My gaze lifts to Lucca Cruz, standing in my doorway, looking stupidly cute. He’s holding a bouquet of flowers with a frightfully cheeky grin on his face. I force my eyeballs to stay inside my head and step toward him, forcing him back one tiny step.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper-yell, shooting a glance back into my house. If Wyatt sees him, there will be no hope for settling down tonight. “You can’t just show up at my house and bring me flowers and think I’ll?—”
“I was invited,” he says in that annoying accent that might be the tiniest bit sexy.
“No, you were not. I told you no movie.”
“I didn’t sayyouinvited me,” he says, pushing past me. I’m too stunned to stop the man from entering.
“What—what does that mean? Who, then?”
“Wyatt invited me,” he says, peering around my parents’ humble living room.
I almost choke on the ounce of saliva sliding down my throat. “No, he did not.”
“Yes,” he says with all the confidence of a six-year-old—or maybe just an extremely handsome Brazilian. “He did.”
“Lucca, I don’t know what you’re?—”
“You’re here!” Wyatt says behind me. And he’s saying it like someone who knew Lucca Cruz would be coming by our house tonight.
What the?—
“Hey,” Lindy says, following after Wyatt. “You made it.”
“You made it?” I say, and this time, I think my eyes are bugging out of my head. I stare at my sister like I could do bodily harm with just a look. “You knew he was coming?”
But Lindy doesn’t even flinch. “Of course. Wyatt invited him.”
Wyatt trips his way over to Lucca. “I mean, it took you long enough. But that’s okay. Just you wait for it. Grandma made meatloaf, and I made banana cream pie.” He holds a fist out to Lucca, but I can tell my affectionate little guy would really like to wrap both arms around Lucca’s legs and hug him tight. “She forgot avocados, though.”
Lucca shakes his head. “Banana cream pie is one of the reasons I’m here.”
“But if you want, Grandma’ll go back to the store. She doesn’t mind!” Wyatt fusses. I know that tone. He’s getting himself worked up.
“Hey,” I say, bending down. “It’s okay. Lucca’s had avocado before. And I’m sure he’s added it to his diet since you told him he could be as good as Messi if he fueled right.”
Wyatt sniffs, running a hand beneath his nose. “And if you try. You gottatry, Lucca.”
I choke on a laugh. Did he just imply that Lucca doesn’t work hard? Man, I love this boy.
Lucca switches his gaze from Wyatt to me, brow furrowed. “Do I not look like I’m trying?”
“You haven’t been eating your avocado.” Wyatt shakes his head. “I can tell.” At least he isn’t sniffling anymore.
“So, you really did invite Lucca to dinner?” I say, looking from Wyatt to Lindy.
“I did.” Wyatt rocks on his heels. “We’re buds now. Plus, he’s never tried banana cream pie, and that’s just a darn shame.”
Lindy laughs. “You sound like Grandpa.”
Wyatt lifts one shoulder. “Well, it’s true.”
Standing, my heart attempts to pound right out of my chest. “Lucca’s here for dinner,” I say to Lindy, though Wyatt and Lucca are in the room and no doubt they’ve heard. “I wasn’t expecting—I didn’t think?—”
“Where’s the chef?” Lucca says, interrupting my nonsense. “I’ve brought her some flowers.”
The chef? The flowers are for Mom.
