The Match (It Happened in Charleston 1)

“Huh? Oh. Nothing.”

“Not nothing. You look like you’re about to throw up all over my seats.”

I laugh, and it sounds silly and put on like a theatrical dame on Broadway. Ha ha! Oh, Jakey, Jakey, you’re too funny! But yes, I’m totally going to throw up. Nerves are overtaking me because I’m about to meet Jake’s family. I almost chickened out this morning and said I was sick, but Jo texted me before I got the chance and basically forbade it.

JO: I better see photographic evidence of your cutie little bootie in a swimsuit poolside, or I will revoke your use of my washer and dryer.

Rude. She knows my weakness too well: clean underwear.

“I’m fine,” I say, but of course my voice wobbles.

“You don’t have to be nervous. My family’s going to love you.” Really? Cause mine doesn’t.

A few minutes later, we are pulling into Jake’s driveway, and there are already five other cars parked outside, and I’m mentally reminding myself how much I love having clean underwear, otherwise I would be hightailing my butt out of there. He gets out, and I stay put. I don’t mean to stay put in his truck, but the super glue I poured on the seat before sitting down is really doing its job.

He laughs and comes around to my door and opens it. He’s not being chivalrous; he knows I’m not getting out if he doesn’t pry me out. “Come on, crazy. They aren’t going to bite, I swear.”

I hand him the brownies and slide out. My cover-up drags against the seat, and wayyyy too much leg is revealed in the process. Sure, I’m wearing a bathing suit under this cover-up, and it’s going to come off soon, revealing even more of my legs. But in a driveway where Jake is still completely covered and there is not a drop of water in sight, it feels way too indecent.

Jake thinks so too because he’s trying to hide his smile like a teenage buffoon. This is the distraction I needed, though. I slap his arm. “Can you at least try to be a gentleman?”

“I could, but I don’t really want to.”

Charlie jumps out behind me, and I think he finds this flirting between Jake and me annoying, because he grunts and then sits down right beside us, staring up with the most unamused expression I’ve ever seen.

“All right, Charlie, we’re going.” I wasn’t the one to say that. It was Jake. Which means Jake is now interpreting Charlie’s facial expressions too, and wow, this thing is getting real.

Speaking of real, Jake takes my hand and guides me into the house. We’re holding hands (we’ve never held hands before) and walking into a family event. This doesn’t feel like friendship. This feels like dating. But are we? I’ve never felt more confused in my life. I also love Jake’s hands. You would think from all the calluses that he’s a contractor instead of an architect.

We walk through the front door, and Jake drops my hand to take the brownies from me and set them on the counter. He made fun of me for putting up a big fuss to take the brownies back to my place so I could bring them over again today—that way everyone could see that I was contributing something to the party. I’m disappointed that no one is here to witness my contribution. Now it just looks like the brownies were here all along!

“Wait. Let’s go back and ring the doorbell so everyone can see me bring in the brownies.”

Jake turns around with a grin. “You don’t have to come bearing brownies for them to like you.”

“But when has bringing brownies ever hurt anyone’s chances of likability?”

In the next moment, the back sliding door is opening, and I’m out of time. I lunge for the brownies so I can hold them in front of me like a peace offering, but Jake is one step ahead and blocks the brownies. Now it looks like I’m lunging for him. Wonderful. He takes it in stride, though, and wraps his arm around my shoulder, holding me pinned to his side.

“Jake, you’re back!” says a little blonde woman in a voice that is Southern and sweet as iced tea. I don’t know why, but I did not picture Jake’s mom sounding like Jo. Probably because Jake barely has an accent. But it’s clear from her teased-up hair to her drawn out R’s and A’s that she’s as country as bread pudding at a church potluck. And I love it. “Oh, and Evie, honey! You made it!” I don’t think anyone has ever sounded so pleased to meet me in my entire life. “EVERYONE! EVIE IS HERE!” she bellows toward the back door.

I’m glad I’m only wearing a bathing suit under this cover-up, because there is definitely some back sweat starting to happen.

“Hi! It’s so nice to mee—”

“Evie!” Sam busts through the door with Daisy at her side and throws her arms around my waist.

Jake doesn’t let go of me either. So, I’m just standing here with one Broaden wrapped around my upper half and another Broaden wrapped around my lower half. And then, suddenly, ALL of the other Broadens are watching on, and I’m hyperaware of what a picture we must be painting.

“Who’s here? Oh, Evie!” says a happy, middle-aged man who comes to stand next to Mrs. Broaden and looks a lot like Jake.

There are now four other women filing into the kitchen, followed by a trail of various-aged children and spouses to look on, too. They are all saying hi and smiling so brightly, and I feel like the room is spinning. Why do they all sound so happy to meet me? And how does my name sound so comfortable on the lips of people I’ve never met before?

But when Jake squeezes my shoulder, I feel like everything shifts into place. Like one glorious line of Tetris when you can get all the shapes to fit perfectly together. He likes me. Jacob Broaden likes me. He’s told his family all about me. He’s standing proudly beside me and not letting me go.

This is the beginning of something, and I think I’m going to let myself enjoy it this time.

The introductions are complete, and I have been given a moment to catch my breath by the pool. Jake and his dad are over by the grill, tossing hot dogs and hamburgers on, and Sam and a few of her cousins are all swimming in the pool.