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We spend the rest of the drive catching up. My mom tells me stories about their friends down in Florida and what they’re remodeling in their house. My parents both like to keep busy, so my mom spends her days volunteering and joining her friends for water aerobics or yoga classes.
My dad prefers to stay a little closer to home, so he does work around the house. He has a long list of things that my mom wants done around the place, and I listen as he tells me about the back deck that he just got done building. Now my mom is trying to figure out if she wants flower boxes or a raised garden bed built next. My mom tells me about how she’s thinking about redoing the guest bathroom and how if they’re doing one, they might as well do the bathroom in the master bedroom as well.
“Remember that dark blue vanity that we saw at Home Depot, honey?” my mom asks my dad and I grin as he nods. We both know what’s coming.
“I think that it would look great in our bathroom. We can redo the tile too. I’ve been on this website called Pinterest. Have you heard of it, Eli? It’s great for inspiration.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard of it, Mom.”
“I love it! I’ve been flagging all of the ideas that I like and saving them to this thing that they call boards,” she continues.
“Uh huh,” I hum, letting her tell me all about her Pinterest boards and all of the things that she’s saving.
By the time that we pull into the drive outside my house, snow is starting to fall. It’s just a few flurries now, but I know that I’ll be out here plowing the driveway in the morning. I make a mental note to pick Hartley up. She shouldn’t be driving her little car around in this weather.
That thought stops me in my tracks and I gulp.
I’m excited to see her again, I realize.
I have fun with Hartley. She’s sweet and funny and kind. I liked seeing her with Brennan, watching the two of them bond over cooking. She’s patient and her sweet southern accent calms me and excites me all at once.
Those thoughts have my stomach dropping and dread fills me.
Shit.
Leave it to me to develop some kind of feelings for the one girl who isn’t interested in a relationship.
You’re not falling for her. You two are just friends. You’ve never had a friend who was a girl before, so that’s why it seems like it’s something more than it is. There’s nothing else going on here.
I try to push thoughts of Hartley from my mind as I help carry in my parents’ luggage. They get settled in the guest room and I head to the kitchen to make a quick dinner. We catch up and they head to bed early.
I should do the same. Lord knows that I’m going to need my energy to keep up with my mom tomorrow, but as I lay in bed staring at the ceiling and listening to the wind howl outside, all I can think about is Hartley.
THIRTEEN
Hartley
What are you supposed to wear when you’re going to meet your fake boyfriend’s parents? I’ve been standing in front of my closet for close to twenty minutes now, staring at all of the T-shirts hanging inside.
I’m a baker and I’ve spent all of my time in kitchens where fashion doesn’t matter. I’ve never met anyone’s parents before, but showing up in yoga pants and a loose T-shirt doesn’t seem fancy enough.
I should have thought of this before. Maybe I could have gone somewhere and grabbed something nicer. I have one dress tucked into the back of my closet, but I’ll need that for the wedding on Friday. I definitely can’t show up wearing the same thing all week.
I bite my lip, flipping through the hangers for the millionth time. When I still come up empty, I groan and fall back onto my bed.
I’m supposed to be heading over to Eli’s house any minute now and I should leave soon because it’s still snowing and I’ll need to drive slower. I’m sitting up in bed when there’s a knock on my door. I know who it is before I even go to answer.
Eli is bundled up, shifting from foot to foot on the little landing outside of my door.
“Is that what you’re wearing?” I ask when I notice he’s just in jeans and a thermal shirt.
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Eli asks, frowning down at his attire.
“It’s casual. I’ve been freaking out for like half an hour trying to figure out what to wear.”
“Oh, yeah, it’s just at my house, so jeans and a shirt is fine. You should have just sent me a text. I could have told you that,” he says.
“What are you doing here?” I ask as I step out of the way and let him into my apartment.
