Page 162 of His Reckoning

It feels … normal.

Kayla hops onto one of the stools at the island and opens the yogurt. “So, what’s on the agenda today?”

I loosen the collar of my shirt slightly. “Family dinner.”

Her spoon pauses halfway to her mouth. “Oh.”

I shrug. “It’s Sunday.”

“Right.”

She nods slowly, then goes back to eating like the conversation is over.

I hesitate. It’s unusual for me since I normally make decisions a lot faster than this. But something about the way she’s sitting there in my kitchen makes the words catch in my throat.

I rub the back of my neck.

“They’ve already met you,” I say finally.

Kayla looks up. “So?”

“So …”

I exhale. “You could come.”

Her eyebrows lift slightly. “You’re inviting me to family dinner?”

“I’m acknowledging that it wouldn’t be weird if you showed up.”

“That sounds suspiciously like an invitation.”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t make it a thing.”

She grins. “Too late.”

A few seconds pass, and then she slides off the stool.

“Well,” she says casually, “if your mother is cooking, I’d be stupid to say no.”

Despite myself, I feel the corner of my mouth lift slightly, and suddenly, Sunday dinner doesn’t feel like something I have to endure.

* * *

By the time we pull into my parents’ place, it is already loud. Not music loud … family loud.

Voices overlapping through the open kitchen window, someone laughing, the unmistakable smell of garlic and tomatoes drifting outside.

Kayla glances toward the house. “You weren’t kidding.”

“About what?”

She gestures toward the front door. “It sounds like a small wedding in there.”

“It’s Sunday.”

“That explains everything.”

I walk up the front steps and open the door without knocking.