Page 28 of If the Summer Lasted Forever
“I’ll pay you back,” I whisper.
He flashes me a flirtatious smile. “Don’t worry about it. I got it.”
If he keeps looking at me like that, I’m going to forget this is a ruse.
Betta hands us our drinks after a few minutes and commands us to go enjoy the sunshine while it lasts.
Landon holds the door for me as we leave the coffee shop, and then we amble down the road, sipping our drinks.
“Busy place,” Landon says. “Does she handle it all by herself?”
“Paige and a few other kids from school help out when she needs it. My mom steps in every once in a while too.”
“Doesn’t your mom have her hands full with the campground?”
“Yes, but it gives her a chance to talk to the people who ask about her sculptures in person. She enjoys it.”
“Can I ask you something?” he says after another long moment.
I nod.
“Where’s your dad? You mentioned him at the falls, but I didn’t want to pry.”
The question doesn’t sting anymore, not like it did when I was little, but I miss him, miss theideaof him. Things would be so different if he were still alive.
“He passed away when I was six. He had a rare form of pancreatic cancer.”
“I’m sorry,” Landon says, at a loss for words, as most people are when they first learn.
I tap his arm. “It’s okay—I’m okay.”
“So, your uncle came to live with you after that?”
“Yep. Mom couldn’t manage the campground and take care of me at the same time, so she was going to have to sell. Uncle Mark knew how much it meant to her and Dad, so he stepped in, started taking care of both of us.”
“And he’s your mom’s brother?”
“Dad’s brother.”
People don’t always know what to say to that at first. They jump to conclusions, assume that Mark and Mom’s relationship is romantic because Mark moved all the way to Colorado to help Mom out after Dad died. But it’s not like that. It would be weird if it were.
Mark’s become like a father to me, but he thinks of Mom as a sister, nothing more. We’re a strange little family—but a family all the same.
Landon says something else, but I don’t know what because I spy someone on the street I’d rather avoid.
“Let’s go this way—” I begin, already nudging Landon down a quaint, vegetable-garden-lined alley. But I’m too late.
“Lacey!” a girl calls in greeting, waving her hand to make sure I don’t miss her.
I growl under my breath, and though I think I’m quiet, Landon turns his head like he heard it. “Friend of yours?” he asks, saying “friend” in a questioning way.
The girl trots toward us, making her long braid bounce back and forth. She’s super short, barely five-foot, and her hair is naturally the shade of platinum blond the Hollywood types would kill for.
“Hey, Gia,” I say, working up a smile.
Landon’s lips part with understanding when he hears the name, but he doesn’t let on that we’ve talked about the home-wrecker before.
Gia stops in front of us, catching her breath. “I haven’t seen you in forever!”
