Page 13 of Make Your Shot
My father purses his lips, slowly nodding his head. “Okay. I have to head out, so I’m sure I will see you later.” He glances at Willow quickly before looking back at me. “Love you. Bye, Willow.”
Willow bats her eyelashes at him, even though he’s turning in the opposite direction, heading toward the door that leads into the garage. “Bye, Mr Landry,” she calls out, her tone changing as she says his name.
I stare at her, raising my eyebrows. “Willow.”
“Sorry,” she giggles, shaking her head. “My boredom is getting to me.”
My eyebrows relax, dropping lower as I narrow my eyes. “I swear to God, if you make a move on my dad, I might go jump off the nearest, tallest building.”
Willow waves her hand at me, lifting her mug with her other hand to take a sip. She hides her smirk behindthe ceramic cup. “You’re dramatic,” she rolls her eyes, setting her coffee back down. “Daddy Dean looks good in those glasses, but he’s unfortunately not my type at all.”
My eyes widen, again. “Daddy Dean? What the hell is this?”
Willow breaks out into laughter, her head falling backward, then turns to smile at me. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” She pushes her strawberry blonde hair over her shoulder before placing her hand on her chest. “You’re so easy to get a rise out of.”
“I’m going to be late,” I mutter, letting out a sigh as I shake my head at my best friend. I know she’s joking, but I also know her taste in men. I close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I don’t even want to think about this.”
“So, don’t,” Willow says with a shrug. “I promise I will never do that. You know who I still think about?” She pauses and immediately waves it off. “Nevermind, it doesn’t even matter.”
I cock my head to the side. “No, who?”
Willow climbs off the stool and walks over to me. Her hands find my shoulders and she spins me around. “It’s not important. You’d better go before you’re late.” She gives me a gentle push. “Have a good first day, honey.”
I look at her over my shoulder. “I’m not your child.”
“Not yet!” She smirks and winks before her laughter fills the space again. I let out another exasperated sigh, turning away from her as I head out to my car. Willow Alder is my very best friend and a goddamn menace.
I double check the address on my dash as I pull up along the curb in front of a big white house with black trim and white pillars. I don’t know what I was expecting his house to look like, but I didn’t think he’d need one this big for just him and his daughter.
I shift my car into park, kill the engine, and grab my bag from the front seat before getting out. The cool breeze drifts past, pushing a few stray hairs in front of my face as I step onto the sidewalk. The lawn is perfectly manicured and there are a few different potted plants on the porch, along with two wooden rocking chairs.
Just as I reach the front door, it’s yanked open, revealing Caleb standing on the other side. My eyes meet his, noticing the black-rimmed glasses sitting on his face. His gray eyes almost look like molten steel.
“Good morning,” he says, his voice gruff as he reaches up to scratch at the stubble along his chiseled jaw line.
“I’m not used to seeing you with glasses,” I blurt out, feeling heat creep up my neck. “I’m sorry, that was rude. What I meant to say was good morning.”
Can I be any more embarrassing?
Caleb chuckles, then in a low voice, he says, “I normally wear contacts and honestly rarely wear these unless I absolutely need to.” He lifts his hand higher, the bottom hem of his sweatshirt lifting as he runs his hand through his wavy locks. “I have to go pick up my new ones on my way to practice.”
My head bobs and I adjust the strap of my purse on my shoulder. “They look good.”
“Thanks,” he says after a beat passes between us. “Please, come in,” he offers after clearing his throat. He steps out of the way, holding the massive black door open for me. I step into his space, and am struck by how clean and pristine the foyer is as I kick off my shoes.
“I woke T up about an hour ago, but she isn’t exactly a morning person,” he explains as he steps deeper into the house. I follow after him, my eyes scanning the walls in the foyer as we head to the kitchen. There are professional photos of Estella and Caleb hanging on display. “She wanted to play with her dolls before eating breakfast.”
A chill seeps through my socks from the wood floor as we step into the open concept kitchen. I stop by the island in the center, my hands caressing the edge of the marble countertop as Caleb walks over to the stove. “I used to hate mornings.”
“No?” Caleb questions me, turning around with an eyebrow raised as he sets a plate of pancakes in the center of the island. “I wouldn’t have guessed that.”
His comment catches me off guard. My head tilts to the side. “Why’s that?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he says in a rush, his tone dismissive as he shrugs his shoulders. “You just have a morning personality.”
I’m not sure what he means, but I don’t question him on it any further. The way he ducks his head andskirts around the kitchen makes his discomfort noticeable.
Caleb and I aren’t strangers. We’ve spoken numerous times and have been around each other enough to know one another, but an assessment like that feels a little deeper than all the short lived conversations we’ve had.
