I think I agreed to date Noah. My gaze drifts to him and then over to my father sitting in the front passenger seat.

“He’s so handsome,” my mom whispers from beside me.

After Noah and I finished my new table, we went to a store to buy chairs. I almost passed out when I saw how much they were, so Noah took me to a second hand shop instead. I wasn’t able to find enough matching chairs that I liked to make a complete set.

It worked out though because I found two cool benches that I’m going to use with two of the chairs. I got all four for less than one chair from the other place. We brought them back to my house and set up my dining room. I was so overwhelmed by how great it looked I agreed to let Noah drive me to the airport.

Why is it impossible to say no to him?

My plan has now morphed into a new plan, one that includes Noah. After all of our kisses, I’ve decided I want to keep on kissing him. I’ve also decided, after experiencing his body pressed to mine, I don’t want that to end either.

I’ve worked side by side with him for months now. I feel like I know him better than my ex-husband of ten years. That doesn’t mean I’m anywhere near ready to dive into this. No, I’m sitting on the edge of the dating pool with my toes in. But so far, the water feels great.

“I know,” I whisper back.

“Why didn’t you tell me you started seeing each other?” She asks, her voice low so it won’t carry to the front row.

“It only happened last night,” I admit.

Her eyes widen and move back to Noah. “I can’t wait to tell Charlotte and Jane.”

My aunts are going to freak.

“I brought some things for you from home.”

When I look over at her I’m surprised that she doesn’t meet my gaze. “What things?”

Everything I wanted I brought with me when I moved.

She glances my way before reaching for my hand. “A box of odds and ends and some photo albums.”

I tug my hand free, not ready to think about the album she might be talking about. I need to change the subject, now.

“His parents are coming for dinner tonight,” I blurt, loud enough for my dad to look back at me.

My mother goes ramrod straight and silent, which is never a good thing.

“Mama?” I ask.

Slowly, she turns her head so she can glare at me. “They are going to meet me after twelve hours of travel in which my clothes have wrinkled and my skin has been dried out from two separate flights?”

Instead of answering her, I ask Noah, “How long do you think it will take to get to my house?”

“Thirty or so minutes. Want me to step on it?”

“Yes, please,” I say, loud enough for him to hear, my eyes on my mom.

She pulls a mirror from her purse and starts powdering her nose.

“Your folks are coming over for dinner?” My dad asks Noah.

“Yes sir,” he replies.

My dad nods, enjoying the sir. “Tell me about them.”

Noah clears his throat and I feel guilty for my dad putting him on the spot. “Dad, no inquisitions please.”

“No, no. It’s fine,” Noah assures me. “My mom and dad have been married for forty-one years. They were high school sweethearts. My family owns a local building supply store. My mom and dad ran it together for over twenty-five years and my older brother, Eli, runs it now.”

“Do you have any other brothers or sisters?” Dad queries.

“There are five of us. Eli is the oldest, and then me; next is my brother Asher, my sister Abby and Gideon is the baby.”

“Four boys,” my mom says, sympathetically.

“We sure kept our parents on their toes,” Noah laughs.

“From middle school on I felt like a glorified taxi driver with all of Finley’s extracurriculars,” my mom complains.

“Eli and I were driving once Abby and Gideon needed rides. My mom made sure we all pitched in.”

“Your family sounds close.” There’s appreciation clear in dad’s tone.

It was one thing he never liked about Allen. The Wiltshire’s were not warm and inviting. They couldn’t be bothered with meeting my parents. Even after our marriage, we rarely saw Allen’s parents. It was sad how uninterested they were in spending any time together.

When we get to my house, my mom spends one minute looking at the first floor before racing upstairs, her carry-on in hand, to change and freshen up.

“Don’t mind her.” My dad motions after her as I stand. “She wants to make a good impression. Now, give me the grand tour.”

I don’t include the second floor in the tour to avoid interrupting my mom. When I show my dad the kitchen, I make a point to thank him for my appliances. Then I peek at the roast I have going in my crock-pot.

