Thank you,I sent back.
Good luck,she replied.
I laughed out loud. Luck wasn’t what I needed. Willpower was key. I had to refrain from throwing myself at him.When you get there, get straight to the point.
I checked myself in the mirror. My skin glowed with a sheen of sweat. My mascara was smudged underneath my blue eyes. And my hair was frizzy, as though I’d stuck my finger in an electrical socket.
Great.I’d officially looked like hell in front of Train. I quickly freshened up, brushed out my hair, twisted it into a bun, splashed on some blush—mainly to absorb the sweat—then went in search of Mom.
She was in her office, which was situated off the kitchen. I poked in my head. “Mom, do you mind if I borrow the car? I forgot to ask Train about our computer project. We’re partners, and we should be working on it.”
A warm breeze seeped in through the sliding glass door that overlooked the well-manicured backyard. Like my bedroom, her office had boxes littering the large space.
She lifted her gaze from her laptop. “Can’t you call him?”
“I gave him my number, but I didn’t get his.”
“Fine. Don’t be too late.” She resumed typing on her computer.
I snagged the keys off the kitchen counter on my way out the door. I punched Train’s address into the GPS on my phone then got on the road. The GPS said it was a two-minute drive. Before long, I was in Train’s driveway. My heart beat in my ears as I cut the engine. I shouldn’t have been so nervous. I talked to guys all the time.
I climbed out of my mom’s air-conditioned Lexus. Dusk was setting in, but the sunless sky didn’t change the temperature one degree.
I rolled back my shoulders and headed for the two-story brick home, complete with columns and a stone porch. I pushed the doorbell and let my gaze wander to the porch swing. Ooh, one of those would be nice on our porch.Note to self: ask Mom to get a porch swing or rockers.
The door opened, and a blast of cold air hit me along with a slew of welcomed shivers. I almost threw myself at the brown-haired lady in the wheelchair.
She smiled, showing perfect white teeth. “May I help you?” Her voice was dainty and very Southern.
“I’m here to see Train. I’m Montana.”
“Sure. Come on in.” She rolled back her wheelchair.
I entered the large, elegant foyer decorated with flowered wallpaper, an oblong glass table that had a vase of eucalyptus on top, and a fabric wicker bench adjacent to the door.
“Hi, I’m Train’s mom, Lucy. I’ve met all Train’s friends. Are you new in town?” Her red-painted nails stood out over the white capris she was wearing.
“My mom and I moved down from New York over a week ago. We’re renting a house on the other side of Palmetto Plantation.” I was curious as to why she was in a wheelchair, but it would be rude of me to ask.
She turned her chair and wheeled herself to the massive family room that looked out over the golf course. “Train!” she called out.
Heavy footsteps trudged from above, growing closer before Train appeared in a doorway off the family room. “I told you I would call when my dad got back to me.” His tone was snooty.
“Train, you don’t talk to girls like they’re beneath you.” His mother’s tone went from sugary to salty.
Ah, someone was on my side.
His hard features softened. “Yes, ma’am.
“What’s going on?” Lucy asked, her dark eyes appraising Train.
“Montana’s air conditioning isn’t working. I thought Dad might be able to help.”
“Call him again,” she said, holding onto the salt in her tone.
Train gnawed on his lip as he stomped away like a boy who had gotten scolded.
“Follow me,” Lucy said. “We were about to eat dinner. Would you like to join us?” She wheeled herself down an open hall and through the same doorway Train had come in from.
