Page 25 of Tempt Me

“Let me guess,” I say. “Grace named him.”

Grace has been really into physics lately.

Lyle chuckles. “I love the names she comes up with. We still have Goat Isla.” He points to the munching goat and I grin. They got Goat Isla when Grace was seven. I found it a high honor that she named the goat after me.

“Hi Isla,” Grace says as she comes over to us. She wears jeans and her 4H tank top, and there’s a smudge of dirt on her nose. “Piglet and I were just talking about the Beer-Lambert law.”

“And what is Piglet’s opinions on the matter?”

Grace shrugs. “He’s less concerned with the linear relationship between absorption and concentration of light and more concerned with the Piglet-Carrot law.”

I laugh. “Is that the law of how many carrots Piglet gets?”

“Exactly. But it’s never as many as he’d like.” Grace grins. “How’s Niels doing?” she asks Lyle.

“Quiz Time,” Lyle says. Grace stands straighter. She loves Quiz Time with Lyle. Probably because she always wins. “What bacteria is causing Niels’ pneumonia?”

“Bordetella bronchiseptica,” Grace says.

“Good. And what antibiotic should we treat him with?”

“Chloramphenicol palmitate,” Grace replies promptly.

“Right again.”

She beams.

“Okay, enough Quiz Time,” I say. “Come on, Grace. You and I are having a sleepover tonight.”

“Really?” Grace says excitedly as we wave goodbye to Lyle.

“Yup,” I say. “Want to order pizza and watch a movie?”

“Yes. Can we watch Interstellar?” Grace asks. “Mom says it’s too grown up for me. But Mr. Angelopoulos says the science is as accurate as he’s seen in a science fiction film.”

“Sure,” I say. “Let me just make sure there’s not any cursing or anything.”

“I don’t care about cursing. Aunt Charlotte curses all the time.”

She’s got me there.

As we drive into town, I can’t help the way my eyes scan every person on the street. My fingers clench around the wheel. Why do I feel this tiny, masochistic wish that I’ll see Caden? I’m probably just acclimating to the fact that he’s in town again.

“Isla,” Grace says solemnly.

“Hm?”

“Why are you driving so slowly?”

I glance at the speedometer. “I’m not,” I insist.

“Are you okay?”

“What? Of course I’m okay,” I say, pressing the gas pedal. “Why wouldn’t I be okay? I’m totally fine.”

Grace scratches her nose and studies me with her serious brown eyes. “The pitch of your voice and the way you jumped would indicate otherwise.”

“My voice is normal,” I say sternly.

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