Page 71 of The Americana Playbook

Parker strides into the kitchen while securing her robe and pauses, her arms still holding the tie.

“Did you know anything about this?”

She picks up the vase. “Mom mentioned something about it the other night. Get the door, would you?” Parker calls over her shoulder.

I take quick steps, doing as she asked. “What are you doing with that?”

“Do me a favor, give this to someone else.” Parker barely steps out of the doorway I’ve just opened for her, addressing Agent Samuels. “Maybe they’ll look nice in the lobby.” She swipes her hands together after handing off the flowers and shuts the door with her hip.

“What?” she asks, seeing the confusion on my face and starts making coffee. “Ihatelilies.”

Moving around me, Parker returns to the kitchen and opens the cabinet where she rehomed the mugs.

I tap the cardstock against the table.

“When is it?”

“A little more than a month from now. End of June.”

Parker nods with the mug against her mouth before pulling it back to yawn. “Don’t be surprised if the wedding is the day after. Something tells me after that event the other day, they think it’ll be in your best interest to be their son-in-law sooner rather than later.”

Her tone is light and playful, but Parker bringing up the event sours my stomach.

She glides to the stove, opening a lower cabinet for a skillet before slipping past me to the fridge.

“You once burned down all of Captain’s Cottage trying to bake banana bread,” I remind her as she sets a carton of eggs on the marble island. “We had to use the fire extinguisher.”

Parker laughs. “Yeah, well, with maturity comes knowing how to properly use an oven. And make a semi-decent breakfast. What do you have going on today?”

“Practice with some receivers. Not until one though.”

“You should go back to sleep,” she tells me as I yawn.

“Can’t.” I look down at my watch. “I’ve got a sit-down with Coach before.”

She freezes at the sink. “How does Nick feel about you sneaking around with Mr. Foller?”

“Nick is a drama queen who hates to be left out, not my keeper. We’re talking about Coach Foller,” I tell her. “Mr. Foller was the guidance counselor.”

“I’m aware. I practically lived in his office junior year,” Parker retorts. “I probably spent more time with him than you.”

“Still. Two different people.”

“Right,” Parker says. “Like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”

I roll my eyes.

“I’m just saying,” she begins, “I never got much guidance from him.”

Defensiveness gets the best of me. “Maybe he gave it to you but you weren’t open to it.”

Her eyes snap back to mine. Maybe that was harsh, but Parker doesn’t argue so it really can’t be all that untrue. After Honey died, there were very few people Parker actually listened to. I was one of them—until Coach had me steer clear of her.

“Foller guided me.A lot.” I emphasize the last two words. “In high school. College. In the League.”

I won’t push it and inch closer to having to admit that Coach was the reason I dwindled away our friendship. That wasn’t on him more than it was onme. I mean, he might’ve not put a gun to my head. But he wasinmy head like any role model, and all I’d hear wasYou are the company you keep. And at the time, he had convinced me that the only thing hanging with Parker would get me would be a prison sentence and not a Division I scholarship. In hindsight, that does seem extreme. But then again, we’re about to commit marriage fraud at a wedding the president is hosting for us.

“Youdid the work, not him. I’ve never met a successful person give the majority of credit to someone else the way you do.” She slides over a bowl and the eggs before I can respond. “Can you crack these?”

---