“It smells great kiddo,” my dad says. “And, I can’t get over all of the work you’ve done. Your mom and I were so scared when you moved out here. I’m relieved to see those fears were unfounded.”

I give him a hug, my arms wrapping around his middle. “Thanks Dad.” When I pull away my gaze moves to Noah. “I never would have managed a quarter of this without Noah’s help.”

“Thank you for taking such good care of my girl,” my dad says to Noah.

Noah offers me his hand. I take it and he uses it to pull me close, tucking me into his side.

“It’s been my pleasure,” he answers my dad.

“Okay, okay!” my mom shouts, coming down the stairs. “I no longer look a fright. Show me all of the work you’ve done.”

Noah lets me go, staying in the kitchen with my dad.

I lead her to the dining room. “Noah and I built this table today. Ignore the legs. I was saving those to do with dad.”

“Oh, your father will love that.” She pauses, looking closer at the table. “You built this? It’s gorgeous honey! Did you make the benches too?”

I shake my head. “Nope, I found those at a second hand shop.”

She does a slow spin.

Other than the furniture in the center of the room, it’s mainly empty. “You should add some crown molding and maybe a chair rail in here, that would really finish it off.”

I move over to her and wrap my arm around her. “You like it?”

She hugs me back. “I do honey.”

She oohs and ahs over each room on the first floor.

She lifts the decorative box from the top of my desk. “I love this little box.” Opening the lid, she asks. “Why is it full of fortune cookie fortunes?”

Before I can answer her I hear Noah’s bark of laughter from the hallway. I’m guessing he heard her question. Taking the box from her, I put the lid back on it and return it to the shelf of my desk.

My cheeks redden. “They’re from all the times Noah and I had Chinese.”

She smiles at me and wraps her arm around my waist. “I was in such a rush to powder my nose earlier. Do we have time for you to show me all the work you’ve done upstairs?”

“Of course mama.”

My dad joins us when we head upstairs, Noah bringing up the rear. My mom already saw the master bedroom and bath when she freshened up. She followed us upstairs to let my dad know once they got back to Texas she wanted one just like it.

Noah and I moved my stacked air mattresses to one of the spare bedrooms. I’m going to sleep there while my parents are in town.

“This place looks great sweetheart.”

I can’t help but look over his shoulder to lock eyes with Noah. He holds my gaze.

Last night he heard my no, fought the fear that prompted it and turned it into going slow. He’s my dream man and I know deep down I don’t deserve him. I’m terrified of the day he’ll realize that as well. For now, I’ll consider myself lucky he’s more stubborn than I am.

A knock at the door, presumably Noah’s parents, has us all moving back downstairs. Noah takes my hand and together we go to answer it.

“Hello,” his parents greet when we open the door.

“Hi. Welcome. Please come in.” I usher them through the door.

“We brought you a bottle of wine.” Mrs. Thompson leans in to kiss my cheek as she passes it to me.

“Thank you,” I say, looking at the label. “This will go perfectly with the roast.”

His father inhales. “Smells fantastic.”

“Thank you,” I say again. “Come meet my parents.”

Noah handles the introductions, “Mom, Dad, this is Tom and Georgiana Reeves, Mr. and Mrs. Reeves, this is my mom, Daisy, and my dad, Dennis Thompson.”

“Please call me Georgie,” my mom says, offering Noah’s mom her hand.

After the introductions, Noah shows his parents around the house while my mom helps me in the kitchen. After my divorce, I got rid of everything that reminded me of Allen, including all of our kitchen tools, glasses, and dining sets. Even though my budget has been strapped, new plates, glasses, silverware, pots, pans, and a new serving set was a priority. I love to cook; I wasn’t going to have Allen taint any part of it.

“These plates are gorgeous,” my mom gushes, as we carry them out to set the table.

“I cleaned out their clearance section,” I brag.

“Honey, just look at you,” she says as we work side by side.

“What?” I ask, looking up.

She smiles and shakes her head. “You look so happy.”

My lips part and I admit, “I am.”

She rubs my arm. “I can tell.”

I exhale in a rush. “I’m moving on.”

