The drive to my parents’ house felt longer than it ever had before.
Stan sat calmly in the passenger seat, one hand resting on his knee while the other adjusted the cuff of the navy blazer we’d bought two days earlier.
I, on the other hand, could barely keep both hands steady on the steering wheel.
“This is a terrible idea,” I muttered for what was probably the tenth time.
“You’ve said that since we left your driveway.”
“Because it is.”
“You’ve already committed.”
“I know.”
“You can still turn around.”
I glanced at him.
“Seriously?”
He shrugged.
“I’ve survived worse than an awkward dinner.”
“No, you don’t understand.”
“My mother notices everything.”
“My father interrogates everyone.”
“They’re going to ask questions.”
“So we’ll answer them.”
“What if our stories don’t match?”
“They will.”
“We’ve never practiced.”
“We’re practicing now.”
I sighed dramatically.
“This is going to be a disaster.”
Stan smiled.
“I have faith in us.”
“I don’t.”
He laughed quietly.
“You worry too much.”
“I’ve known my parents for thirty-four years.”
“And I’ve spent my entire life reading people.”
That answer made me glance at him again.
There was something oddly confident about the way he said it.
Not arrogant.
Just… certain.
Almost like he’d handled high-pressure situations before.
Before I could ask what he meant, we pulled into my parents’ driveway.
The familiar brick house looked exactly as it always had.
Mom’s flower beds were perfectly trimmed.
Dad’s beloved pickup truck sat in its usual spot.
Everything looked painfully ordinary.
Which somehow made what I was about to do feel even crazier.
“You ready?” Stan asked.
“No.”
He smiled.
“Perfect.”
He opened my car door before I even reached for the handle.
I blinked.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
“You’ve got good manners.”
“I was raised that way.”
The answer slipped out so naturally that I almost questioned it.
Before I could, the front door flew open.
“Miley!”
Mom rushed outside before we’d even reached the porch.
Her eyes immediately landed on Stan.
Then they widened.
“Oh my goodness…”
She placed both hands over her mouth.
“Who’s this?”
I forced the brightest smile I could manage.
“Mom… Dad…”
I reached for Stan’s hand.
“I’d like you to meet my fiancé.”
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Dad stepped into the doorway behind Mom.
“Your… what?”
“My fiancé.”
Mom looked from me to Stan and back again.
“When?”
“How?”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
I laughed nervously.
“It happened pretty quickly.”
“You’ve been hiding him from us?”
“I wanted to make sure things were serious first.”
Mom walked directly toward Stan.
He extended his hand politely.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mrs. Carter.”
She shook it automatically.
“I’m Martha.”
“Stan.”
“Stan…”
She repeated his name as if committing it to memory.
Dad approached next.
His expression was much harder to read.
“So you’re the young man who stole our daughter’s heart.”
Stan smiled politely.
“I certainly hope so.”
Dad studied him carefully before finally shaking his hand.
“Stephen.”
“Nice to meet you, sir.”
His handshake was firm.
Confident.
Dad noticed.
I could tell.
“So…”
Mom interrupted before Dad could begin his interrogation.
“Come inside!”
The dining room looked exactly as I remembered.
Roast chicken.
Fresh bread.
The expensive china Mom only used for special occasions.
Apparently my fake engagement qualified.
She barely sat down before the questions began.
“Where did you two meet?”
I nearly answered first.
Stan beat me to it.
“At a coffee shop.”
I looked at him.
Coffee shop?
He gave me the tiniest wink beneath the table.
“Miley spilled her coffee.”
“I did?” I blurted out.
He smiled warmly.
“Right onto my jacket.”
I caught on immediately.
“Oh…”
I laughed.
“Yes.”
“It was completely embarrassing.”
Mom smiled.
“Really?”
“I apologized three different times.”
“And then she insisted on buying me another coffee.”
Dad raised an eyebrow.
“So that’s how it started?”
Stan nodded.
“I wasn’t planning on asking for her number.”
“You weren’t?”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“You seemed very focused on getting back to work.”
“I was.”
“But she kept apologizing.”
“I felt guilty.”
“So I finally said…”
He turned toward me.
“‘The easiest way to make it up to me is dinner.’”
Mom practically melted.
“Oh, that’s adorable.”
Dad remained unconvinced.
“How long ago was this?”
“About eight months.”
Another lie.
Another perfectly delivered answer.
“You got engaged pretty fast.”
Stan didn’t hesitate.
“When you know…”
He looked directly into my eyes.
“…you know.”
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