Page 85 of Catch the Sun

“Suits you. Hey, why don’t you come by for dinner this weekend? I’m making brisket.”

My eyes pop and I rush forward, stepping between my father and Ella. There’s no way she’s coming over for dinner. I will take out a credit card and fly her first class to Italy for the most authentic, expensive Italian cuisine I can find before I subject her to the inside of that embarrassing house and Dad’s drunken outbursts.No way.“Ella doesn’t eat brisket.”

She huffs. “I love brisket. Thank you for the invitation. I’m free tomorrow.”

“No, you’re not.” I turn to fully face her, my eyes pleading. “We have that thing.”

“What thing?”

“The thing with the…thing. I can’t believe you forgot about the thing.”

Chevy tries to come to my rescue. “I remember the thing. It’s a stellar thing. You can’t miss it.”

Ella glances between the three of us, chewing on her thumbnail. Her shoulders slacken for a breath and I think she’s about to concede. But then she straightens, stretches a full-toothed grin, and bobs her head at my father. “I’ll be over at six.” She waves and retreats.

Shit.

Dad looks positively slap-happy. The newfound twinkle in his eyes should have me beaming with relief if I didn’t have a heap of damage control dropped into my lap. Chevy sends me an apologetic look before I bolt and chase Ella over to her bike. “Ella, hold up.”

She ignores me and begins to pedal, her pace slow and sluggish as she rides up an incline.

“Ella.” I jog beside her, watching her auburn hair fan out behind her. “You can’t come over for dinner. Dad hasn’t cooked in a decade. We don’t even have a real oven.” Shame heats my cheeks, but I keep jogging beside her, my gait quickening to a run when she picks up speed.

“You think I’m one to judge?” she scoffs, already out of breath. “I’m still living out of boxes because I can’t bear to go through some of my old things.”

“We barely have walls.”

“That’s fine. I’ll be too busy eating brisket to notice the walls.”

“I’m serious. I’ll take you out to dinner if you really want to have a date with me.” She side-eyes me with a squinty glare. “There’s a place off Braxton. They have great risotto.”

“I prefer brisket.”

“Dammit, Sunny. Slow down so we can talk about this.”

“Can’t be late for coffee.” Ella glances at me, then at my swiftly moving feet like she can’t believe I’m keeping up with her. She pedals faster. “See you tomorrow at six.” Lifting up, she uses all her strength to ride ahead of me until I give up and slow to a defeated stop in the middle of the road.

I scrub both hands over my face, wondering if I can make history by renovating a house in twenty-four hours.

Fuck my life.

***

I have to put a stop to this.

The moment I see Ella arrive home at dusk and park her bicycle along the side of her house, I slip on my shoes. I wait a few minutes for her to settle inside while I pace the living room and peer out the unglazed window, tug down the cheap roller blinds, then storm out the front door. Dad is sleeping. He’ll probably be sleeping tomorrow, too, when Ella comes over for make-believe brisket. And that’s if he’s not passed-out drunk on whiskey.

The horror of that probable scenario has me racing across the street in record time.

When I make it to her front porch, I knock softly. Footsteps approach and the door widens, revealing a middle-aged woman wearing a blush loungewear set. Two green eyes, a shade darker than Ella’s, flare when she spots me hovering in the doorway with my hands buried in my pockets. “Oh, hello there.”

“Hi.” I locate my manners and step forward, extending a hand. “Max Manning.”

She greets me with a surprised smile. “Candice. Are you looking for Ella?”

“Yeah, is she home?” I know she’s home, but I don’t want my first real impression with Ella’s mother to give off stalker vibes, so I attempt to look oblivious.

“She just got home. She’s in her room.”

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