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The Powell Farm is much bigger than I expected. Scarlett points out the various fields they own as we drive past.

“You’ve come at the worst time of year for a canola farm,” she says, grimacing as Piper pulls up to the main farmhouse. “It’s prettier the rest of the year. It’s a lot of brown in winter.”

“You said you grow Christmas trees out here too, right?”

“Way back there,” Scarlett says, pointing east of the house. “Landon’s Christmas tree farm opens next weekend. He set them up in all of the fields surrounding the house. It’s his pet project, really. He’s not all that enthusiastic about canola.”

“I suppose it’s not the most exciting plant.”

Scarlett’s eyes widen. “Do not say that to my dad.”

“Noted. Anything else I need to know to get on their good side?”

“Nah. You won over the kids in seconds. You’ll be fine.”

Hearing her say I’ve won the kids over is exactly what I need as I follow her to the house. I want her family to like me, but she seems to, and the kids do, and that’s all I really need.

Piper and the kids are already inside. Scarlett leads me through the farmhouse to the dining room, past walls covered with photographs. I spot several of her through the years, from being a toddler riding on her dad’s shoulders, to a teenager with oversized sunglasses and cut-off shorts, to one that must only have been taken a few years ago, holding Caitlin’s hand, with James tucked against her chest in a baby carrier. There are pictures of Landon and Piper, too. It’s clear the Powells are proud of them all.

We find everyone else sitting around a large wooden dining table that’s covered with casserole dishes, plates, and a pile of books, courtesy of James. The second we walk in, three heads snap in our direction.

“Everyone, this is Killian. Killian, this is my mom and dad, Lanie and Scott, and Landon,” Scarlett says.

“It’s nice to meet you all. Thank you for having me for lunch.”

Scarlett’s parents are both staring at me intensely, like they’re trying to reconcile who I am with who my dad is. Landon is just glaring. Great.

“Grandpa,” James whispers, tugging his sleeve. “You have to shake his hand. Remember?”

Scott’s mustache twitches, as he smiles at his grandson. “You’re right.” He stands up and offers me his hand. I clasp it, expecting him to squeeze the living daylights out of me, but it’s a perfectly polite handshake. “Welcome.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“The more the merrier. How do you take your coffee? Scott makes a mean latte,” Lanie says, smiling widely, though I can still see some uncertainty in her eyes, the same soft brown as Scarlett’s. It reminds me of the time Fallon brought home a guy with no job and a moped, and my mom made us all pretend to be okay with it.

I find myself sandwiched between the kids at the table. James and Scarlett are sitting between me and Landon, but that doesn’t make his glare any less frosty.

Scarlett notices, too, and nudges him. “Can you stop that, please?”

“Stop what?”

“Glaring at Killian like he destroyed all your crops.”

Landon narrows his eyes. Like Scarlett’s, they’re deep brown and lined with thick lashes. Unlike Scarlett’s, they’re full of ice. “What do you want me to do, Scar? I don’t trust him.”

Understandable, but … ouch.

“You don’t know him.” It shouldn’t feel as good as it does to hear her defend me.

“I didn’t trust his dad and I was right about that.”

Scarlett’s eyes widen. “Landon,” she hisses under her breath, glancing over at James to see if he noticed. “They don’t know. Keep it down.” Thankfully, he’s engrossed in one of the many books he brought, and Caitlin is helping her grandparents in the kitchen.

I clear my throat. “Look, Landon, if the situations were reversed, I wouldn’t trust you either. I get it.”

“You’re not even going to try and convince me?” he asks, raising a dark brow.

“Oh, I’ll convince you. I’m not my dad, but me saying that means nothing. You have to see it in action, and you will. I plan on being around as much as Scarlett will let me, and I know my brother and sister will want to be, too. We’re not him.”