Us.
“Oh shit,” Easton mutters under his breath, sinking lower in his seat. “Dear god, no.”
His protests come too late. She’s already at the car, tapping on my window and making the universal gesture to roll it down. Her grin stretches across her entire face, radiating mom energy that’s impossible to ignore.
Reluctantly, I press the button to lower the window.
“Hi! I’m Easton’s mom. Are you Harper?” she asks, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.
I nod, a little taken aback. “I am.”
“I’ve heard so much about you,” she says brightly.
She has? Like what?!
“Hi. I’m Harper,” I repeat, though it’s clearly redundant.
Easton groans softly beside me, pinching the bridge of hisnose.
“Mom…”
She completely ignores him, leaning down so she can peer at him through the open window. “Guys, why don’t you come inside for a bit? Bring her in for a chat, Easton.”
“Mom,” Easton says again, his tone weary. “We’re not staying.”
Wow. He must be freaking out.
She waves him off like he hasn’t spoken. “Nonsense! Harper, you’ve got to try my chocolate chip cookies. Easton always eats half the batch before they cool down.”
Actually, cookies do sound delicious. My mom hardly ever bakes, and everyone knows nothing tastes better than a fresh-baked anything. Especially cookies.
“It’s rude to turn down cookies,” I say with an innocent shrug. “And you know how I appreciate having good manners.”
“Fine,” he huffs. “But if this turns into an interrogation, you’re on your own.”
I grin as we step out of the car, his mom practically skipping back to the house.
“She’s adorable,” I whisper to him, wishing my mom was this warm and fuzzy.
He pouts. “Don’t let her fool you.”
Rudy runs over to greet us, wagging his tail happily. Thumps onto the ground so I can rub his belly, squirming and wigglingon the grass before Easton calls his name and ushers him inside.
Then.
I’m stepping inside, kicking my shoes off near the door, following Easton and his mom to the back of the house, the scent of cookies filling the air.
I wish my mom cared enough to bake. She’s too busy being pissed off at my dad all the time, though…
Easton’s mom gestures for us to take our places at the counter, setting a plate of warm chocolate chip cookies in front of us, then turning toward the fridge.
“Does anyone want milk?” she asks cheerfully. Easton groansat her enthusiasm, his mom and the dog practically vibrating with energy.
“No thank you, Mrs.Westermann.” I take a cookie and set it on a napkin, pulling it into two pieces. Take a small bite and close my eyes when it hits my tongue. “Wow. This is delicious.”
“Thanks.” She leans her hip against the counter. “Tell me about yourself, Harper. What year are you?”
His mother watches me so intently I squirm and wonder if she knows I kissed her son. My lips were on his lips! Her son’s!
