“Solid.”
I try to ignore the little pulse of warmth her praise is stirring to life. The last thing I should care about is the approval of my annoying neighbor’s teenaged daughter. But I’m already imagining us outside in the grass, practicing her cheer for this tryout. It brings up some complex emotions, and new ones that feel a little tender.
Greta rolls to her feet, the motion so fluid.I can almost imagine her on the balance beam, perfectly poised. “Um, I’d better get back,” she says in a shy voice. “Thanks for the soda.”
“I’ll text you my schedule,” I say.
“Cool.” Greta sets her empty glass on the counter and spins away. “Nice to meet you,” she says to Quinn.
“Take care, hon,” Quinn replies as Greta slips through the screen door and out of sight.
Quinn saunters over to the counter and pulls up a stool. “Daddy Linden’s gotta be doing something right. She’s got her head on straight.”
HearingDaddy Lindenfrom Quinn’s lips should not send a shiver down my spine. I brush it off because I shouldn’t be thinking about Linden as anything other than the object of my next retaliation.
We’re about to sit down to dinner when my phone chimes. I glance at the screen—it’s Darienne.
Quinn peeks over my shoulder, our plates in her hands on the way to the deck. “You want to take it, we can warm this up after.”
“Let me just see what she needs.” I head outside.
“Hey, Darienne,” I say into the phone. From the lake, a steady breeze brings the mineral scent of the water, its breath cool on my cheek.
“Megan,” she says. Her tone is pleasant and calm like always, but my shoulders tense. “I need to make another adjustment to the guest list.”
I put her on speaker and open my notes app. “Okay.”
She rattles off names and spelling while I type.
“And I took the liberty of changing the theme colors,” she says once we’re finished.
A sharp knot forms at the base of my throat. “Um, can I ask why?”
“Because that shade of blue is much too masculine.”
“It’s the school’s main color.” And hello, this party is for a man.
“Nobody will be able to tell the difference. You’ll thank me when you see the pictures.”
Pictures of her, likely. I rub my forehead.
“I think the caterer is charging too much for the dessert options. Have you considered an outside vendor, maybe offer cake only? These are football fans, not gourmet aficionados.”
I lean against my porch railing. This party is for my father, who after playing college ball for the Army, became a high school football coach for twenty seven years. But of course Darienne is making this about her. I should have never let her get involved. This is my project. A way to show my dad that I’m proud of him.
A way to remind him that I still care. Maybe a way to bring us close again, the way we once were.
“I understand,” I say, when what I really want to say isbutt out.
She gives a little huff, like this isn’t good enough for her. “You might want to rethink the two o’clock start. I don’t want everyone hammered by dinner.”
Linden slips out the back door of his house, his baseball cap on backwards. He’s wearing a pair of swim trunks and no shirt, his skin slick with perspiration. Like he’s been on one of his epic runs, or maybe he has a home gym? His rounded shoulders and forearms are taut with muscle and his chest and abs are as chiseled as the rest of him.
I realize Darienne is waiting for my answer, and snap my attention away from Linden trotting down the steps to the lakeshore.
“Yes,” I manage, though I’ve lost my train of thought. “I mean, it’s worth considering.”
From the shore, Linden glances over his shoulder, like he heard my reply. Our eyes lock for an instant, and despite the cool breeze off the lake, a hot buzz fires over my skin.
