The car doors opened with a sigh of compressed air and cool mist rolled in as I stepped out. Daniel was waiting near the curb, his coat neatly pressed, his expression both excited and uneasy.
“You look beautiful,” he said softly. I could hear the hesitation, as though he didn’t know whether his parents would agree.
“Thank you,” I replied, smiling. “It’s just an old dress.”
He reached for my hand, but his grip was tense.
“Just don’t take anything they say personally, okay? My mom has a way of sounding sharp…”
“I know,” I finished for him, amused.
He sighed. “I’m sorry in advance.”
“Don’t be,” I said, squeezing his hand lightly. “I’m curious to meet them.”
As we drove through the quiet streets, the houses grew larger, the gardens more sculpted, the air faintly perfumed with cedar and lavender. When we turned the final corner, I saw the Mitchell residence—a glass-and-stone mansion overlooking the water, its windows glowing amber against the twilight. A fountain whispered in the driveway, and I could already smell the faint trace of polished wood and wine drifting from the open door.
Daniel parked, took a deep breath, and turned to me.
“Ready?”