He pulls to a stop in front of a weathered but apparently sturdy two-story Dutch colonial in one of the quaint neighborhoods in Tickled Pink, and he nods at the house. “Because I’m fixing her parents’ garbage disposal this morning.”
Chapter 9
Dylan
Still don’t like anything about any of what I’ve agreed to do this morning—the social media stuff and bringing Tavi along to Hannah’s parents’ house—but I can’t help wondering exactly how Ken and Marta will react to seeing me with one of the Lightlys this morning.
Almost feels like some of the shit I would’ve pulled back in high school, bringing a super popular girl I had no interest in dating over to hang out for a night in front of last week’s girlfriend’s parents.
That’s not what this is, but for one more split second, Ifeelsixteen again.
I breathe the feeling away while I climb out of the truck, and I’ve barely pulled my toolbox out of the bed when the door flings open.
Marta sticks her head out. “Dylan! You didn’t tell me you were bringing a helper!”
“Quit yapping at the boy and let him get in here and fix the sink, Marta,” Ken yells from deeper inside the house.
“I’m not letting Hannah’s oldest friend in this door without asking him how he’s doing!” Marta yells back.
“If you wanted to yammer, you didn’t have to put potato peels down the garbage disposal! You could’ve just called him!”
“Is it Hannah? Or is Hannah her sister?” Tavi whispers to me.
She’s lucky I’m not the type to threaten to spill her secrets. “Hannah’s an only child. And her parents knownothing, so pretend you’ve never heard her name.”
“What about you?”
“Me?”
“Are you an only child?”
“Nope. Younger sister lives in Minneapolis. Older brother lives in Nebraska. Biomedical researcher and civil engineer.”
That always gets raised brows andso why’d you become a plumber when there are brains in your family?
But Tavi doesn’t ask, nor does her face.
Appreciate that, because that’s not even close to the most interesting question that could be asked about my family and my sibling dynamics.
Instead, she smiles at me. And not her camera-ready smile. This one has some meat to it, like she’s actually enjoying smiling. “You’re a middle child too.”
“Yep.” I slam the tailgate shut and gesture her up the walk.
“Are your siblings horrible pests? Or do you get along?”
“That’s more complicated than we have time to get into.”
“Wait. There’s someone youdon’tget along with?”
“You get along with all of your family?”
She rolls her eyes. “I met your mother. Your family isnothinglike mine.”
“Doesn’t mean we don’t have our own brand of problems.”
We reach the steps—thank God—where Marta’s eyeing Tavi with open curiosity. “You’re—you’re—Ken! Ken, Dylan brought one of them Lightlys.”
“Tell ’em we’re not interested.”
