Page 53 of Not Dating Material

“It’s fine. I’m fine. I was just settling in.” I’m trying to hold my next question in, but it doesn’t work. “What are you both doing?”

“Your Dad’s being an old man and doing a crossword.”

“And who keeps asking to help?”

“Because someone was grumbling under his breath about four down.”

My eyes flutter closed for a second, trying not to let their bickering get to me. “So, Seattle’s great.”

They immediately cut off.

“Sorry, Mols,” Dad says, softening his voice. “Tell us.”

And even though I love them and miss them, I’m not as eager to share it all as I was a minute ago. I’d been ready to tell Dad all about my roommates and tell Will about my shitty date and fill them both in on Seven’s fake date and how he got one of my artworks literally inked on his fucking skin.

But in the space of a second, those things suddenly feel too personal.

“I’m enjoying it here,” I answer truthfully. “The house is nice, and the guys I live with are fun. Madden’s changed a lot.”

Will laughs.

“But I feel settled here.”

“That’s great to hear.”

“Yeah … how are things back home?”

And unlike me, they both have plenty to fill me in on, which is shocking, considering small-town life feels like it never changes.

“How are Ford and Orson?” I finally ask. I don’t think I’ll ever not feel regret when I think about how I treated them.

“Good. Orson asked about you.”

I roll my eyes. “Of course he did.” That man is a freaking saint. When I kissed his boyfriend, instead of getting angry at me, he made sure my drunken ass got home safe.

Movement by the front path catches my attention as I’m expecting to see Kismet make a reappearance, but an older lady with a cane and a cunning look on her face steps into view.

“Ah, I’ve gotta go,” I tell them as she approaches. For someone using a cane, she’s damn fast.

“Okay,” Dad says, not sounding happy about it. “But call again soon?”

“Yeah. Of course.” I’m not sure if I’m lying when I say it though. “Love you both.”

“Love you too.”

I hang up and turn my attention on the woman. “Auntie Agatha?”

She eyes me. “Molly?”

“The one and only.”

“Why don’t you invite a kindly old lady inside for a tea?”

“Kindly?” I pin her with a look. “The others have warned me about you.”

She sighs dramatically. “Another smart-ass brat to live next door to. However will I manage?”

I’ve heard stories about Aggy, and while I don’t know her and don’t want to push our first meeting, from everything they’ve said, she seems fun. Loving. But far from innocent.

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