Page 10 of Second Chance with the Single Dad Goalie
I cut the engine and sit for a second, fingers drumming against the wheel.
Okay. Here we go.
I exhale and step out, grabbing my bag from the passenger seat. My boots crunch against the gravel as I make my way up the steps.
The porch light flickers slightly, just like it always has. No matter how many times Dad fixed it, it never stopped doing that - one of those little imperfections that made the house feel like home. The flower beds lining the porch are freshly mulched, filled with the beginnings of tulips and daffodils - mom’s doing, no doubt.
I hesitate for just a second before opening the door. Inside, the warmth of home instantly surrounds me. The faint scent of cinnamon and something sweet lingers in the air, mixed with the underlying scent of furniture polish.
Laughter filters in from the living room.
I hesitate, fingers tightening around the strap of my bag. Then, drawing in a breath, I move forward, rounding the corner.
"Hello, everyone," I say, my voice coming out smoother than I expected.
Conversation stops.
For a beat, everyone just stares. Then mom rises from her spot on the couch, a slow smile spreading across her face. "Well, look who finally decided to show up," she says, crossing the room and pulling me into a warm hug.
I sink into it, just for a second, before pulling back.
"It's good to see my youngest daughter again," she says, cupping my face for a moment before letting me go.
I manage a smile, my lips tight, but it’s real enough. “It’s good to see you too, mom.”
Mom looks exactly the same as when I saw her early last year – like she never aged a bit - deep brown hair swept up in a loose bun, warm hazel eyes that always seem to know too much, and the same soft, floral perfume she’s worn for years.
I glance past her to my siblings.
Edward, the eldest, pushes up from the recliner, his six-foot frame still as effortlessly intimidating as ever. He’s always been the responsible one, the guy who has his life together. Sharp blue eyes, neatly trimmed beard, looking every bit the lawyer, he is. He’s the spitting image of our dad, tall, broad shoulders, and even down to the beard style.
His sharp features soften into a smirk as he steps forward and pulls me into a half-hug. "Didn’t think we’d actually see you before the wedding. Thought you’d come up with something to postpone," he teases.
I roll my eyes. "Glad to disappoint you, then."
Janet, the second eldest, is next. Her blonde hair is tied in a sleek ponytail, her makeup flawless, as usual. "About time," she says, pulling me in tightly before stepping back to give me a once-over. "You look good."
"So do you," I say, meaning it.
Janet is a doctor, running her own clinic in the city. A perfectionist to the core and the queen of comparisons. As muchas she can be a joy to be around, she can also be quite a big pain. She likes to carry herself with the confidence of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing at all times.
Rosa, my closest sibling in age, is the last one to hug me. She doesn’t say anything at first, just squeezes me tight before stepping back with a grin. "Don’t disappear on us this time," she murmurs.
I give a small smile but say nothing.
Rosa runs a small fashion business on the side but spends most of her time working in the family’s bakery and textile business.
All of them have successful careers, as they like to say. A doctor, a business owner, a fashion designer. And me?
"Whitney."
I turn to see Laura, Keith’s fiancée, smiling at me from the couch. Her dark curls frame her face, and there’s an undeniable warmth in her expression. She’s effortlessly elegant, the kind of person who looks like she belongs in a lifestyle magazine.
"Hey, Laura," I say, offering a small smile. "It’s good to see you again."
"You too," she says. "Welcome home."
Home.
