The Problem with Forever

Oh.

“You’re growing up.” Her gaze lifted to the ceiling. “And I am so not ready for this again.”

Um.

“But I’m going to have to be, aren’t I?”

Uh.

Rosa’s gaze searched mine. “I’m going—”

“What are you two doing?” Carl crossed the living room toward us. “Having a special meeting without me?”

“Just a little girl talk.” She dropped her hand and curled her arm around my shoulders. I’d totally just dodged a bullet that had awkward written all over it. “Don’t you dare lift that lid—”

Carl had stopped at the counter, where the pot roast was cooling on a platter. He feigned innocence. “I wouldn’t dare.”

“Uh-huh. We both know better, don’t we, Mallory?”

I nodded. We totally knew better.

The doorbell rang suddenly, and I jumped. My gaze searched out the time. It was five till the time Rider was supposed to be here.

Carl turned toward the entryway.

“I’ll get it.” I took off, squeezing past him.

Sliding to a stop in front of the door, I all but threw it open without even looking to see who it was. But it was him.

Rider stood on our porch, and he... He had changed his clothes, too.

Relief washed over me, immediately followed by a keen sense of awareness, because he looked—he looked hot. I shouldn’t notice that about him, but I did. He was wearing a button-down gray dress shirt and dark jeans. My gaze got hung up on his hands.

His full lips curved into a half grin. “Can I come in?”

I blinked.

The grin spread into a smile. “Mouse?”

“Oh. Yeah.” I moved to the side. “Yes.”

Rider stepped in, his gaze drifting over me. I inhaled, catching the scent of cologne. Our gazes caught for a moment and then he looked toward the living room. The centers of his cheeks were flushed a darker shade. “Dinner smells amazing.”

“It’s...it’s pot roast.” I was no longer hungry. I glanced at his mouth and quickly looked away. “Um, Rosa is... She’s a great cook.”

Hyperaware of his presence, I started to lead him toward the kitchen. We walked through the living room, and Rider stopped suddenly in front of the china cabinet. “What are these?” he asked.

I turned, following his gaze. My eyes widened. He was staring at the soap carvings he must not have noticed the day he’d stopped over after school. “Um...”

He leaned in, tilting his head to the side as he studied a sleeping cat. “Were they bars of soap?”

“Yeah,” I whispered.

“Wow,” he murmured, his gaze crawling over the heart and the sun I’d done a few years ago. “Did Carl or Rosa do this?”

I shook my head. “No. Um. I...did them.”

“What?” He straightened and looked at me, surprise filling his expression. “You did this? Why haven’t you said anything?”