The Do-Over (The Miles High Club #4)(110)

“Momma”—Hayden smiles—“this is Christopher.”

Her mom looks me up and down and smiles. “Well . . . aren’t you just the handsomest man I ever did see?”

“Hello.” I smile. I hold out my hand. She ignores it and hugs me tight, so tight that she nearly breaks a rib.

Strong.

“Hello, Christopher.” Hayden’s mom smiles. “I’m Valerie.”

“Hello, Valerie.”

She puts her arms around the both of us and begins to lead us into the house. “Thank god you’re home, baby girl. We missed you so much.”

Hayden smiles broadly and kisses her mom’s temple.

“I love you, Mom. It’s so good to see your face.” Hayden smiles. “Where’s Dad?”

“He’s working. He’ll be back for lunch soon.”

Hayden smiles over at me. She’s so happy and in her element. “I can’t wait to see him.”

Hmm . . . the firing squad comment is getting some real context here.

Fuck.

We walk past three large dogs, who look dead as they sleep, and up the stairs, onto the veranda, and into the house. “Oh, you look lovely, Hazy. So much color and so relaxed.”

“Oh, Mom, it was so amazing. You and Dad have to travel.”

Hayden and her mom chat and laugh, and I look around at the house. It’s eclectic, as if everything has been salvaged from a thrift store. Four couches, none that match. The dining table is antique looking, but the chairs are all different. The artwork on the walls varies from tapestries to paintings to crayon drawings. Huge rugs in unmatching colors are everywhere, and there’s a huge fireplace. A collection of antique-looking saucers are displayed on the walls as if they are national treasures. It smells like warm cake and has a very serene Hayden feel.

I smile. This is not what I was expecting, but it all makes sense. Another piece of the Hayden puzzle falls into place.

“Have some cake.” Valerie smiles as she lifts a tea towel to reveal a cake.

“Straight out of the oven.” Hayden smiles as she cuts it up. Steam rises as the knife slices through it.

“You baked it yourself?” I ask, surprised.

“Of course.” Valerie frowns as if that’s a stupid question.

“Mom is the best cook in all of Finger Lakes.” Hayden smiles proudly.

“Great.” I smile. I have no idea what to do with that information, but anyway.

The door bangs open, and we all turn and see a huge burly man taking his boots off at the door.

He looks like John Wayne . . . only tougher and more weathered by the sun. His work clothes are dirty and old, and he has a no-nonsense kind of vibe.

“Is that my girl home?” he calls.

“It’s me, Dad.” Hayden runs to him, and they hug.

“About time you showed your face around here,” he says in his deep voice.

Hayden laughs in pure joy.

He’s big, scary looking. I stand, unsure whether to shake his hand or run.

“Who’s this?” he says.

“Dad.” Hayden holds her arm out toward me. “This is Christopher. Christopher . . . this is my dad, Harvey.”

“Hello, Mr. Whitmore.” I smile. I shake his hand.

His hand is so rough that it doesn’t actually feel like a hand . . . could be a piece of sandpaper or a chunk of wood. Who could tell?

He looks me up and down. “Christopher, hey?”

I fake a smile, and Hayden takes my hand. “He’s important, Dad.”

It’s like she’s warning him to be nice.

Great, just what I need.

He points to the chair. “Sit down, boy.”

Boy.

The hairs on the back of my neck rise.

Don’t say anything, don’t say anything. Don’t fucking say anything.

Unimpressed, I drop to my seat.

His assessing eyes hold mine across the table, and I fake a smile back.

Bring it, old man.

“Where do you live?” he asks me.

“Dad,” Hayden splutters, “let Christopher settle in before you give him the tenth degree.”

Or maybe don’t do it at all.

“Oh my god,” Hayden cries. “Who is this?”

We all look to see an entirely black cat. He’s long and skinny. More of a rat than a cat, really.

“That’s Milly’s baby.” Valerie smiles.

“Milly had a baby?”

“She had eight.”

“He’s like a jaguar.” Hayden swoons.

Only much less impressive.

“Good cat, that one,” Harvey says sternly. “Good judge of character. His name is Bryan.”

Harvey is a cat man?

Good fucking grief, we have literally nothing in common. Hayden smiles over at me, and I’m reminded why I’m here.

Focus.

I try to make conversation. “Beautiful place you have here.”

“Thank you.” Valerie smiles. “We’ve lived here . . .” She keeps talking, but I can’t concentrate. The cat is now rubbing up against my leg. I subtly move my leg out of its way, and it flops across my feet.

“The farm two properties over . . . ,” Harvey continues.

Bryan begins to chew my shoelaces, and I edge my foot away.