Page 32 of If the Summer Lasted Forever
I realize he’s playing it up for his family, but for some reason, my breath catches. I glance toward Mrs. Tillman, self-conscious. A part of me, a teeny-tiny part, feels kind of guilty. She just wants Landon to be happy, and we’re lying to them.
What’s she going to think about me when she finds out we were never together?
“Make me one next!” Caleb begs Landon.
“You’re already roasting one,” I point out.
Landon’s little brother gives me a look. “I’mburningthis one.”
“Don’t waste other people’s marshmallows,” Mrs. Tillman says.
Caleb’s face falls. And why wouldn’t it? What kid doesn’t love watching a white, fluffy marshmallow turn into a torch? It’s the only time you’re actually allowed to play with fire.
“We don’t care,” I assure Landon’s mom.
She purses her lips and then shrugs, giving him permission. A few moments later, Caleb’s wielding an impressive flaming marshmallow.
“Look!” he exclaims, so excited he ends up whirling around, taking the mass of burning sugar goo with him.
“Keep it over the fire!” Mr. Tillman commands. “And don’tshakeit.”
For some reason, Landon’s mom looks a touch nervous. Even Bark moves away from the boy.
“Can I have another s’more?” McKenna asks through the final bite of her first one.
“No,” Mr. and Mrs. Tillman say at the same time.
McKenna pouts for several seconds, and then she turns to Hallie Hendrick. “Did you know Irish Wolfhounds are the tallest dogs? They’re even bigger than Great Danes, though there was a Great Dane that was taller than any other dogever.”
Hallie’s about five years older than I am—maybe twenty-two, twenty-three—and kind of quiet. But she has a kind smile, so I think she’s nice enough—just shy. She brushes her chin-length, light brunette hair behind her ear and says, “I did know that. Did you know English commoners were forbidden from owning Greyhounds in medieval times?”
Finding a kindred spirit, McKenna moves next to Hallie and starts an in-depth conversation about dogs. The girl pets Bark, making Candy jealous. Not about to be ignored, the tiny dog makes friends with the Greyhound. Soon the two are playing—well, Candy plays. Bark lies on the ground and paws at her as she jumps around him.
Caleb’s burning marshmallow finally turns black and falls into the fire to join the coals, and Landon roasts him a proper one. A few more families join us, and the sky darkens to velvety indigo.
It gets cold as the light fades. I forgot to grab a jacket before I left the house, so I hug myself, rubbing my arms to keep warm.
“Are you cold?” Landon asks, already shrugging off his sweatshirt.
“I’m fine,” I say, and then I shiver.
“Take it,” he coaxes and holds the sweatshirt out.
He’s playing the part. Or maybe he’s just genuinely nice and cares that I’m frozen. It’s not because he necessarilywantsme to wear his sweatshirt.
“Thanks.” I take it and pull it over my head, realizing my mistake immediately. Soapy, wonderful, Landon-nesssurrounds me, making me want to melt, just like one of his perfectly toasted marshmallows. The fabric is still warm, too.
Then, just to top it off, Landon wraps his arms around my middle and pulls my back to his chest, blocking the chill. I feel like a sparking live wire, but Landon’s all loose and relaxed.
He should go into acting—he really should.
I rest my head back because I would be a fool to pass up this kind of opportunity. Landon shifts, tugging me closer, and sets his chin on top of my head. I’ve never dated someone tall enough to do that.
Ornotdated…
“Ew,” Hunter mutters, rolling his eyes.
Mr. Tillman tosses a marshmallow at his surly son.
