He’d gone out and gotten the animal track molds I’d wanted.
Six of them. I never would have gotten six myself.
And one mold is of a mountain lion print.
But he left the molds—and a note telling me that he’d towed my car to the garage and that they’d call me when it was ready—on the desk rather than talking to me.
He’d waited until I was helping someone else, then he’d ducked out.
He’d completely avoided me.
I’ve been telling myself all day that I do not have a thing for David Bennett.
But he came to my library. Looking even better in broad daylight than he had last night. And he brought me animal track molds.
So, I definitely do have a crush on him, and I’m not sure what to do about it.
Last night, when he’d driven me home and come around to open the truck door for me, his parting words to me had not been, “This was fun,” or “Can I call you?” or “Would you like to go out sometime?”
Nope.
They’d been, “You probably shouldn’t tell your dad I found you and that we hung out for a couple of hours.”
Right.
David doesn’t want me to tell my dad we spent time together.
That makes having a crush on him rather inconvenient.
I just need to get over it. Probably. That would be the best idea.
Instead, I’m driving home from dropping food off at his house.
Just to say thank you for the molds, and the tow, and saving me from the tornado.
Sure. That’s why I’m so disappointed that he wasn’t home.
I’ve just turned onto my street when I get a text. I press the button for it to read aloud.
Hey, I’m at your house. Where are you?
It’s from my sister.
I can’t decide if I’m excited to see her or not.
I am never going to be able to lie to her about where I was. And if I tell her, she’ll know that I am not feeling just grateful and friendly toward David.
But maybe that’s a good thing. Harlow will make me talk about it.
Harlow is so much like our dad. I know she’ll feel protective. She has lots of opinions about my life. But she doesn’t have any bad blood with David that I know of.
And she’s the only other person who knows what it’s like to be Scott Hansen’s daughter. Our experiences with that are a little different, but she’ll be able to give me advice about our dad.
I hit the button to call her. The call connects, and she picks up immediately.
“Hey! Jefferson has something going on with the football team. Are you free to hang out?”
“Definitely. I need to talk to you about something.”
