Page 99 of Let You Love Me

“Actually, Mrs. Turner,” I start.

“Dolly,” she interrupts.

“Right. Dolly,” I say, kindly. “Actually, the place we’re going to is definitely somewhere we’ll want to take Sophie.”

“Oh.” A flicker of something passes over Dolly’s face before she nods. “Well, if you’re sure.”

I glance at Lane. “We’re sure,” she says.

“In that case, the three of you have fun.”

Chapter 24

LANE

“Your mother is lovely.Seriously a peach,” Teagan says, his tone chipper as he walks us to his car.

I elbow him in the ribs, hoping my mother isn’t watching from the window.

Knowing her, she is.

“I hate you,” I say, though there’s no conviction in it.

“No, you don’t,” he crows. “You love me.” He winks, and a flush instantly creeps up my neck.

Dammit, he’s right.

“I can’t believe you show up here unannounced and, literally, win both of my parents over in a matter of minutes.” I shake my head, still in disbelief my father didn’t give him a harder time. Then again, I had warned him that Teagan and I were friends just a couple of hours ago.

“You sound surprised by that.”

I arch a brow in response.

“Face it, Turner, I’m a charmer.” He grins, but when I stop beside my car, he frowns. “We’re taking my ride.”

“Car seat, remember?”

“Oh, shoot. Right. Of course.” He shakes his head and waits while I fling open the door to the back seat and unlatch Sophie’s car seat.

Once I have it in hand, I lug it over to his car, fully prepared to hook it into the seat myself when he takes it from me and starts to work. Without fumbling or asking me how, he begins securing the bottom strap of the seat.

“How do you—”

“Little sisters, remember?” he glances back at me, and I nod, once again taken aback by his take-charge attitude.

When he’s finished, I help get Sophie strapped in then take the passenger seat, suddenly aware this is the first time I’ve been in his car.

I’m unsurprised to find it neat and tidy, just like him. Not a speck of dust covers his dashboard or a hint of dirt on the floor mats, a far cry from the toy-riddled, sticky mats in my own.

His citrus-spice scent mingles with the scent of leather upholstery in an intoxicating combination. I want to close my eyes and breathe it in, drag it deep into my lungs like I’m taking a hit of it, and I would if I didn’t think he’d notice.

“In all seriousness,” he says, interrupting my thoughts on how I could bottle his scent and take it with me, “your parents are great.”

“Yeah, they are pretty great,” I say. I’ve spent the last four years, in fact, thinking how lucky I am to have them in my corner. “But you should probably be worried.”

“Worried? Why?” With one hand braced on the steering wheel, he leans back in his seat, concern creasing his brow as he glances over at me.

“Did you see the way my mom was eyeing you? She’s probably browsing wedding invitations right now. No doubt when I get home tonight, she’ll grill me with a thousand questions about you, right down to your blood type.”

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