“You sure are honey. My goodness. Allen would crap his pants if he saw Noah.”

I lift my hand and scrunch my nose. “Don’t bring up Allen.”

She purses her lips. “You don’t even want to hear the latest gossip?”

“What gossip?” I ask.

“That tart Allen left you for, left him for the lawyer who represented Allen in your divorce.”

My mouth falls open. “What?”

She nods. “It’s all over town. Serves him right, that rat bastard.”

“Rat bastard?” Noah asks walking in. “Sounds interesting.”

“It’s not,” I grumble, piercing my mother with a shut up glare.

“Everything okay?”

I shrug, and avoiding his question, ask, “Can you help me carry some stuff in from the kitchen?”

He nods his head. “Sure.”

Once dinner is served, Noah sits at one end, with me at the other, our parents between us.

“This looks great kiddo,” my dad says while Noah pours the wine.

Dinner goes great, even after politics come up. Thankfully, the conversation shifts to average low temperatures in the winter.

“Tomorrow your father and I are getting you an electric blanket,” my mom says, her wide eyes on Dennis.

“Mom,” I laugh. “You don’t have to do that. Noah talked me into upgrading the furnace and we’ve put new insulation in every room we’ve worked on. As soon as we finish the spare bathroom, we’re going to start the third floor. I promise I’m going to be warm this winter.”

“And she has all these fireplaces,” my dad adds. “She can make fires too.”

“Oh can we have a fire while we’re here?” My mom asks, no longer worried I’ll freeze to death.

“Yes, Mom. We can have a fire tomorrow night if you want,” I reply. Then I say, “Noah inspected all the fireplaces and helped me clean them.”

My mom turns to stare at him. From the look in her eyes you’d think he wore a superhero cape.

“What are you going to do about the windows?” My dad asks, not aware he’s walking into a minefield.

“I need to hold off until spring while I save up for them,” I reply.

My dad looks at Noah. “Is that a wise decision?”

Noah wipes his mouth with his napkin before setting it on the table next to his plate. “I think Finley should do the windows before we do the guest bath.”

“Noah,” I warn.

“She’d only be able to do the first floor but the heat savings would be worth it.”

“We already talked about this,” I argue.

Noah shrugs and gestures around the room. “She would like to put them in all at the same time because that is the only way to guarantee they match perfectly. It’s a valid concern so, we’re going to add clear plastic insulation to the windows to get her through the winter.”

“I bought insulated curtains too,” I add, happy that while Noah disagreed with my choice he still heard my reasoning and backed me up on it.

“These windows aren’t great,” Mr. Thompson mutters. “But, waiting until spring to replace them should be fine. After that, it’s the siding you’ll need to start saving up for.”

“Siding?” I squeak.

“We’re going to repaint the existing siding next summer. That should give Finley another three to five years to save up to have it replaced,” Noah answers.

“Noah said you bought the place outright. It’s commendable you’re doing the entire project without taking on a loan.” Mrs. Thompson says.

“Thank you. It feels wrong to take any credit. This would have been a nightmare without your son.”

“Stop saying that,” Noah replies. “All I did was help speed up your timeline.”

“You’re not taking enough credit.”

“I like this,” my mom says.

“So do I,” Mrs. Thompson agrees.

It’s an effort not to roll my eyes, and I look over to see Noah holding back a laugh.

“What’s for dessert?” My dad asks.

Pushing away from the table, I stand, grateful he changed the subject. “You’ll see.”

Mr. and Mrs. Thompson help clear the table, telling my parents to stay put since they traveled today. Noah kicks them out to help me with dessert.

The chocolate mousse trifle I made for Noah was so good, I found more recipes to try out. I start my coffeemaker while Noah ferries dessert forks and coffee cups to the dining room.

Once he’s back, I ask, “Can you grab the dessert dishes please?”

“Only after I do this,” he says, his voice husky and low, making my stomach tie in knots before he presses his lips to mine.

Like stepping into a warm bath, I melt into him. He steps closer, increasing our body contact and my fingers curl into his shirt. Our first kiss was last night. How is it possible I already feel this comfortable kissing him back? Then I remember our parents are in the next room and abruptly pull away, breaking our connection.

