Lance’s head gave in to the soft cushion of his couch, and the rest of his body relaxed. The day would end perfectly with his head hitting the pillow. Home. It deemed more important than choosing an invitation.
“Call Andrea,” he said. “She loves this stuff.”
His mother tilted her head towards him. The corners of her eyes crinkled. “I did, but it went straight to voicemail. Face it, dear, she’s busy working.”
“I don’t know. The one on the left.” Lance grabbed his briefcase and headed for his spiral staircase. His mother only had a key to his house for emergencies, but soon he would downsize his seven-bedroom house. He hoped Andrea would like his idea of her moving to Delta Heights with him. For now, he took advantage of the space from his parents. He’d been on his own since college, and he wanted to keep it that way until he married.
“I’ll call Andrea later.” His mother shook her head at him. “I hope you’re much more pleasant when the reporter gets here.”
Lance stopped in his tracks. “They’re not coming here tonight, are they?” He wasn’t in the mood to begin the interviews today.
“No, they’ll be here tomorrow at 9am sharp. Make sure you’re up, Mr. Night Owl,” his mother said, pointing a finger at him.
Lance descended the few steps he climbed and kissed his mother’s cheek. His six-two frame towered over her, but he was no match to argue with her. He chose his battles, and some things weren’t worth disputing over. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I love you.”
She patted his cheek. “I love you.”
Letting herself out the front door, Lance was alone. He proceeded up the stairs. Entering his bedroom, he peeled off his shoes and headed to his full-sized bed. Plopping on the bed, he closed his drooping eyes. They would invade his privacy tomorrow. Profiling the wedding was Andrea’s idea, and his mother latched on to the opportunity to put the spotlight once again on the family.
Lance turned to his backside on his bed and stared at the ceiling. Then his cell rang on his nightstand and he groaned as he turned to see who was calling. It was his best friend, Grant Woods.
“You sound groggy,” Grant said. “You just got back into town?”
Lance sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Yeah and I was trying to get some sleep.”
“This early? How about joining us for dinner tonight?”
Lance sat up in bed and rested his back against the headboard. He missed the dinner at the Woods’ house. They were rare at first when Chantelle moved away, not to mention the tension their breakup brought between him and Grant. He didn’t blame his friend for wanting to protect his sister, but he was glad they got past it and reconciled their friendship. Lance then resumed attending a few meals with his second family.
“Are you there?” Grant asked.
“Yeah, sure. I’ll come. What’s for dinner?”
“Not sure, but you know my mom. It’ll be good.”
“You have a wife that cooks. Remember?” He joked.
Grant continued. “I have a wife that’s talking about going on a diet together. I love her, but I have to draw the line somewhere. There’s nothing wrong with a chicken-fried steak now and then. I even go to the gym four times a week.”
Lance chuckled. “Then you need moral support tonight. We’ll eat the fried food and then work it off at the gym later.”
“See you then.”
A home-cooked meal at the Woods’ home. Perhaps that was what he needed. He’d been going non-stop with work, and now with wedding plans underway, he needed a break. Mrs. Woods’, now Mrs. Evans’ lasagna, pot roast, meatloaf, or even her garlic mashed potatoes always made his mouth water.
There were many times he’d sat next to... Chantelle. The girl who’d won his heart in high school. The girl voted “Most Beautiful” in school. She’d hated the title since she wanted to been seen as more. A writer. That was her dream.
Did she make it? He hoped so. He recalled reading the articles Chantelle would have him read when they were younger. She’d been so nervous to publish her work in their school paper, but he assured her she was a talented writer.
Lance cleared his throat. He needed to get ready. Perhaps he could ask her mother how she was doing at dinner tonight. Last thing he heard was Chantelle was living in Chicago and had a boyfriend. She had moved on. So had he.
Chapter 4
“Get in this house!” Chantelle’s mother motioned her over.
She hurried to her mother’s arms for one of the best hugs in the world. Chantelle didn’t rush it.
“I’ve missed you,” her mother said.