Page 64 of If the Summer Lasted Forever
What she really means is she doesn’t want to get her hopes up.
“Your stuff is amazing,” I tell her. “It deserves to be in galleries…not coffee shops.”
“It was very kind of Betta to let me display a few pieces,” Mom reminds me almost sternly.
I nod, feeling adequately chastised, and stir rice and cooked sausage in with the peppers and onions. The conversation drops off as I finish preparing the jambalaya so it can cook.
“So…how are things going with Landon?” Mom asks smugly just as I’m putting the lid on the pot and turning down the temperature to a simmer.
That, Mother Dearest, is an excellent question.
“Fine.”
She crosses her arms, smiling in a way that makes me want to avoid the question. “Just fine?”
“We’re great, okay? Landon’s great.”
The scary thing is I mean it with my whole heart. Landonisgreat…and we’re pretty great together. Too bad our poor relationship—or whatever you want to call it—is doomed. Star-crossed lovers and all that.
“He seems sweet,” she says, getting all gooey and mom-ish on me. “And his family is wonderful.”
Yes, Iknow.It’s like she’s insistent on rubbing lemon juice on a wound—and she doesn’t even know she’s doing it.
Why couldn’t our mothers see this was a bad idea?
Probably because teenagers don’t actually fall in love, right? Like Paige said, you have to date several guys before you end up with the right one.
But what if you find him early?
Does that mean you don’t get to keep him because the timing is all wrong? If so, that’s a pretty crummy love story.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“I’m thinking tomorrow,”Landon says, leaning over the counter, watching me work. He has his camera trained on me, but I hardly even notice anymore.
“Tomorrow what?” I drum my fingers next to my keyboard, looking at a map of the property, trying to decide if we could construct a dog run near the creek. I bet we could squeeze one in.
“Tomorrow, we’re going to drive to Glenwood Springs and go on that date I promised your mom I’d take you on,” he answers.
“I have to prune the roses next to the fishpond.”
“Do it Monday, and I’ll help you.”
I give him a look, but that only makes him grin. He turns the camera so it’s focused on his face. “Lacey says she doesn’t have time, but I think I can talk her into it.”
“I can’t take you seriously when you’re talking to your imaginary friends,” I tease him.
“I’m very serious,” he insists, shutting off the camera. “We’ll leave in the morning, explore a little, have an early dinner, and head back.”
“Glenwood is about four hours away.”
“Humor me.”
“Where exactly do you intend to explore?”
He flips out a brochure of a cave tour. “Cool, right?”
Absolutely, except for one tiny problem—I’m terribly claustrophobic, and caves are creepy. “You are not getting me in there.”
