Page 43 of I Think He Knows
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After Elena hangs up, I get out of my Jeep warily, pulling my ball cap low in case any paparazzi noticed my Jeep sitting here in the driveway for the last ten minutes. I rap my knuckles on Lana Mae’s cherry red front door, which, despite the whole heap of crazy that has happened today, draws a smile from me.
Lana’s always painting her front door. In the time that she’s lived here, it’s been baby blue, citrus green, buttercup yellow, and, for one strange season, glittery gold.
“OH HEY!”
Allegra flings the door open, revealing that she’s changed out of her dance clothes and into what looks to be a ball gown made of silky fabric and covered in bows. On her head sits a bonnet. A literal bonnet.
Before I can ask any questions, she gives me a sweet grin, grabs my hand, and yanks me inside. All while yelling, “MOM, CAR-DURRRRRR’S HERE!”
“Dude, I’m digging the olde worlde get-up,” I tell her. “Do you have a theme day at school tomorrow or something?”
Legs beams. “No, silly. I’m playingBridgerton.”
“You’re playingwhat?” I balk. I’ve never seen the show, but a good friend of mine is in it, and I know enough to know that it’s not exactly standard viewing material for nine-year-olds.
“Carter, hey!” Lana’s voice comes from the top of the stairs and I look up instantly, everything in me drawn to her like a moth to a flame.
For so long, I’ve forced myself to look at Lana platonically. But waking up next to her this morning, followed by her (quite literally) launching herself into my arms this afternoon, has me gazing at her in that hazy, romantic light that I barely ever dare to do. Has she thought about our sleepover as much as I have? Or shaken it off without so much as another thought?
A zero-gravity feeling fills my chest as I take her in slowly, eyes moving over her like I’m trying to memorize every detail and store it away for later, even though I have already long memorized everything about her: slender limbs, messy dark-blond streaked ponytail, sparkly brown eyes, lips the perfect shade of dark pink.
She’s changed clothes, too—she’s now wearing lilac running shorts and is in the middle of pulling an oversize sweatshirt over a black tank top that clings to her every curve. Her feet are bare and there’s not a stitch of makeup on her face. She’s smiling at me tentatively, almost shyly, her dark eyes full of anticipation. She finishes shrugging the sweatshirt on, covering that incredible body of hers, and I have a sudden urge to burn the baggy garment.
“She’s not actually playingBridgerton, by the way. She just thinks ‘Bridgerton’ is a catch-all word for anything set in regency times,” Lana explains as she comes to a stop in front of me in the hallway.
I can only laugh. “Checks out.”
We stare at each other for a long moment, a million things unsaid stacked between us. I hurriedly hold up the paper grocery bags in my hands. “Three filet mignons on Lady Allegra’s request. Plus asparagus, sweet potato wedges, and of course, dessert.”
Legs wrinkles her nose suspiciously. “What kind of dessert?”
“Crumbl cookies.” They’re her favorites, and I’m rewarded with a beaming smile.
“Yay!” Legs cheers. “Thanks, Carter!”
I grin at her. “That’s ‘Daddy’ to you.”
This makes her laugh a cute little belly laugh. “Thatwasfunny earlier. Do you think I could be an actress?”
“You’d blow all the other child actors straight out of the water,” I tell her. “But didn’t you want to be an astronaut when you grow up? That’s way cooler than boring old acting.”
“It is, isn’t it?” she says thoughtfully. “Maybe I can be both.” Then, she sweeps into a deep curtsy before dashing upstairs to “call the Duke.”
Lana shrugs at her daughter’s retreating, ball-gowned figure. “Weird phase she’s in. Shall we grill those out back?”
“Sure.” I follow Lan to the kitchen. She reaches into the fridge and produces two bottles of Corona, holding one up to me.
“Yeah, please.”
She smiles, still tentative, as she turns to the counter and begins chopping a lime. She shoves a slice in the neck of one bottle, licks her fingers clean, then hands it to me. “I figured beer might be necessary.”
“For this completely insane conversation we’re about to have, you mean?”
A laugh. “Yeah. That.”
She fixes her beer up with lime too, and we head outside. It’s still sunny and warm, the evening breeze full of the scent of fresh-cut grass and honeysuckle.