Randall shakes his head and gives Snowball a few scratches behind the ears. “Young people today have so many unnecessary rules.”
Before I’m forced to continue this horrifying little chat, Parker rides up on his bike, and I could hug him for his impeccable timing. This is the first time he’s been back since his ankle injury, and I notice immediately that he’s forgone the usual oversized hoodie, instead wearing a t-shirt that does nothing to obscure his prosthetic. I wave at him, relieved that he doesn’t feel the need to hide it from me anymore. I want him to be himself.
“Who’s the kid?” asks Randall, following the direction of my gaze.
“Oh, that’s Parker. He helps Landon with the yard.”
“What’s wrong with his arm?”
“Randall,” I scold, shooting him a warning look.
“What?” he grunts. “I have eyes.”
“He was born without it,” I tell him, lowering my voice. “Landon invented the prosthetic.”
“Pretty Boy? Really?” Randall appears mildly impressed by this information and waves Parker over. “Kid! Come here!”
Parker wheels his bike over to the garage and heads toward us, a wary expression on his face. I pray to God Randall doesn’t say something super inappropriate or offensive as he’s been prone to do pretty much every time I talk to him.
“Hey,” Parker mutters, his eyes shifting between the older man, the tiny dog, and me, and I don’t blame him for being hesitant.
“Parker, this is Randall,” I say, introducing them. “Randall, Parker.”
I hold my breath in anticipation of Randall’s next words. “Looking to make a few extra bucks?” he asks. “I have a lawn that also needs mowing just down the street.”
My shoulders droop in relief, and when Parker glances between us uncertainly, I shrug. It’s not a bad idea. Randall pays well, after all. “Yeah,” Parker says slowly. “Sure. That’d be great.”
Randall jerks his thumb at the house. “Whatever Pretty Boy’s paying you, I’ll double it.”
Parker’s eyes widen. “Seriously?”
“Yep.”
“I mean, yeah. That sounds great.”
“Good. When you’re done here, head over to my house. 334 Walden Street. I’ll leave the garage open. Mower’s inside.”
“S-sure thing,” Parker says. “Thanks.”
Randall turns and winks at me before heading up the driveway, and I hurry after him with Snowball’s forty pounds’ worth of luggage. After loading everything into his car, Randall takes off at about two miles per hour, and I walk back over to Parker.
“Who is that guy?” he asks me.
“Some famous rock star, apparently,” I say with a shrug.
Parker’s face twists in disbelief. “A rock star?Him?”
“Well, former rock star if you want to get technical. Ask Landon. I never thought I’d see him fanboy so hard.”
Parker’s face screws up as he tries to picture it. “Weird.”
“Tell me about it.”
While Parker gets started on the lawn, I spend the rest of the day baking an intriguing cinnamon swirl banana bread recipe, all the while trying to shake off Randall’s extremely eloquent suggestion that Landon and I “just do it already.” I mean, first Lemon and now him? Am I giving off some sort of desperate vibe or something? It’s not like I start panting whenever Landon walks into the room. In fact, I would argue the opposite.
Sure. Keep telling yourself that.
Whatever. Pushing those thoughts aside, I finish the bread and spend the rest of the night in my room, activelynotthinking about a certain someone.
