He rolled his eyes. “No. Don’t hide. This is what they get for showing up unannounced.” Then he opened the door.
His mom’s sharp brown eyes took in his bed-hair, rough jaw, and wrinkled underclothes. She, conversely, looked perfectly trim and tidy in her white jeans and blue-and-white checked blouse. Not a wisp of her short, sun-bleached blond hair appeared out of place. “Michael, honey, don’t tell me we woke you up?”
After submitting to his mother’s hug and a clap on the shoulder from his dad, he replied, “No, you didn’t wake me up. You didn’t wake Chloe either.” He gestured her over and she approached slowly, looking equal parts amused and embarrassed. “Chloe, meet my parents, Tom and Anita. Parents, meet Chloe.”
“Fortuitous,” his dad drawled and shook her hand, “since I’m pretty sure that’s why we’re here. Nice to meet you.” Michael couldn’t help but grin at his father’s smoothly delivered poke at his mom. His dad was a man of few words, but he hadn’t spent thirty-five years married to Mom without learning a thing or two about how she operated.
His mom had the good grace to pretend to be abashed as she took Chloe’s hand. “Whoops! I see we should have called first. Forgive us, please. This morning Tom and I made a spur-of-the-moment decision to drive down to San Diego for the weekend, and we thought, as long as we were passing by, we ought to stop and see son number two.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Chloe said, and the way her smile lit her eyes made Michael think she might actually mean it.
“It’s wonderful to meet you in person,” his mom replied. “I hope you’ll let us take you two to breakfast to make up for interrupting your morning.”
“Oh…I don’t want to intrude…” Chloe sent him an uncertain glance.
“Nonsense. We’re the intruders. Please join us.”
“Yeah,” Michael added, figuring Chloe’s presence would help defer a breakfast interrogation, “join us.”
…
Chloe shifted in the cushioned seat and stared at the endless view of the Pacific twinkling in the distance beyond the glass perimeter of the Coastline Café’s shaded patio. She still couldn’t quite fathom how a quiet morning in bed for two had ended up as a table for four at what appeared to be one of San Clemente’s most popular breakfast spots, but she couldn’t complain. The sun was shining, her blueberry pancakes tasted like heaven, and she was getting an earful of Michael and his brothers’ childhood exploits.
“…and I looked up and saw my idiot son, dressed in nothing but socks and Spiderman underwear, hanging from the trellis on the side of the house!”
“The idiot was Logan,” Michael said, pointing a fork at his mother, “and, in his defense, he was five at the time.”
“It was Logan,” his father agreed, nodding so the sunlight picked up the silver strands in his deep brown hair. Even with the hints of gray, it was obvious Michael got his coloring, and his stature, from his dad.
“Yes, but I know who talked him into the whole harebrained idea,” she shot back, giving Michael a hard stare.
He grinned. “Okay, yeah, that might have been me. Hey, he lived!” he added when his mom smacked his arm.
“No thanks to you.” She shook her head. “What can I tell you, Chloe? Raising them was like raising three hyperactive monkeys.”
“Sounds pretty wild.” And fun. As an only child, she’d often wished for siblings to play with. Share secrets with. Get into trouble with. And although his mom made a show of complaining about the crazy antics, both she and her husband clearly looked back on those wild years with nostalgia—nostalgia born of knowing that phase of their lives was safely in the past. They’d raised three boys they were proud of. She found the whole thing incredibly sweet.
Her pancakes were also incredibly sweet. She lifted another forkful to her mouth, and was about to open wide when she saw Michael stiffen in his chair. His smile faded and every last bit of color leaked out of his face.
Was he in pain? She lowered her fork and leaned close to him. “Are you—”
“Michael, Chloe,” a familiar voice rang out from behind her, “fancy meeting you here!”
Now she felt the blood drain out of her face too. Oh, dear God. Even her karma couldn’t possibly be this bad…
Chapter Eighteen
“Mrs. Harding. Colonel,” Michael said, and stood, looking like a man facing a firing squad.
“Major.” The colonel clasped Michael’s hand. Loretta leaned in for a peck on the cheek.
Chloe plastered a smile on her face and, with the blueberry pancakes threatening a revolt in her stomach, stood and turned to greet the couple. “So nice to see you again, Colonel,” she croaked—there was no other word for the noise that passed over her frozen vocal chords—and offered her hand—which he ignored and pulled her into a sideways embrace.
Her face turned into a furnace. Then the colonel passed her off to Loretta for another quick hug. The older woman stepped away and her smile dimmed a few watts. “Are you okay, honey? You look pale, and you sound a little hoarse.”
“I’m fine,” she managed and dropped back into her seat before her shaking legs failed her completely.
“Well,” Loretta beamed at the other two people at the table. “I don’t even need to ask who these lovely people are. The resemblance is so strong, you’re obviously Michael’s parents. You must be so thrilled.”