Heinches closer and, just like the other night, my brain goeshaywire. I know this is an act; he probably thinks Nelle iswatching, so he’s fulfilling his end of our deal. But I can’t helpthinking about the scorching kisses we shared when wedidn’thave an audience.Sure, we said it was for practice, but there was an undeniablespark between us. At least I thought so.
My innerfreakout—paired with the fact I can feel Evie and Wesley’s eyes onus—leads me to place a quick peck on Leland’s cheek. He’s stillwearing that small, inscrutable smile, and he remains where he isfor a second, his face inches from mine, before easingaway.
While Wesley andLeland discuss whether to get something to eat, Evie catches my eyeand motions for me to lean in.
“Whendid that happen?” she whispers, wiggling a finger between me andLeland.
“What?”
“Whendid your fake dating become real?”
I sputter out alaugh. “What are you talking about? That was purely for Nelle’sbenefit. We’re still just friends.”
Eviemakes a non-committal sound. “Doesn’t look that way to me, mylovely. I think you need to open your eyes toallthe possibilities in your life,not just the new job. You might be surprised what amazing thingsare waiting for you.”
Without answering,I sit back in my seat. Leland has slung his arm across the back ofthe booth, and he shifts it to rest on my shoulders. A quick lookaround the diner shows Nelle has left, so this isn’t for herbenefit. When I meet Leland’s eyes, he’s watching me with a smallsmile.
There’sno sense reading more into this. Leland is both a good actor whenhe needs to beanda friend who’s comfortable enough with me to show openaffection. That’s all there is to it.
Or…could Evie beright and there’s something more blossoming between us than I’mwilling to admit?
CHAPTER NINE
Butterflies arestaging a riot in my stomach.
It’s Tuesdayevening and I’m waiting for Leland to pick me up for dinner at hismom’s place. I try to tell myself it’s nerves over meeting Mrs.Levesque and putting Leland’s and my dating ruse to the test. And,while I’m sure that’s part of it, the truth is, these flutters aremostly for Leland. Proof of that comes when he pulls up in front ofEvie’s building and steps out of his car, causing the butterfliesto take flight, swarming in my belly and rising up into mythroat.
“Heythere,” Leland says as I stride down the front walk to meet him. Helooks so good. He always does, but tonight he’s freshly shaved,with his hair styled back from his face, and he’s wearing aburgundy dress shirt with dark trousers. He kisses my cheek when Ireach him. “You look beautiful, Stels.”
“Thankyou.” My voice is embarrassingly breathy. “You look great. I reallylike that color on you.”
“I’llbe sure to remember that.”
We make small talkon the drive. This is the first time conversation has been stiltedbetween us. We’ve seen each other nearly every day recently; afterour diner breakfast on Saturday, Leland asked me to go to themovies with him on Sunday afternoon, then yesterday I spent a fewhours with him and Felicity at FandomTown.
Our stiff, forcedchatter makes me wonder if Leland is nervous too, although I’mafraid to ask him, knowing it would just make me more anxious.Thankfully, the drive is short and before I know it, we’re beinggreeted by Mrs. Levesque on her front porch.
“It’sso good to see you again, Stella!” she says, surprising me byhugging me tightly.
“Youtoo, Mrs. Levesque. Thank you so much for having usover.”
“Oh,it’s my pleasure, honey.” She releases me and gives me a quickonce-over, her smile growing. She looks exactly as I remember herfrom when Leland and I were teens: medium height with short, curlyhair the same dark blond as Felicity’s, and a youthful face. “Andplease call me Lana.”
She chatters awayas Leland and I remove our shoes and follow her through the house.The space is open and bright with gleaming hardwood floors,sparkling surfaces, and furniture that looks both comfortable andexpensive. If it weren’t for the framed photos on the walls and afew personal touches here and there, this place could easily bemistaken for a show home.
“I hopeyou’re hungry because I’ve been cooking all day,” Lana says,pausing in the doorway to the living room.
“Mom, Itold you not to go to too much trouble,” Leland saysgently.
“It’sno trouble! You know how I love to cook, and it’s always nice tohave an excuse to make a meal for someone other than just myself.”A timer goes off down the hall and Lana spins in that directionbefore looking back at us. “Leland, why don’t you play the role ofbartender while I go check on dinner. I thought we could have acocktail hour of sorts before we eat.”
Lana scurries awayand Leland leads me into the living room with his hand on my lowerback. He guides me across the room to a small bar, and motions forme to take a seat on one of the two stools.
“My dadbuilt this three years ago, shortly before he died,” Leland says,running a hand over the smooth wood of the bartop. “He had justretired, and Mom was making arrangements to retire within the nextyear or so. They planned to host all kinds of dinner parties sincethey were always too busy to do it while they wereworking.”
He avoids my gazeas he speaks, but that doesn’t hide the grief stitched into thelines around his mouth and eyes. I’ve never experienced the sort ofloss he has firsthand, but I’m intimately familiar with that samepain on Louisa’s face in the two decades since her mom’s death.Even though we all felt that loss acutely, I can’t imagine whatit’s truly like to lose a parent.
Before I canspeak, Leland waves a hand to the line of bottles behind him. “Whatcan I get you? Mom’s got every kind of liquor imaginable, plusthere’s a little fridge back here with chilled wine andbeer.”
