Page 33 of If the Summer Lasted Forever
“Don’t waste the marshmallows!” Mrs. Tillman exclaims, exasperated.
I’d assure her again we couldn’t care less, but I’m practically floating above the fire, not capable of simple conversation.
And though I don’t mean to—or even want to—my brain can’t help but compare Landon to Thomas. It’s nothing major, just little things, like the way it feels to be in Landon’s arms, how tall he is, the way his sweatshirt feels and smells.
It hits me that I don’t remember those small things about Thomas as well as I thought I did. He never lent me his sweatshirt or a jacket. I don’t even remember what it’s like to kiss him, not really.
Naturally,thatthought leads to an imagined scene in Misty’s hayloft involving Landon—a place that’s marked with metaphorical flashing warning lights and bright yellow tape. We can’t go there. And I’m sure Landon doesn’t want to—not with the breakup still so fresh in his mind.
Do I want to though?
No.
No.
Maybe?
It doesn’t matter.
“Do you care if I film a bit for the vlog?” Mr. Tillman asks.
I freeze, and I’m afraid Landon can tell.
“We don’t have to,” Landon says quietly.
I shake my head. “No, it’s all right.”
Mr. Tillman asks the rest of the guests, and they all agree. From my cozy spot in Landon’s arms, I smile for the camera, feeling like a fraud. All the while I’m wishing, maybe just a little bit, that we weren’t just pretending.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
After staringat my closet for far too long, I end up in a pair of jeans, a cute, blousy top, and a pair of impractical ballet flats that I rarely wear.
Because the night is casual, I’ve pulled my hair up in a high ponytail again and curled the ends. Hopefully, I won’t get hay caught in it.
Don’t go there.
Thoughts of kissing Landon in the hayloft have consumed my week. This morning, I poured salt in my coffee. It tasted so awful, I ended up spitting it across the table. Mom looked at me like I sprouted another head and asked if I stayed up all night watching videos again.
The doorbell rings, pulling me from my thoughts. I’m so edgy, I almost hide in my closet. I can’t do this.
I hear the front door open, and Mom greets Landon.
“Lacey,” she calls after a few moments. “Landon’s here.”
Standing tall, I give myself a silent pep talk in the mirror. It’s going to be okay. It’s just a lame party.
I walk into the living room, trying not to think about how much this feels like a date—a real date. Landon smiles when he sees me, and my breath catches. He’s lounging against thedoorjamb, arms loosely crossed, making small talk with my mother.
“Ready?” Landon asks.
“Yep.” Thankfully, no one seems to notice the fake cheer in my voice.
“Have fun!” Mom says, clasping her hands and watching us with wide, happy eyes. Her enthusiasm doesn’t make the situation any less awkward.
Landon jiggles a pair of keys when we step out the door. “I actually get to drive you somewhere.”
The Tillmans’ Suburban is parked right next to my Jeep in all its shining, brand-new glory. Landon opens my door and flashes me a smile that makes my stomach flutter.
