Page 140 of Shut Up and Score
Colton groans. “Mom, stop.”
“What? I’mtrying.” She gives him a mock glare, then softens as she looks back at me. “I really am glad you’re here, Micah. We’ve missed you.”
Her words fill me with warmth in a way I haven’t felt in a long time.
From somewhere down the hall, a deeper voice calls, “That them?”
Colton’s dad, no doubt, it might have been years since I’ve been here, but I remember his voice.
Mrs. Taylor rolls her eyes affectionately. “Yes, come say hello before I put you to work.”
Mr. Taylor steps into the kitchen as though he’s just come in from the garage—work boots, flannel sleeves rolled up, a faint scent of motor oil clinging to him. He’s a businessman by day, but he loves his cars and sports in equal measure. His eyes flick from Colton to me, taking in the hoodie I’m wearing (Colton’s, obviously) and the fact that we’re still standing close enough to share body heat.
“Micah,” he says with a small nod. Not warm exactly, but not cold either. Just…acknowledging. “Been a while.”
“Yes, sir,” I say, because old habits die hard. “Good to see you again.”
He studies me for another beat, then looks at Colton. “You bringing him to dinner means we’ll see more of you now, right?”
Colton’s lips twitch. “Yeah, Dad. We’re sticking around.”
Mr. Taylor grunts—neutral, maybe even approving—and jerks his chin toward the dining room. “Good. Your mother made enough food for a small army. Better get in there before your sister eats it all.”
I almost laugh, but Mrs. Taylor swats his arm like she’s scolding a bear. “Don’t listen to him, Micah. He’s happy you’re here.”
Her husband shrugs, eyes crinkling faintly at the edges before he wanders over to check something in the oven. And I realize—he might not be a man of many words, but that was as close to a welcome as I’m going to get from him. And honestly? I’ll take it.
Colton’s sister breezes into the kitchen, a one-woman hurricane, phone in one hand, cardigan slipping off one shoulder. She’s mid-text when her eyes land on me—and then she’s grinning so wide I don’t even get a chance to brace myself.
“Oh myGod,” she says, abandoning her phone on the counter so she can cross the space in about three strides. “Micah freaking Blackman.”
I barely manage a “Hey—” before she’s hugging me, full-tilt, as though no time has passed.
“Two years and you don’t even send me a meme?” she accuses, pulling back to look me over like she’s checking for battle scars. “You’re lucky I like you, or I’d be holding a grudge.”
Colton groans behind her. “Don’t encourage him.”
She swats at him without looking away from me. “Are you kidding? I’ve been telling Mom formonthsthat he probably scared you off, and that he should just—” She stops herself, glances between us, then smirks. “—well, I guess he finally figured it out.”
“Yeah,” I say, my mouth tugging into something I can’t quite stop. “Guess he did.”
She loops her arm through mine leading me from the room as if we’re heading off to conspire about something. “Good. Now you’re sitting next to me at dinner, so I can catch up on literally everything. And I meaneverything.”
Over her shoulder, Colton shakes his head, but there’s this soft pride in his eyes that makes my chest feel too full.
We end up at the big oak table Colton’s mom has clearly over-prepared for—there’s enough food here to feed the offensive line and still have leftovers. She’s moving around like a one-woman pit crew, setting down dishes, topping off glasses, fluttering from one end of the table to the other.
“Now, Micah,” she says brightly as she leans a little too close to refill my tea, “you just let me know if you needanything. More potatoes, extra rolls, another pillow for your chair?—”
“Mom,” Colton warns, a hint of a groan in his voice.
“What?” she says innocently. “I’m just making sure our guest is comfortable.” She turns to me with an earnest smile. “We’re so happy you’re here, Micah. Really.”
It’s… a lot. Not bad, just—over the top in a way that makes me want to laugh and hide under the table at the same time. I can feel the heat in my cheeks.
“Thanks, Mrs. Taylor,” I say, trying to match her warmth without combusting.
“Please,” she waves a hand. “Call me Linda, you’re grown now.”
