I roll my eyes because she is being all dramatic and that’s my department. Plus, I can’t have her threatening Callum again. It has nothing to do with the fact that her words hit way too close to home.
“I’ll see you tonight,” I tell her. “Love you!”
Lester drumshis fingers over the countertop, swiveling slightly on his stool. I refill his mug for the fourth time—half a cup of coffee, half a cup of milk, one hazelnut creamer. “Has that boy been back in?”
My brow furrows. “What boy?”
“The one giving you the come-hither eyes.”
I choke—on nothing. “Excuse me?”
“You know, tall, dark hair, broad shoulders, plays games for a living.”
“Callum?”
“I don’t know the man’s name, doll. Dorothy might. She was always one to watch over things like this.” Lester takes a sip of his coffee-milk. “He was good-looking enough.”
“Good-looking enough for what?” I say.
He nods his answer. “To be your beau.”
I swallow and peer past Lester to the couple whose order I have yet to take. “He isn’t my beau. We’re dating. Sort of. But not a beau. A friend.”
Lester’s bushy white brows pull together, his blue eyes studying me. “What’s wrong with him?”
“Ah…” I stare at my elderly friend. “I don’t—I don’t really know.”
“You don’t need a perfect man, Fran. Perfect expects perfection. Where’s the fun in that? Do you have any idea how many freckles Dorothy had on her stomach? Some would have said that wasn’t perfection, but I loved connecting those dots. When she comes back, I hope she comes with freckles.”
“Oh gosh.” My throat tightens. “Thanks for that image, Lester. I actually need to take an order. You’re set, right?”
“I’m serious, Fran. Think about it.”
“Oh, I will.” I am pretty sure I will never get the vision of Lester connecting dots to fade from my memory.
“Nobody wants perfection,” he says.
That isn’t the problem here. I don’t want perfection. Dorothy probably knows it. I just want someone to make memories with. Someone to love and to be loved by.
I want to experience love, but I’d rather not get my heartbroken, and for the first time in my life, it’s in very real danger.
I don’t want perfection. Truly, I don’t.
Rosalie’s right, I want Callum. A man who doesn’t even believe in love.
At least not for himself.
Twenty-Seven
Fran’s couchmay be old, but it’s comfortable. It’s a miracle I’ve stayed awake as long as I have for this movie. But I am also completely confused. Why is this conservative Christian girl interested in that rebellious teenage boy? None of it makes sense to me—when suddenly, I recognize the scene.
Our scene.
Jamie has things she wants to do. She has a list, and Landon, the boy this good Christian girl is taming, is making it happen. He’s helped her straddle the state line—two places at once. And he’s busted out the temporary tattoos. I pick up the remote lying between us and hit pause on her TV.
Fran swivels, a question in her eyes. “Do you need something?”
“This was your remake.”
