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Ouch. “And I don’t deserve someone nice?”
“That isn’t what I said—or meant. He’s nice. He can be serious. And mature beyond his twenty-three years. While you’re—”
“Are you calling me immature?” Number five has been placed neatly into a shredder.
“No. Not really. Just… inexperienced.”
I whip my head around to stare at him and Levi shrinks beneath my gaze. “I know I’m inexperienced. That doesn’t translate to immature, Levi. Or stupid.”
“Now you’re putting words in my mouth. I never said stupid. I wouldn’t.”
“I don’t know what you’re saying. But I’m in need of some alone time. There’s been a whole lot of conversation this morning for an inexperienced girl who is used to being alone all the time.” I stop, in the middle of the sidewalk, my jaw clenched, and glare.
I think I’m good at glaring. He seems to cower, anyway.
“Go on,” I say. “I want to be alone.” I mount my bike, letting him know I’m serious. I won’t be sticking around. Not for this.
“Mer—”
I glare harder—if there’s such a thing, I am doing it.
“—edith,” he says, finishing my name. “I’m sorry. That all came out wrong and—”
“I am not afraid of forgiveness. But right now, this is where we separate.” I pull in a breath, filling my chest. “I’ll see you later, Levi.” And then, I ride away.
“And then, I said, I’m not afraid of forgiveness and we parted ways.”
Uncle Bob has closed up his laptop and is giving me his full attention—that’s a rare thing. Even when I tell him about my day or ask him questions, he keeps the laptop open. He answers while his fingers dance across the keys. I don’t doubt he’s listening just because he isn’t staring at me.
He folds his arms over his plaid robe and drums his fingers along his upper arm. “I have a theory.”
Good. A theory. Maybe he can clear up this mud hole for me. “And that would be—” I scoot to the edge of the couch cushion, not wanting to miss a word he utters.
“I’m not an expert.”
“Except that you are, sort of.”
“Except,” he says, agreeing with me, “that I am, kind of.” Bob may not get out much, but he is a people watcher and he has a master’s in psychology. He studies people like high school kids study TikTok videos.
“And?”
“Meredith, you’re just getting out there. I can see that you like this boy—”
“He’s twenty-nine,” I tell him.
“And I’m sixty-four.” He lifts his bushy brows, then drops them. “I can tell you like him.”
I lick my lips. “I do. I think. Can I really know if I do?”
“Of course you can. You have to trust your own feelings.”
“So, your theory is about me?”
Bob smirks. “That was knowledge. My theory is about him.”
I clamp down on my lip and listen to my uncle as if he were the Dalai Lama, ready to tell me all the secrets of the universe.
“I believe Leviwasjealous.”
