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“Whoa.” Sara’s eyes rounded as Mrs. Elliot removed the lids off of several casserole dishes, and I had to stifle a laugh.
“Mom may have gone overboard with the menu.” Topher shot Mrs. Elliot a wink.
“Sure beats boxed stuffing and instant mashed potatoes, huh kiddo?” Dad joked and Sara laughed.
I sunk back into my seat, feeling an unexpected wave of contentedness wash over me as everyone began to serve themselves and chat casually. “Last year, Dad’s turkey seriously looked like the one from Christmas Vacation,” I said with a teasing grin. “I swear the thing was hollow. Usually we just do one of those turkey breasts in the slow-cooker, but he insisted we try the real thing.”
“Dry as shoe leather,” Dad confirmed.
“I still have nightmares from it,” Sara chimed in while she took a drumstick off the platter of meat.
Mrs. Elliot laughed, then raised her gaze to my father. “So, Mr. Ewe, how’s the business coming?”
“Please,” he waved her away, “It’s Dave, and it’s really coming along nicely. We just bought a skid steer and dozer so we can add land clearing to our list of services, and I think we have more bookings for that than we do anything else. We might’ve found our niche.”
“That’s wonderful,” she remarked.
It was true. Dad had taken his business in a different direction than Elliot Landscaping and it seemed promising.
“How about you?” Dad asked. “Penelope tells me you’re taking some culinary classes?” He took a bite of stuffing and I could practically see his suppressed moan. “I can’t imagine you need classes with this spread.”
“Well, thank you.” Mrs. Elliot blushed. “It’s a focus on French cuisine though, so it’s quite different . . .”
She went on to discuss her class, and the conversation flowed throughout the rest of dinner. Dad asked Topher about his scholarship to Bucknell, and Sara, in particular, had a lot of questions about the game of water polo, not that she hadn’t already pestered him over the course of the last six weeks, but it was rare for her to have so much of his time and attention since I usually kept him to myself.
By the time we finished eating, Mrs. Elliot insisted on dessert on the veranda, despite the fact that we were all stuffed.
My dad and Sara followed her outside while Topher and I purposely dawdled, lingering behind for some time and space alone. My hand traced the grooves in the wainscotting in the hallway as we slowly made our way to the French doors, thinking of how perfect this day was. If only my mother were here to share it. I wished she could meet Topher. But then, I knew she was looking down on us, and my heart warmed at the thought.
When he gripped my hand and pulled me into the shadows of the library, away from the doors and the veranda, my stomach took a tumble.
His fingers brushed over the back of my hand as he turned it over, smiling at the bright red polish coating my nails. These days, I wore mostly pinks and reds and bright glittery shades, despite the fact that Scarlett had started to complain that I was becoming predictable. But no matter what, Topher always noticed even the subtlest of changes.
“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked, my lips twitching.
He shrugged. “I was just thinking about that first day in the library.”
“The one where you argued with me about Romeo and Juliet?” I laughed.
“The one where you proved I was right.”
I scoffed. “And how exactly did I prove you right? As I recall, you were suggesting that they wanted to be together only because it was forbidden. Is that the only reason you were interested in me, Topher Elliot?” My brow quirked while my eyes sparkled. “Because we come from two different worlds? Because it was taboo?”
“Quite the contrary, but I did suggest, however, that love has no boundaries while you tried to argue that maybe it was a lesson in how adolescents shouldlistento their parents.” He pulled a face. “If we followed that advice, we wouldn’t be together. Point for Topher.” He drew an invisible checkmark in the air with his finger, and I choked on a laugh.
“Ha!” I waggled a finger at him. “Nice try, but you also tried to make a point that people want what they can’t have. And as much as I love you now, I didn’t want you then.” My eyes rolled skyward and I cocked my head in thought. “Well, not really,” I said, then laughed again. “At least not that I admitted.”
“I wasn’t talking aboutyouwantingmewhen I said that.”
My expression sobered as his eyes met mine, suddenly serious. “Then who . . .?”
“I was talking aboutmewanting you.”
My pulse leapt in my throat as I stared at him and he stepped even closer. “What?”
“The truth is, I wanted you from the moment I laid eyes on you your first day at Lakeview. At least, as much as an eleven-year-old could.”
“But . . .” A tiny huff of air escaped my chest. I thought back to that day, the way he had stared at me. And when I introduced himself, he’d cracked that very first joke that started it all. Skunk Girl was born. “That’s impossible. You made fun of me.”
