Sean
AsIwalkupto London’s front door, I’m reminded very vividly of the last time I was here. There’s the rose bush I stepped in and the little fence I jumped over when I was run off by a very angry Mr. Larsen. Glad to see both survived.
I step onto the porch with a satisfied grin. I’ve already made it farther than last time.
I reach for the video doorbell, then stop and wipe my sweaty hands on my pants. This is my second chance with the girl I fell for nearly eight years ago, and if I botch it, I’m not sure if I’ll be granted a third.
I poke the doorbell, then wait.
Two heavy footsteps pound through the house, and I swallow.Confidence.
London’s dad pulls open the door and looks at me. We are the same height now, but I still feel intimidated. Did London tell her dad she was going on a date with me?
“Hello, Andrew.” My smile stretches across my face.
“Sean,” he nods once. Then he shuts the door in my face.
He didn’t yell and chase me off. I suppose this is progress.
“I’ll just wait out here, then!” I holler. I stuff my hands in my pockets, pacing around the small porch until I hear voices inside the house. I stop at the door and lean in just a touch.
“Did you slam the door on him?”
“Of course not. He wanted to wait outside.”
“I’m sure he did. And why are you holding a butcher knife?”
“It was dull, and I was sharpening it.”
“By the front door? Dad, seriously…”
“What? It’s not my fault he got scared by a little knife.”
Psh, I’m not scared of his tiny kni—
The door opens, and I jerk upright. They both stare at me, giving me identical versions of a raised brow. I don’t think my act fooled them. I’m about to explain my behavior when I notice London. Like really notice her. I’ve only seen her recently in her cute bakery t-shirt, jeans, and apron. Which is completely beautiful by the way; she could turn flour-dusted aprons into the next thing in fashion.
But her light blue top hugs her curves, the V of the collar hitting the middle of her chest, and those white skinny jeans are defining her legs in a much too appealing way. Do bakers do squats in the kitchen?
A throat clears, and I jerk my eyes up and away from London's legs.
My ears burn and I laugh awkwardly. “I think I’m going to have to ask you to change young lady. You can’t leave the house like that.”
Silence. Glares.
Silent glares.
What is wrong with me?
“She is perfectly covered. Perhaps you should evaluate your own intentions,” her dad snaps.
Shoot. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I… ” I scratch my neck and look up at London. “I just meant you look beautiful, London. Way too beautiful to be going out with me.”
“Agreed,” her dad says and starts to close the door again.
I don’t blame him. I’m screwing this up big time. I feel like a sixteen-year-old picking up a date for the first time in his brand-new used car just praying it takes him where he wants it to.
“Dad,” London stops the door. “I’ll be home in a little while.” She reaches up on her toes and presses a kiss to her dad’s cheek.
