The Hustle (Irreparable 4)

sualizing the event and swear I smell old food and urine, which is typical of the alleys downtown. Liv laughs. “Oh, not that you would, but at least I was able to distract you for a second.”

“Thank you,” I say, smiling. Being distracted if only for a short while helps me to relax. Between Liv’s humor and realizing there are worse places than the spot I’ve chosen to say I do, I feel better. The moment Aidan proposed, I knew exactly where I wanted to marry him, and I haven’t shared the location with anyone, including Aidan.

“She won’t even tell me where the wedding is,” Javier chimes in. I didn’t think he was even listening. “It’s like super top secret.” He giggles.

Liv and I exchange a look and laugh. The kid’s been bursting at the seams trying to figure it out.

“You’ll know soon enough,” I say before reminding him to be good for Aunt Liv.

A short time later, we’re on our way to the airport. I’m a nervous ball of energy and staying still in my seat is impossible. There’s so much left to do and my thoughts race endlessly. But one stroke of Aidan’s thumb over my knuckles as he takes my hand soothes me.

As we approach arrivals at the terminal, I begin scanning the crowd for my parents.

“Your mom, I’m guessing,” Tug says with a humorous laugh.

I glance out the front window to see my mother waving like a lunatic, obviously recognizing the black SUV I told her to look for. “That’s Mom,” I say, slightly embarrassed by her jumping around. My father also looks mortified next to her, shaking his head. “Can we just keep driving?”

“No way, pretty girl. Meeting the parents seals the deal.”

It’s a strange feeling to introduce someone to my parents. Heartbreaker one and two were Shingle Springs’ natives. My parents knew both of them before I brought them home. I’m nervous but excited and I know they’ll love Aidan.

The moment I step onto the curb and my mother’s arms engulf me, I know I’d never get married without her. I hug my dad next before embracing Aidan’s arm. “Mom . . . Dad, this is Aidan Hunter, and Aidan these are my parents.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Miles, it’s great to finally meet you.”

My mother ignores his outstretched hand and hugs him. “Please, call me Barbara.”

It’s the first time I’ve seen Aidan blush. When she finally releases him, my father shakes Aidan’s hand and holds it in some kind of primitive standoff. “You can call me Mr. Miles.” Aidan nods, pulling his hand away. It’s oddly humorous how different they are. So much for the theory that little girls grow up to marry men like their daddy. Other than me, my blue-collar dad and my future white-collar husband have zilch in common.

After a scolding from airport security to get moving, Aidan loads my parents’ suitcases into the back of the SUV. My mother insists I sit in the back seat with her, which Aidan politely agrees to, like a good future son-in-law.

On the drive, my mother asks a million questions, going over last-minute wedding details. At this point, my list is growing, not shrinking; and I know I’ll be putting my foot down soon.

My father grills Aidan about market changes and revenue sharing and other business related things I don’t much understand. Perhaps they have more in common than I thought, because my father easily follows along and appears to be interested. By the time the conversation ends, I think my dad just hired Aidan’s company to invest my parents saving’s.

The garage at the loft is a welcomed sight and thankfully hushes my mother’s endless questions. After a drink in the front room, I show my parents around Aidan’s loft, sharing the details of the redecorating job I did for him. Aidan takes another call for work on the patio.

My parents look at me with so much pride, I feel like crying, but I smile instead. The tears come when my dad actually says the words. “I’m so proud of you, sweetheart.”

They weren’t sure about my leaving home or the profession I had chosen. My dad wanted me to be an engineer and Mom hoped I would be a teacher like her. But I carved my own path and hearing their approval means the world to me.

My mother adds, “I’m still sad you didn’t move home, but I’m so happy for you. You have a good life here.”

I barely manage a thank you through my joyful tears and hurry on to show them the last room in the house, where they’ll be sleeping. I recently converted Aidan’s office to a guest room for their visit, with the exception of the pink walls Aidan refused to paint over. My father quirks a brow but doesn’t comment on the color and my mother doesn’t appear to think anything of it.

Aidan offers to take my father on a tour of the building, mostly to show him the gym, as my father works out religiously.

Once they leave, the smile stretching my mother’s entire face is a clear indicator she wants to have girl talk. I roll my eyes, shaking my head slightly. “Just say it.”

“He’s a fox! The pictures you sent don’t do him justice. Hubba hubba.”

Her eyebrows waggle and for a moment she looks like a ventriloquist doll.

My cheeks flame instantly. Aside from her showing her age with her descriptions, the last thing I want to hear is my mom talk this way. “Ew, Mom.”

“What? He’s a handsome guy.”

“Okay, I got it.”