“I am going back. My granny is unwell.”
Aw.
I edge forward and wait for more. Getting info out of this guy requires the patience of a spy.
“My mother will be away, and whether I’ll see my father remains uncertain.” His jaw snaps back into a vice. As he shifts in his seat, my fingers loosen around my cup. It’s a guilty relief to see him like this. He always drips with poise and self-assurance.
“You’re nervous?” I blurt. Filter, come back, I miss you.
With a smirk, he leans back and spreads a leg across the other. “He’s not the only one who makes me nervous.”
Wait. Me? “Sorry.” I should lay off the questions. He’s even more private than I’d guessed.
“Do you have siblings?” he asks.
I’m happy to share about my brothers and their antics. Recently they wrapped a giant slinky around two light posts across our small street, waiting for cars to come. Even our fun-loving dad was aghast at what a disaster it would have been if a car had come before he had.
Levi laughs openly, in stark contrast to all of his quiet prior reactions. Guys like him don’t laugh at a girl’s story. They always want to the be the funny one. A table of girls eye him like a prime cut of steak and get comfortable at the table next to ours. He doesn’t so much as a flicker a glance. “And your parents? Were you raised by detectives?” he teases.
“Very funny. My parents are … disgusting.” I’m not getting the message across well. “I mean, they’re great unless I have friends over.”
“Embarrassing?”
“They just love each other so much that it’s a lot. PDA, flirting, the whole enchilada.”
Levi swallows hard. Did I say something insensitive?
“Please go on,” he says.
“My mom is fiery in all the ways. She loves Jesus with everything she has. She’s bold and fearless and … regal somehow.”
“Sounds like what I’ve seen from you.”
I hide behind a sip of coffee. I’ve always wanted tobe more like her. How could he know that? But compliments aren’t safe. Not when they lead to expectations.
“Do you look like her too?”
I should have expected this. “No.” I attempt a bored voice. “I take after my dad.”
His gaze roams around my face, and I squirm in my seat.
“He has the deep blue eyes? The expressive face? The dimples?” A year ago I would have been a bowl of mush if a guy like Levi talked to me like this. Now I know that how I look is a liability and not an asset.
I trace the writing on the cup. They actually spelled my name right.
“What’s he like?” he asks. “Your dad.”
“He’s a goofball, a big teddy bear. He spends Tuesday of every week in a rough neighborhood, playing pickleball with people and caulking their bathtubs.” I half laugh. That wasn’t a good way to describe all the things he does down there.
Levi leans back in his seat. “That’s amazing.” A pause. “I guarantee they’re missing you. Your house is short a character.”
Too charming. Time for a new subject. “What’s with the Tic Tacs?”
He shrugs. “A small act of rebellion.” When I edge forward, his smile tilts. “My parents wouldn’t approve. And my mother hates that I fidget.”
I’m drawn back to the few times I’ve eaten in a fancy restaurant or when I joined Avery’s family at the orchestra and those high-end art galleries in the mountains. Was his whole life like that? “Status and connections, you said? You must have had a lot of behaving to do.”
His eyes soften. “You could say that.” He moves his jaw around again, as if he’s weighing whether to say something. “Some of the Flooders are going to IHOP tonight. Would you join us? You could bring some friends along?”
