Once the cookies were done baking, she urged me into one of Brit’s swimsuits and ushered me out to their balcony, where she snapped photos of me posing with my latest creations.
“Doesn’t it seem weird that I’m in a bathing suit holdingGet Well Sooncookies?” I asked.
“Nothing heals the soul like the sun, surf, and a nice even tan,” she replied like it was obvious. “Actually…that would make a great caption! Am I a genius?”
“You’re something,” I laughed and let her play photographer for a while longer.
Just like the last time, I posted a carousel of pictures, the first of me posing and holding the cookies, the second a close-up of the detail and elegant script, and the third of my scribbled recipe. My phone’s still vibrating with likes over three hours later.
I seal the container back up, then turn to Landon. “Can you give me Parker’s address?” I ask, hoping I’m not pushing my luck. I don’t mention that I wasn’t paying attention last time, too consumed with stuffing my face with French fries.
“I can drive you,” he says.
I hesitate. “Oh, um, that’s okay. You don’t have to do that. I can use my phone for directions.”
“I’ll drive you,” he says again, and I frown at him. Does hestillnot trust me to go over there by myself? I thought I’d proven I wasn’t going to do anything to Parker. What more does he want from me? “I have to head over there anyway to check his prosthetic.”
“Alright, fine,” I mutter, still skeptical of his excuse.
“Can I come, too?” asks Eli.
“No,” Landon snaps. “There’s shit in the backseat.”
Eli grins. It’s a scary sight with his bandages and bruises. “Sure, there is.”
The second we get in the car, Landon turns up the volume on the radio, and I have a sneaking suspicion he does it so I won’t talk to him. That’s fine by me. I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t need to talk to him. I can sit in silence for ten minutes. I am absolutely, perfectly fine keeping my mouth shut for that long. No pro-blem-o.
“So…how’s business?” I blurt. “Booming, I hope.”
Landon shoots me some side eye, and I can’t say I blame him. “It’s fine.”
“Good, good.” I try something else. “How’s the golf game? Working on that swing? Or is it a stroke? I know very little about golf except that of the mini variety.”
“It’s fine.”
“Nice, nice.”
“Violet?” he asks.
“Yeah?”
“Cut it with the small talk.”
I nod, having expected that demand. “Sure, sure.”
We don’t converse after that, but the drive’s shorter than I remember, and it’s not long before we’re pulling up to Parker’s house. I hop out of the car and nearly skip up the driveway to the front door, Landon following a few paces behind with his usual broody, annoyed expression. Whatever. I’m excited to see Parker and give him the cookies.
I ring the bell and step back, tapping my foot against the ground in anticipation. Moments later, an older, dark-haired woman answers the door, greeting Landon with a wide, warm smile he probably doesn’t deserve.
“Landon!” she cries, pulling him in for a hug. I half expect him to push her away or burst into flames at the show of affection, the way a vampire would in sunlight. Imagine my surprise when he hugs her back.
“Good to see you, Theresa,” he says.
She finally pulls away and shifts her attention toward me. “And you must be Violet.”
I beam at her. “I am. It’s so wonderful to meet you. You must be Parker’s grandmother.”
She reaches forward and shakes my hand in her gentle grip. She has kind, dark eyes that make me feel immediately welcome. “Please, please. Theresa.”
