Page 20 of More Than a Hero
"I'm still waiting on an answer," her mother reminded, breaking the hum of activity.
Her father looked up from sealing a sandwich bag. "An answer to what?"
"Mom was asking about my date last night," Angie said, suddenly feeling every pair of eyes turn to her. She hesitated, then shrugged, attempting nonchalance. "It was fine."
Her mother stopped mid-reach for a bag of chips, narrowing her eyes. "Just… fine?"
Angie smothered a chuckle. “Okay, okay. Actually, it was perfect.”
Grandma Dorothy’s brows lifted with interest. “A perfect date? Well, now, that’s something worth talking about.”
She grinned, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "We met at Roy's Barbecue—Oh! That reminds me, I have leftovers foryou and Grandpa. Pete ordered an entire extra meal just to be sure you had enough."
Grandpa Stan’s eyes widened with approval. "Well, I like him already!"
Laughter rippled through the kitchen as they continued their work, their easy companionship surrounding Angie like a soft embrace. She glanced around, taking in the simple beauty of the moment—the warmth of her parents’ home, the love and familiarity woven into every shared meal and teasing remark.
She had this. She had them. She had a family who loved without conditions. One that gathered on Saturdays to give back, to laugh, to be together. She had what Pete had never known. And maybe, just maybe, she had found someone to share it with.
Angie jolted at the sound of her mother’s voice, blinking as she pulled herself back into the present. "I’m sorry, did you say something?"
Her mother gave her a knowing smile. “I just wondered if there was anything else you could tell us about him, besides the fact that he’s a detective.”
A warmth spread through Angie’s chest before she even realized she was smiling. “He works with at-risk youth,” she blurted out, the words tumbling free before she could filter them. It wasn’t the first thing she’d planned to say, but somehow, it was the first thing that came to mind. Maybe because it had left such an impression on her. He had so effortlessly stepped into their lives, offering guidance and understanding their struggles without judgment.
She glanced between her parents and grandparents, feeling their quiet interest. Without giving away too much of Pete’s personal history, she recounted seeing him at the YMCA, the way he interacted with the young men.
"Thinking about those kids makes me realize how lucky I am," she admitted, gesturing to the rows of brown paper baglunches stacked neatly in the boxes her father had just sealed. “Even now, just something as small as this… it reminds me that I’ve always had family looking out for me.”
Her father’s expression softened as he considered her words. “I take it the young men he works with don’t have that kind of stability?”
She shook her head. “We didn’t get into the specifics, but I’d bet most of them don’t.”
Grandma Dorothy sighed, her hands resting atop a loaf of bread as she looked wistfully toward the window. “Wouldn’t it be nice if everyone had loving mentors, whether they were true family or not?”
“And nice for us old folks to have young people around to keep our spirits high,” Grandpa Stan added with a grin, slipping an arm around Angie’s shoulders and giving her a squeeze.
The moment settled into something warm, something steady with love woven into every glance, every touch, and every unspoken understanding between them. By the time they finished boxing up the last of the meals, a volunteer van had pulled into the driveway. They all worked together to carry out the boxes, sending the meals off with well-wishes.
Angie hugged her parents and grandparents before stepping back. “I have some housework to tackle today. Grandma, if it’s okay, I’ll bring over that barbecue for your dinner tonight.”
“Oh, that would be lovely, sweetheart.”
With parting waves goodbye, Angie turned and headed back down the street to her own house.
The afternoon light filtered through the windows as she slipped inside, setting her bag by the door. The familiar quiet greeted her, yet her thoughts weren’t on the laundry she needed to do or the dishes in the sink. Her gaze kept straying to the sofa.
The very spot where she and Pete had talked last night. Where she had watched him open up just enough to revealglimpses of the man beneath the badge. And where, in the stillness of that moment, his lips had brushed against hers.
Her breath hitched at the memory, and before she could stop herself, her fingertips ghosted over her mouth. She could still feel the press of his lips, the warmth lingering like an imprint on her skin. A slow, shivery awareness spread through her, curling in the pit of her stomach.
Shaking herself from the thought, she moved toward her dining table and pulled out her satchel, opening her laptop. She skimmed her list of meetings for the week, reviewing the names of the senior residents she planned to check in on. But as she stared at the screen, her grandmother’s words whispered through her mind once more.
Wouldn’t it be nice if everyone had loving mentors, whether they were true family or not?
She leaned back in her chair, her gaze drifting beyond the screen, beyond the walls of her home. Ideas swirled in her mind like the shifting colors of a kaleidoscope—uncertain at first, blurred and scattered. Then suddenly, they clicked into place, forming something whole and beautiful.
And just like that, a new idea began to take root.
