I snort out a very unlady-like scoff. “Why would you ever say that?”
“Just a thought.”
“Get ready to sing,” Mom says from where she stands nextto Wyatt. She lights each candle one by one, the kids, my sister, and Brent all focused on the birthday boy.
“Yeah,” I whisper to Lucca. “Well, no level of friendship would get me to cover up your fouls and well-deserved cards. So, you should probably think again.” I step away from the group and walk into the house. I need a breather. I need a break from annoyingly charming Lucca. The man is enjoying messing with my head. I don’t care how adorable he looked helping Wyatt whack open that piñata, he isn’t fooling me with friendship. All he’s doing is making me miss the birthday song.
I’ve been sitting in the only safe place in this house—Mom and Dad’s master bathroom toilet—for more than twenty minutes when there’s a tap on the door.
“Maggie Pie,” Mom says. “It’s time for gifts. Are you coming? You missed the cake.”
“Is he still out there?” I groan.
“If you’re referring to the eye candy who makes you nervous, yes. He’s here. He’s having fun. You missed him doing the chicken dance with Wyatt and the other kids. It was quite entertaining.”
I swing open the door to Mom’s bathroom. “Gee, I’m so glad he’s won you all over.”
“He’s just being nice to Wyatt. I thought you’d appreciate that.”
“I do,” I say through gritted teeth. I want everyone to be nice to Wyatt. I practically begged Lucca to come here today—all for Wyatt. Why can’t I have him be nice to Wyattandhave my family all loathe him?
It’s called loyalty.
Mom tilts her head and peers at me. “It’s okay for a relationship to change,” she says. “So, you didn’t like Lucca at one time. Who cares?”
“Mother,” I squeak. “Istilldon’t like Lucca. He isn’t Mr. Nice Guy. He’s charming?—”
“That’s awful,” Mom says, shaking her head, her tone full of sarcasm.
But I press on. “He’s too good-looking for his own good?—”
She nods, hand still on the bathroom door. “A sin for sure.”
“And he knows it! He is aladies’man. He thinks he’s a saint and a gift to all women and to the sport of soccer and?—”
“And he’s currently outside dancing the hokey pokey with your nephew.” She holds out a hand to me. “Play nice. For Wyatt? We both know you’re excited to give him your present.”
I bite my inner cheek. I am excited. I had a Wyatt-sized apron made just for him. It has soccer balls and pies printed all over it, and his name stitched on the front.
When we get back outside, Dad and Lindy have all the boys—including Lucca—seated on the grass. Wyatt’s opening his first gift. His face lights up when he sees me. He waves and holds up the wrapped present.
I stand back with Mom, Lindy, and Brent, ready to watch.
“You okay?” Lindy says. “You disappeared.”
“I’m fine,” I tell her with a grin. She’ll believe me as long as she doesn’t hear my heart pounding in my chest.
“Go ahead, Wyatt,” Lindy says.
I’m excited watching my little guy tear into the gifts from his five friends. He thanks each one, and I feel a stab of pride at the nice kid he is. Man, I love that boy. Just when I’m about to give Wyatt my gift, one of the boys says, “Where’s your gift, Mr. Cruz? We all brought a gift. Didn’t you?”
I expect Lucca to say something totally self-absorbed. Something like, “I am the gift.” That sounds like Lucca—right?
Instead, he looks sheepish. His face falls a little. “Um.” He swallows.
I should save him. I should jump in and save this man fromembarrassment, from feeling like he should have brought Wyatt a gift. He didn’t need to. He came.
I’m mustering the energy, when Lucca stands.
