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A knot lodges itself in my throat at the words and I nod, kissing him back.

“What’s with the luggage?” I ask.

“I was thinking we could take a trip.” He hesitates. “To Michigan.”

I frown. “Why?”

“You know why,” he says, gaze softening.

I blow out a breath and nod reluctantly. Do I want to face my mother? Absolutely not. But I think I have to. My dad needs to know everything.

“Okay. Yeah, I can do this,” I say, shaking my arms out.

“I’ll be there with you, if you want me there,” he says.

“Of course I want you there.”

“Good.” He gives me a small grin. “Shall we?”

We take Levi’s jet to a small airport near my hometown, and I agonize over how to break the news to my dad the whole time. However, Levi is a strong and level-headed presence at my back.

It’s not until we’re on the steps of my childhood home that it all hits me.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” I tell Levi.

He puts a hand on my shoulder and spins me around to face him. Framing my face with his hands, he says. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. For what it’s worth, I think it’ll take a huge weight off your chest and help you move past this.”

I blow out a breath and nod. “Okay, you’re right, I’m just being a baby.”

He reaches over my shoulder and rings the doorbell.

I turn to the door right as my dad opens it, his tired face breaking into a smile. “Peanut, you’re home.”

“Hi, Dad.” I sniff back tears, giving him a tight hug. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too. What a surprise,” he says, looking between me and Levi.

“This is Levi,” I say, taking a step back and threading my fingers through his. “My boyfriend.”

My dad smiles and extends a hand. “Nice to meet you, Levi. Come in.”

Levi squeezes my dad’s hand, then brings it to my lower back.

“I’m not much into golf, as you can see.” My dad chuckles, gesturing to the hockey shelves decorating the walls of the hallway. “But I enjoyed the heck out of that U.S. Open.”

Levi laughs, his shoulders relaxing a little. Was he nervous to meet my dad?

“Thank you, sir. I couldn’t have won without your daughter’s help,” he says.

Dad waves him off. “Oh, call me David. Sit, you two. Want some coffee?”

“I think we’re good,” I say nervously, cracking my knuckles. The house smells exactly how it used to when I was growing up. Like the hops growing over the back patio and the lemongrass plants my dad likes to grow inside.

Dad notices my nervous energy and takes a seat across from me. I avoid his gaze, looking around at the familiar living room, noticing more of the wear and tear the years have brought on. The couches are faded, the material almost threadbare. There are stains on the carpet from food and wine spills. And yet, it’s home. There are pictures from high school all over the living room wall—us camping, sledding, playing pond hockey.

“I take it this is not just a social visit?” Dad says, leaning his forearms on his knees.

I shake my head and swallow hard. “It’s about Mom.”