I’d like that.” Which was the truth.

Kayson pulled up to a sprawling ranch style home with a large wrap around porch. It was well kempt and the landscaping was envy inducing.

“This is the house you grew up in?”

“Yep. Pop renovated it a few years back, but it’s still home. What about your parents’ house? Did you live in the same house all of your life?” Kayson asked me.

“Yeah. It was just Mama and me, though.” I held my breath, praying he didn’t ask about my daddy. Thankfully, he didn’t.

“You miss it?”

“I miss my mama. But, no I don’t miss the house. It didn’t hold a ton of great memories.”

“Then we’ll just have to find some ways to make great memories,” Kayson said as he got out of his truck and strode around to open my door for me.

“Are you sure I’m dressed okay?”

Self-doubt hit me, this whole meet the family had a strange, we-are-in-a-relationship feel to it and it had me fidgeting nervously with the hem of my top.

“You look stunning.”

I nodded. “Thank you. I have to admit I’m really nervous right now.”

“Growing up did you ever have dinner at your friend’s houses?”

“Not the same.”

“Why?” Kayson asked. “Why isn’t it the same, Ariel?”

“It just isn’t, all right?”

Kayson’s hand touched my cheek before sliding to cup my chin.

“Admit it. You know it and so do I. There’s something between us. I can’t put words to it, yet, but I will—soon. There’s something about you that’s familiar, like I’ve known you forever.”

“It’s because you got to play my knight in shining armor for a few minutes when you rescued me.” A few minutes were all I’d ever get, if I got a lifelong knight, he’d probably look more like Mr. Bean wrapped in aluminum foil than he did Kayson Christakos.

“Whatever you say.” Kayson chuckled as he grabbed the pie from the floor of the backseat while I hopped down from the truck.

With his free hand resting on my back, we walked up to the front door and wandered in.

The smell of lemon filled the air, and I could sense the laughter and love that radiated from the walls giving the house its homey feeling. This house epitomized family. Kayson led me through the enormous house and into a beautiful family room that had photos hanging in four columns on the wall, one for each son. I stopped, running my eyes over the column that was all Kayson. He looked just like his dad.

“These your parents?” I asked, gesturing to a group photo taken when Kayson was probably in his teens.

“Yep. We were cruising around Crete.”

They were all on a boat together, but it was the look in the dad’s eyes that made me swoon. He was looking at Kayson’s mom with what I could only describe as absolute adoration.

“Does he always look at your mother like that?”

“Like they’re ready to get a room any moment?” Kayson asked, shaking his head in mock horror.

“Yeah, just like that.”

“Always.”

At that, he guided me away from the pictures, through the dining room, past a parlor—or at least that was what we called it in Alabama—and into the kitchen. His mother was there, and as soon as she spotted us, she grabbed a towel to dry off her manicured hands. Her smile matched the house, big and bright.

“Mana, I’d like you to mee—”

“Ariel,” Kayson’s mother said as if she knew me. She had a slight accent to her voice, but I found it soothing.

“Hello, Mrs. Christakos. It is lovely to meet you. These are for you,” I said, and handed her the bouquet of flowers while Kayson set the pie on the counter. “You have a lovely home.”

She didn’t inhale their beautiful fragrance like most people would have. Instead, she focused on me.

“You call me Christine. I want to look at you.” Handing the flowers to Kayson, she reached for my hands and held them in hers. “You’re so beautiful. No wonder my boy is smitten.”

Smitten? I looked to Kayson, but he wasn’t saying a word. I couldn’t even read anything in his eyes.

“Would you like some help? I love to cook.”

“Please.”

“What are you making?”

“Avgolemono. It is chicken with a lemon sauce.”

“Tell me what I need to do. I’d love to learn.”

“Go. Leave us be.” Christine flittered her fingers, shooing Kayson away.

Kayson grabbed a beer, turned and kissed his mother’s cheek before dropping one on mine. As he walked through the sliding glass door that lead to a pool with a built in waterfall, he stopped and turned to look at me, my heart fluttered. My eyes flashed back toward the wall where that photo of his father hung, that look. My heart raced, shit, I was too young to be having a heart attack.

“Smitten.” Christine’s lilt penetrated my panic attack.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he was that elusive one. Maybe I should grab hold before he was gone.