Page 73 of The Summer I Destroyed You

He bites his lower lip, watching as I search the floor for my clothes. “You’re the last person I’d expect to care about her mother’s opinion.”

I wish it were true. I wish I could stop trying to change her mind about me.

He takes me back to my car, pulling his truck into the space alongside it. “I’ll see you later, I guess,” I tell him, grabbing my purse and reaching for the door.

“Em,” he says, and then his hand wraps around my neck as he pulls me toward him. “We’re not just fuck buddies, so stop treating me like one.”

He kisses me, hard and soft at once, thorough yet not enough, silencing any objections before I can voice them.

“I’ll pick you up at seven tonight,” he adds.

“What?”

He raises a brow. A brow that says we’re not just fuck buddies and we’re going on a goddamn date, and don’t you dare even pretend to argue with me because we both know you want to go.

“Whatever,” I say as I climb from the car.

But I’m smiling.

* * *

I spend most of the day in meetings with the company that will be managing the bookstore, run home to feed Snowflake and check on my mom—who miraculously doesn’t mention the fact that I slept elsewhere—then return to meet him outside the store. He wanted to pick me up, but I’d like to avoid my mother’s input, if at all possible.

I know he spent most of the day helping Mac’s family get him home, and I’m bad in situations like this—ones that require sensitivity and softness. I’m the worst possible person for him to be taking on a date tonight.

“Do you, uh, want to talk about it?” I ask haltingly as we head toward Santa Cruz.

He puts on his blinker to turn off the highway. “It’s bad enough that I’m forcing you to go on a date. I’m not going to make you listen to what it’s like to transport a body from overseas. And to be honest, I kind of compartmentalized everything just to get through it, and it’s best if I can keep it compartmentalized for now. But do you mind if we make a detour?”

“What kind of detour?”

“It’s time for you to meet my family,” he replies, turning off the road.

“What?” My heart thunders in my ears. “Please tell me this is a joke, Liam.”

He laughs. “It’s not, but I promise it’s not a big deal. My niece just got home, and I want to say hi to her and my sister. That’s it.”

“Who are you going to say I am?”

He rolls his eyes. “Em, it’s flattering how disturbed you are by the idea someone might know we’re dating.”

“We’re not dating,” I insist, as he pulls into the driveway of a small split-level home. “We’ve never been on a single date.”

“Yes, we have. You just didn’t acknowledge it. Eventually you will, and in the meantime, I’ll just say you’re a friend.”

I don’t like that much either, but it looks like I’m not going to get much of a choice since he’s already out of the truck and coming around to my side to help me down. “If this is a date, it’s off to a roaring start,” I mutter, and he laughs.

He leads me inside the home without knocking.

“Hello?” he calls, and seconds later, I see the woman from the other night along with a blonde bombshell—all curves, almond eyes, and full, pouty lips—who is in no way the “little niece” I was expecting. If Brigitte Bardot, Pamela Anderson, and Kate Upton had a baby, it might come out half as blonde and seductive as this girl.

“This is little Lazy Daisy,” says Liam, ruffling her hair as if she’s five.

“You know I fucking hate that nickname,” the girl says with a cheerful eye roll as she turns to me. “It’s just Daisy. I am extremely lazy, but I’m trying not to advertise it.”

I’m introduced to Bridget’s best friend Jackie and handed a sweating Coke I definitely won’t drink, and then Bridget announces they were just about to watch her wedding video.

“Mom,” Daisy groans. “No one, and I repeat, no one, wants to watch your wedding video.”

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