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“You really like the boy, the Wilder boy,” Mom says around a big bite of the treat that, Cherry was right, is way better than a cinnamon bun.

I shrug, licking the icing off my thumb.

“Oh, come on.” She bumps my shoulder with hers. “Tell me.”

“I like him.”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time together,” she prompts, and I blush as I swing my legs over the side of the tailgate. “Has he asked you to be his girlfriend?”

“He asked.”

“And you said…”

“I said yes.” I’ve never lied to my mom. We’ve always been close, and I want it to stay that way. But talking to her about Holt is—it’s different. I don’t know how I feel about it just yet.

She sucks in a breath. “Your first boyfriend. You’re growing up.”

I shoot her a side grin. “I’m fifteen now. Besides, there was Ethan.”

“We both know that’s not the same.” Throwing her arm over my shoulders, she tugs me in for a quick kiss to my hair.

“Hey,” Dad shouts from the water. “Am I fishing alone, now?”

“Of course not,” Mom calls. For my ears only, she says quieter, “He’s so needy.”

“We better go catch a fish.” I slide off the tailgate with my rod in hand. “If we don’t, we’ll be here all day.”

“You’re just trying to get out of boy talk with your mom,” Mom accuses.

She’s not entirely wrong.

Line already cast, Dad twists at the waist. “Now you’re talking about boys without me? What is this, ditch Dad on his special day, day?”

Standing close, I can’t help the smile as I look up at Dad in his hat that I made for him for Father’s Day when I was eight. He wears the sloppy craft with such pride. Even though he looks ridiculous in it, my heart can’t help but burst with pride.

Dad is the best.

“Sorry to break it to you, Dad, but I think it’s my special day.”

He drops a thick arm around my shoulders, giving me a gentle squeeze. He sighs, melodramatic. “I think you’re old enough now—fifteen and all—to know that I put a lot of work into creating you. A lot. Sweat, tears, other bod⁠—”

I shove from his hold. “Eww, Dad, no.”

Mom laughs, a high, full sound as she joins us. If there’s something they’ve never shied away from talking to me about as I got older, it was sex, and the risks of it. Mom and Dad are nothing if not honest to a fault.

Dad frowns. “Not eww. Reality.”

“Doug.” Mom rolls her eyes. “She gets the logistics.” I think I’m in the clear, saved by Mom before she adds, “She knows what goes in to making a baby. So, she knows it’s really my special day, considering I’m the one who did all the work.”

I should have known better to think, for once, that Mom wasn’t right there, redlining the crazy barometer with Dad.

“You guys have issues,” I mutter.

Dad reels in his line and lets it fly again. But there’s a happy smile on his face, the kind of smile that can be dimmed by nothing, and no one. He’s with his girls, wearing his hat, in nature. This is his element, his happiest place, and it makes me happy to see it.

“Happy Birthday Mom and Dad,” I say, smiling just as wide.

“Happiest day of my life,” Dad says.