It was snowing when I got to my fiancé’s parents’ house. The place looked like something out of a Christmas movie with lights around the porch and smoke coming out of the chimney. My stomach was in knots because it wasn’t just dinner, I was staying the whole weekend, and I didn’t know if they’d even like me.
I rang the bell and the door opened right away. I froze. It wasn’t my fiancé standing there. It was his dad.
He was older, bigger, built in a way my fiancé wasn’t. Broad shoulders, rough hands, gray at the sides of his dark hair. He stared right at me and I swear my knees almost gave out.
“You must be her,” he said. “Come in before you freeze.”
I stepped inside, heat rushing over me, but it wasn’t the house that warmed me up. It was him. The way he took my suitcase from me like it
