Page 18 of Going the Distance
Chapter 6
It was Tuesday afternoon, and once again, Lee was not spending time with me.
Much as I tried, it was hard not to feel bitter about it. I kept telling myself I was happy for him, and I liked Rachel. But it stung every time Lee would come up to me with that spanked-puppy look on his face and take a deep breath, and I’d know he was about to blow off whatever plans we might have had before he even got a syllable out. I’d suggested hanging out as a trio a few times, but even I knew they wanted some space and that I needed to step back.
So I asked Dixon for a ride home (again) and now I sat on the couch waiting for Brad to get home from Boy Scouts and Dad to get home from work, scrolling through my Twitter feed in case anything interesting was going on. Nothing was.
I tried calling Noah, but he didn’t answer. Maybe he was studying, I thought. If he was, he probably didn’t want to be interrupted.
It wasn’t long after that my cell trilled, and I jumped to answer it, not even pausing to check who was calling. “Hey.”
“Hey, Elle.”
My heart sank; it wasn’t Noah. I got a heavy, sick sort of feeling in my stomach, like after you watch a sad movie. Maybe he’d call me later. “Hi, Levi.”
“You sound disappointed. I guess you were hoping for somebody else?”
“Kind of. No offense.”
“None taken.” Then, “Noah?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, if you’re not too busy sitting around waiting for your boyfriend to call you, do you wanna come over to my house for dinner?”
I was a little taken aback, until something clicked into place. “Is this payback for helping me babysit Brad?”
“Yes indeed.”
I sighed heavily, like it was a total hardship to stop doing nothing and hang out with a friend for the evening. (And, hey, it’d take my mind off Noah and Lee a little, too.) “Text me your address. I’m on my way.”
Twenty minutes and one wrong turn later, I walked up the driveway and rang the doorbell. Levi’s house was small but sweet-looking, with a tidy front lawn and peeling paint around the windows. A wonky brass209was nailed to the bright green door. Levi opened it seconds later wearing a floral apron, his hair sprinkled with flour. He was wearing the shirt he’d worn to school, with the sleeves folded up to his elbows, but the pants from his school uniform had been switched for skinny jeans.
“Hey!”
“I like the apron. It’s the epitome of masculinity and macho-ness.”
He laughed. “That’s the look I was going for. Come on in. We’re baking brownies.”
“Sounds yummy.”
“I’m not sure about that,” he admitted as I stepped inside and slipped off my shoes, placing them neatly on the shoe rack by the door and hanging my purse from a hook. “I’m aiming fornot poisonous.”
Now it was my turn to laugh. “Just don’t ask me to help. I’ve sworn off baking ever since my home-ec disaster back in the eighth grade.”
“Ooh, an embarrassing story? Tell me everything.”
“I may have used baking soda instead of a pinch of salt and my cupcakes may have…exploded in the oven. Just a little. It was messy, but there was no fire extinguisher required.”
“Damn,” Levi muttered. “All the best stories have a fire extinguisher. But if that’s the case, maybe just…don’t touch anything in the kitchen.”
I held up my hand. “Scout’s honor.”
As we walked through to the kitchen, I couldn’t help but look around. It was pretty much the same layout as Cam’s house, except a little more worn in—I guess the previous owners didn’t care to refurbish much before selling. The dark hardwood floors in the hallway were scuffed and slightly scratched, maybe from moving furniture in and out.
In the kitchen, there was a rack above a counter with spatulas and serving spoons and ladles hanging from it, scrawled pencil drawings and report cards and certificates on the refrigerator were held in place by brightly colored magnetic letters, and school books and papers were splayed out on the breakfast bar.
The messiest thing in the kitchen by a mile was the eight-year-old girl who stood on a small, sturdy plastic stool so that she could reach the counter. Her frizzy brown hair was falling out of its pigtails, and she wore one of those easy-clean aprons—again, floral, and pink. She turned round when we walked in, and the entire lower half of her face was covered in chocolate goop.
