Page 112 of Steel Beauty

The closer we get, the harder it is to ignore the truth: we’re pretending the clock isn’t ticking, as if the time we have left isn’t slipping away with every passing second.

A fresh wave of nerves unfurls as we approach the front door, dredging up memories I’ve tried to bury. I was never the girl a guy brought home to meet his mama—not when everyone in town knew exactly who Robin Steel was. Bartender, bad mom, occasional husband-stealer. No guy’s mother wanted her son anywhere near the daughter of a woman like her.

I swallow hard, forcing air into my lungs, and glance sideways at Alex. He doesn’t know how deeply those roots run, how they’ve wrapped themselves around parts of me that still ache, no matter how far I’ve come.

As if sensing the storm brewing inside me, Alex squeezes my hand, his thumb brushing over my skin in a way that feels like both comfort and promise. “My parents are down-to-earth. You’ll see.”

I try to hold on to that, let it calm the anxiety swirling inside me. But the ghosts of my past are hard to shake, whispering doubts I’m not ready to face.

You’re not good enough.

You have no business here.

As we make our way up the sidewalk, I tighten my grip on the bouquet of flowers I picked out this morning—vibrant and tropical, a nod to Alex’s Samoan roots. At the time, I considered them a thoughtful gesture, something to show his mom I cared. But now, as I stand here, they feel more like a bundle of nerves wrapped in cellophane and ribbon, every bit of my anxiety carried straight to the door and presented like a lamb to the slaughter.

Before I can second-guess myself, the door swings open, and warmth spills out like a welcome embrace. Alex’s mom, Malie, steps forward, her face lighting up with a smile so radiant, it momentarily leaves me speechless. She’s stunning in a way that’s both natural and commanding—glossy black hair streaked with silver cascading over her shoulders, her features soft but interwoven with a quiet strength.

“Tina,” Alex says, filled with reverence as he greets her in Samoan. “This is Magnolia.”

Her smile widens, and before I can stammer out a polite hello, she steps forward and wraps me in a hug that’s surprisingly firm and filled with unmistakable warmth.

“Magnolia, it’s so lovely to meet you.” Sincere warmth radiates through her words.

“It’s wonderful to meet you too.” I lift the bouquet, the blooms trembling slightly in my grip. “I thought you might enjoy these.”

Malie’s eyes brighten as she takes the flowers, her expression one of genuine delight. “Oh, Magnolia, these are stunning,” she says, turning the bouquet to admire the vivid, tropical hues. “They remind me of home. How thoughtful of you. Thank you.”

Her reaction is so heartfelt, I feel some of my nerves ease. As far as first impressions go, maybe I’m not as out of place as I feared.

Beside her is Alex’s father, Alexander, a striking contrast to his son. Where Alex’s dark, rugged features reflect his Samoan heritage, Alexander’s fair skin, sharp blue eyes, and light blond hair hint at his Swedish roots. He’s tall, though not nearly quite as broad or commanding as his son.

He comes forward with a warm smile. “Magnolia, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“It’s so nice to meet you both,” I manage, my nerves softening under the warmth that seems to flow from both of them.

Mr. Sebring’s expression immediately puts me at ease—like I’ve stepped into a place where I’m already welcome.

Alex and I follow his parents through the house, and despite its grandeur, it’s the inviting warmth that strikes me most. Soft lighting bathes the space, accentuating decor that feels more thoughtful than showy—family photos on the walls, well-loved furniture, and small touches that speak of a home built on love rather than wealth.

We step into the kitchen, and the rich, tantalizing aroma of a home-cooked meal wraps around me like a welcoming embrace. The counters are laden with vibrant dishes, each one more inviting than the last.

Malie moves gracefully by the stove, focused on the final touches of what looks like a true feast. I glance at the spread, then at her, feeling a little out of place but eager to contribute. “Can I help with anything?”

Malie’s eyes crinkle with kindness. “You’re our guest tonight, Magnolia.” Then she winks, adding with a playful lilt, “But you can help next time.”

Next time.

Malie motions to the colorful spread with a proud smile. “I’ve prepared a traditional Samoan meal for us. We have faiai eleni, fa’apapa, and sapasui.”

My smile widens as I take in the vibrant dishes. “I’ve never had Samoan food before, so I’m really looking forward to this.”

Alex steps behind me, his hand brushing lightly against my back. “You’re in for a treat. No one does it better than Tina.”

Malie laughs softly at his praise, waving him off. “Of course he says that. I raised him on this food.” She gestures to the dishes with an inviting nod. “Let’s move everything to the dining room. Family-style is the only way to eat this meal.”

I instinctively step forward, reaching for one of the serving platters. “Here, let me help.”

Malie raises an eyebrow, the hint of a smile tugging at her lips, but relents with a small nod. “Thank you, Magnolia. Just be careful—the fa’apapa is hot.”

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