Page 68 of Take It Till You Make It
Crispin: I had fun last night. Thanks again.
Me: It was great. Except the movie. That was 100% gouda.
Crispin: ?
Me: Cheesy
Crispin:[Laughing/crying emoji]Here’s the address for my parents. Is 2:00 okay?
Me: As long as you don’t keep me out late, it should be fine.
Crispin: Can’t wait to beat you at lawn darts.
Me: IF you do win, I blame your freakishly long reach.
Crispin: Already making excuses, huh?
Me: Well, yes. I was absent the day they handed out coordination and athleticism. Why do they do those on the same day, anyway?
Crispin:[ROFL emoji]At least they gave you an extra dose of acting skills so you don’t have to rely on your high jump to put food on the table.
Me: That would be tragic!
Crispin: Says the 5-foot-nothing girl.
Me: 1. 5 foot 1, thank you very much.
Crispin: You are more than a foot shorter than me.
Me: Uh…you never noticed? I’ve stood next to you more than once now.
Crispin: I guess I didn’t quantify it.
Me: No one will accuse you of being height-ist.
Crispin: Is that a thing?
Me: Probably.
Crispin: Looking forward to tomorrow. You’re sure you don’t want me to pick you up?
Me: I’m fine. Thanks for the addy. I’ll see you at 2:00.
He hearts my final message, and I take a deep breath. Texting with Crispin Moore. I didn’t have that on my bingo card for this year. And yet I’ll be playing lawn darts with him tomorrow.
A little thrill courses through me, and I bite my lip. Looking up at the ceiling again, I whisper. “He’s a really nice guy, Dad. And so thoughtful. I think I’m really starting to like him. I hope you approve.”
The ceiling doesn’t answer, but outside, a cloud shifts and a beam of sunshine lights up my view. I smile. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
I should have broughtbarf bags. The closer I get to Crispin’s parents’ house, the more likely spew-age is to happen.
My navigation tells me to turn left. I’m in a very normal neighborhood. The houses are old, but most of them are well-kept. Lots of Spanish tile roofs and stucco walls. Brick accents. Very Southern California, I’m figuring out. My navigation informs me my destination is on the right. And that I’ve arrived. I pull to the curb in front of a house that looks like many of the others. There is a charming stucco and brick arch over a wrought iron fence. A stucco wall wraps around the property with large fan palms softening the look. A palm tree is in the corner of the yard inside the wall. It stands at least thirty feet high. Probably higher. I stink at estimating. I grin at the palm as I get out of my car.
“Cool.”
When I lift the latch to let myself into the gate, Crispin appears in the entry of the house. The double doors stand open, and tile floors stretch from the front door all the way to the back of the house. Crispin, again in shorts, a t-shirt, and flipflops, looks so much a part of the scenery that I feel like I’m looking at an ad.