“How do you think it’s going?” I ask, motioning with a tilt of my head to the dining room.

“You have to ask?” He teases.

He’s right; it was silly to ask. Conversation has flowed easily all night, even considering the politics hiccup, which wasn’t a big deal.

I move to my fridge and take out the trifle. “What do you think?”

His eyes widen. “It looks even better than the chocolate one.”

“It is pretty,” I agree.

“Lead the way.”

“I hope you all saved room,” I set dessert on the table, feeling proud of myself.

“It almost looks too fancy to eat. Almost,” my mom jokes.

“What is it?” Mrs. Thompson asks.

“It’s a chocolate raspberry trifle. There’s pound cake, raspberry preserves, white chocolate mousse, and raspberries.”

My dad lifts his dessert plate. “Load me up honey.”

I laugh and serve everyone a healthy portion.

“Marry her,” Mr. Thompson grunts, still chewing.

I freeze.

Noah looks at me.

It’s a joke. It’s only a joke.

He smiles.

I gulp.

“Finley?” My mom calls.

My gaze moves from Noah to her. “Yes?”

She tilts her head to the side, her knowing eyes seeing way too much.

She nods, and gives me a small smile. “This is delicious sweetie.”

I’m certain without an audience, she would have said something else. “Thanks.”

We linger over coffee. My dad, Mr. Thompson and Noah all having seconds of the trifle. This being my second time in as many days with his parents, I already like them even more. I see so much of Noah in them. He’s no nonsense like his dad and quiet and unassuming like his mom.

Before they leave, they invite us to their house for dinner before my parents head back to Texas. My parents happily accept. Noah walks them out, my folks and I wave from the front door.

We move from the dining room to my den. My mom cleans the kitchen, banning me from it since I cooked.

I put on a movie I think my dad will like and snuggle up next to Noah. I breathe in his cologne and let his warmth seep into me. What feels like moments later, he’s gently shaking me awake. It appears our busy day caught up with me.

“Hmmm,” I mumble.

He smiles down at me. “I’m going to hit the road. Do you need help getting upstairs?”

Twisting my neck I look for my parents then back to him when I see we’re alone.

“They went up a little while ago,” he explains.

“What time is it?” I ask.

“Late.”

“Will you be okay to drive?”

He nods and shifts back as I sit up, rubbing at my eyes. “I’ll walk out with you.”

That has him shaking his head. “You will walk me to the door, kiss me, and then close it behind me so you can go upstairs and go to bed.”

Frowning, I don’t argue mainly because I’m tired. He offers me his hand and together we walk to the front door. Ever since we cleared the front yard it’s been so much more convenient than going through the kitchen, unless I have groceries.

“Thank you for everything,” I say, once we’re standing in my open doorway.

“Stop thanking me.”

“Never,” I reply, gripping his biceps and popping up on my tip toes to press my lips to his.

His arms band around me as he kisses me back.

When our kiss ends, he orders, “Sleep in, and no projects tomorrow. You need a day off to rest. Enjoy your visit with your parents.”

“You’re not coming over?”

His fingertips stroke down the side of my face. “Do you want me to?”

I nod.

“I didn’t want to intrude on your time with them.”

“You won’t,” I promise.

He leans down to kiss me again. I’m clutching at the soft fabric of his t-shirt before he’s done. Each kiss is better than the last. Even half asleep I want to drag him back inside to keep kissing him.

It’s the drive home ahead of him and the fact that my parents are upstairs that stops me.

“See you tomorrow.”

I close the door behind him, leaning against it until I hear his truck pull away. Then I drag my exhausted butt upstairs.

As I settle down in my spare bedroom, I replay the night. There’s no doubt in my mind my parents approve of not only my move but my budding relationship with Noah.

Yes, I may be thirty-five years old but I don’t think I’ll ever out grow wanting them to be proud of me. Then my thoughts shift to Noah. As sleep pulls me away, I can only hope my dreams will lead me back into his arms.