Page 135 of Worth the Trip

“I’m not.” His eyebrow lifted. “Maybe a little.”

“Better.”

“Don’t gloat.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re thinking about it.”

“Absolutely.”

I laughed despite myself, then looked toward the house. “What if they don’t like me?”

“They will.”

“That confidence is suspicious.”

“It’s informed.” Landon turned toward me, his hand still wrapped around mine. “And if they need five minutes longer than I expect, that’s their business. I already know why you’re here.”

Something inside me eased. Not because he promised everybody would adore me, but because he wasn’t asking me to earn the invitation.

I squeezed his fingers. “Okay.”

Landon lifted my hand and kissed my knuckles. “You good?”

“Better.”

“Come on, Hershey.”

The front door opened before Landon reached it. A beautiful older woman stood on the other side in a soft-blue lounge set with a silk scarf tied over her hair. Treatment had left fatigue beneath her eyes, but nothing about her expression suggested illness had interfered with her ability to be nosy. Her attention traveled from Landon to our joined hands, then settled on me.

“So this is the woman responsible for the only butter pecan I’ve ever considered hiding from my own family.”

My nerves disappeared under laughter.

Landon squeezed my hand. “Mama, this is Nolani.”

“I know who she is. Come in here, baby. That ice cream respected me.”

“I’m putting that on the website.”

“You better use my full name. I don’t endorse products anonymously.”

Landon looked at me. “Told you.”

“I thought you were exaggerating.”

His mother opened the door wider. “He does. Regularly.”

“I do not.”

“You’ve barely crossed the threshold and already lying in my house.”

I liked her immediately.

The house felt lived in without feeling cluttered. Polished wood, family photographs, fresh flowers, and the smell of something savory from the kitchen filled the space with familiarity. Pictures of Landon and a younger boy covered years of football, school, holidays, and graduations. One photograph stopped me. Teenage Landon. Longer locs. Long limbs. Entirely too confident for a sixteen-year-old.

He followed my attention. “Don’t.”