For one brief second, something shifted inside me.
His smile looked almost real.
I quickly looked away.
Mom dabbed the corner of her eye with a napkin.
“Oh, Stephen…”
“Isn’t that romantic?”
Dad grunted.
“We’ll see.”
The interrogation continued.
“What do you do for work?”
Stan took a sip of water.
“I’ve worked in business management.”
“Which company?”
“I’ve done consulting for several private firms.”
Not exactly a lie.
Not exactly an answer.
Dad seemed to notice.
“What kind of consulting?”
“Mostly organizational restructuring.”
Dad nodded slowly.
“I’ve heard that’s demanding.”
“It can be.”
“What company are you with now?”
Stan smiled apologetically.
“I’m taking some time away from work.”
“Between jobs?”
“You could say that.”
Technically true.
I nearly laughed.
Dad leaned back in his chair.
“So how exactly did you convince my daughter to marry you?”
Before I could panic, Stan answered calmly.
“I didn’t.”
Everyone looked at him.
“I fell in love first.”
He smiled at me again.
“She took a little longer.”
My face immediately grew warm.
“Stan…”
“What?”
“You’re embarrassing me.”
“I thought honesty was attractive.”
Mom sighed dreamily.
“I absolutely love him.”
Dad rolled his eyes.
“Easy, Martha.”
Dinner continued more comfortably after that.
Stan somehow managed to charm everyone.
He complimented Mom’s cooking.
Asked Dad thoughtful questions about gardening.
Listened more than he talked.
By dessert, even Dad’s expression had softened.
When Mom stepped into the kitchen for coffee, she pulled me aside.
The second we were alone, she grabbed both my hands.
“He’s wonderful.”
I smiled.
“He is?”
“Honey…”
She looked genuinely emotional.
“I’ve never seen you smile like this.”
The words hit me unexpectedly.
Was I smiling differently?
I hadn’t even noticed.
“You’ve chosen well.”
Guilt twisted in my stomach.
If only she knew.
Back in the dining room, Dad was speaking quietly with Stan.
As I approached, I caught the end of the conversation.
“…take good care of her.”
“I intend to.”
Dad nodded once.
“That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
Something about Stan’s answer sounded incredibly sincere.
Not rehearsed.
Not forced.
Real.
The drive home was unusually quiet.
Halfway there, I finally looked at him.
“Coffee shop?”
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