A man stood at the kitchen sink washing a soapy bowl, his back turned to us. The water was running, but rather than rinsing the dish, he stared out of the window in front of him. Spencer cleared her throat, and I watched the man’s shoulders go rigid and then quickly relax again. He rinsed the bowl, set it in the wire dish rack, then turned off the water and grabbed a dishtowel. He dried his hands as he turned to face us. From across the kitchen, Tommy Costello appeared several inches taller than me and seemed to grow even larger as he approached. He had red hair like Spencer, though his was a lighter shade of copper than hers. Tommy grinned at us and slung the dishtowel over one shoulder. Deep grooves forged from years of good-natured smiles framed his mouth, and my apprehension eased just a little.

“Well, I guess he found the place after all, Spence,” he said, then turned his gaze to me. “She’s been pacing around in the hall for the last half-hour, worried you’d gotten lost.”

I laughed. “She mentioned that.”

“Dad,” Spencer said, clearly anxious to change the subject before her father said anything else to embarrass her, “this is Shane Casey. Shane, my dad, Tommy Costello.”

I told myself I was being paranoid, but the flash of recognition I caught in his eyes made my hand shake a little when I extended it to Tommy. He remained motionless for a second and then took my hand, squeezing it a bit harder than necessary.

“Pleasure to meet you, Shane,” he said. “Spencer’s told me almost nothing about you.” He released my hand and crossed his arms over his chest, causing the blue fabric of his sweater to strain over the muscles of his arms.

“There’s not much to tell, I guess.” I smiled at Spencer, then returned my attention to Tommy. The older man studied me through narrowed eyes. I hoped the expression was nothing more than the appraising look of a father meeting his daughter’s boyfriend for the first time, but something warned me to be cautious. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other and shoved my hands into the pockets of my slacks.

“Hmm,” Tommy grunted. “I guess we’ll see.”

Spencer looked nervously from her father to me and back again. Tommy’s icy demeanor was obviously what she’d been worried about, and she seemed unsure how to proceed. “Well, I guess we should probably eat,” she said finally.

Tommy looked at her as if he’d forgotten she was in the room. “Sure. Of course, hon. Why don’t you grab the salad and show Shane into the dining room?”

Spencer nodded and grabbed a large glass bowl from the island. She crossed the kitchen to a doorway on the right side of the room, and I trailed after her. A long, highly polished table with thick legs gleamed in the light of a low-hanging chandelier. Though it offered seating for at least a dozen people, only three places had been set at its far end. Spencer carried the salad around to the opposite side and walked down the length of the table. She set the bowl near the plates.

“You can sit there.” She pointed to the place across from her.

I made my way to it but didn’t take my seat. Instead, I gripped the back of the chair and drummed my fingers against it. “I’m not so sure your dad likes me.” I glanced at the doorway to ensure Tommy wasn’t on his way through it.

“It’s not that,” she said. “He’s still dealing with this whole ‘boyfriend’ thing. Like I said, I’ve never told him about the guys I’ve dated before, and I’ve definitely never invited anyone for dinner.” She pulled out her chair and slid into it, then smoothed the wispy fabric of her skirt over her legs. “You’re the first guy I ever wanted to invite.”

A wave of guilt nudged at me when she aimed a shy smile in my direction, but I pushed it away and smiled back. “Well, I’m honored to have that distinction.”

Tommy emerged from the kitchen wearing bright green oven mitts and carrying a casserole dish. He eased the dish onto a trivet that had been set out on the sideboard behind Spencer and pulled the mitts off.

“Looks delicious as usual, Spence.” He reached over her shoulder to retrieve her plate. He scooped a section of the lasagna onto it, then handed it back. He extended his hand to me, and I obediently offered my plate. Tommy filled it with a generous portion and passed it back. “This is Spencer’s specialty. It’s her own recipe—one she won’t even share with me, which is fine because that means she has to visit once in a while to make it for me.” Tommy nudged Spencer with his elbow as he piled lasagna onto his own plate.

“Okay, Dad,” she said. “I can make lasagna. We get it.”

Tommy chuckled and took his seat at the head of the table. “All right, I’m done complimenting you.” Spencer pursed her lips and raised a skeptical eyebrow, which only made her father laugh harder. “For now, at least,” he said.

Spencer rolled her eyes, and her gaze met mine across the table. We smiled at each other before Tommy cleared his throat and we both snapped our attention back to him. He gave me a tight-lipped smile before bowing his head, plainly expecting me to follow suit. I did, but looked at Spencer through lowered lashes and gave her a conspiratorial wink when she did the same.

“Shane,” Tommy said. I lowered my eyes again, feeling like a child who’d been caught sneaking a cookie before dinner. “Would you care to say the blessing?”

I swallowed. “Of course, sir,” I said after a moment, then recited the well-engrained Catholic prayer. “Bless us, oh Lord, and these thy gifts which we are about to receive from thy bounty, through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

All three of us raised our heads and crossed ourselves perfunctorily. Tommy helped himself to salad, then retrieved his fork and held it suspended over his plate. “So, Shane, Spencer tells me you’re a transfer to Balanova.”

I nodded and hurried to finish the large bite of lasagna I’d taken. “Yes, sir. This is my first semester.”

“And where were you before this?” Tommy took a bite of his own dinner but kept his eyes locked on me.

“Shane went to Loyola,” Spencer said, clearly trying to save me from Tommy’s grilling.

“I see,” Tommy said. His expression was unreadable.

I dropped my eyes to my plate and took another large bite in the hope it would delay any more questions for at least the time it took to chew. I chewed very slowly.

“He’s from New Orleans,” she added.

The bit of lasagna I’d just swallowed caught in my throat, and I coughed. I lifted my head and rapidly shifted my gaze from Spencer to her father. Tommy’s expression darkened and I saw the muscle of his jaw twitch, but his face was impassive again within a second. I looked back at Spencer and was relieved to see she hadn’t seemed to notice her father’s reaction because she hadn’t taken her eyes off me. She frowned, her expression a mixture of concern and amusement.

“You okay?”

I nodded and took a few gulps of water. “Fine, yeah.” I grinned at her. “Sorry. I guess I should take smaller bites.”

She giggled. “Respiratory distress tends to take the fun out of the meal. Chewing is recommended.”

I snickered, relieved the moment had passed without incident. “Thanks for the advice.” I winked at her.

She beamed and caught her bottom lip between her teeth. I returned my attention to the plate in front of me but glanced at Tommy from the corner of my eye. He continued to eat in silence but occasionally looked at his daughter with a sort of worried expression. Spencer smiled at her plate and pushed her food around its surface with her fork. I wondered if she wished as badly as I did that we were back in her sorority room instead of sitting at her father’s dinner table in uncomfortable silence.

After several minutes, Tommy laid his fork across his empty plate and leaned back in his chair. “That was wonderful, hon.”

Spencer set down her fork and smiled wearily at him. “Thanks, Dad.”