Page 41 of A Pretty Fixation

“Yeah, a sign that he’s intrusive.” I motiontowards her car. “Let’s—ugh!”

Caleb snatches my laundry bag before I walk away,places it on the backseat, and shuts the door.

“All set, Scarlett?” he asks my best friend.

“Yeah.” She flashes me a smile and starts walkingaway. “See you later, JD.”

“Scar…”

She moseys to her silver Honda parked two carsover, then takes off.

Caleb opens the passenger door for me. “Come on. Idon’t want to keep your parents waiting. Besides, I’m excited to eat pancakes.”

I splay my hands. “Why don’t you just go to yourhouse and make some?”

“Because I want to see where you grew up and meetthe people who raised you. Now stop acting annoyed and come on.” He ushers meinto the car.

Having no energy to fight my attraction at themoment, I relax in the seat and buckle up.

Caleb leaves campus right away.

We reach West Hartford and my quaint neighborhoodminutes later. I direct him to my house.

Getting out of the car, I’m about to grab mylaundry bag from the backseat, but Caleb beats me to it.

Huffing, I shake my head and walk up the entrance.

The front door opens, and Mom greets us with awave and her warm smile. “Hey, there.”

“Hi, Mom.” I jog up the front steps of the mostloving place and lean in for a snug embrace, basking in her motherly arms alittle before easing back.

Her powder blue eyes glisten as she regards Caleb.“Well, hello.”

“Mom, this is—”

“Caleb Rosmond,” he introduces himself, morecharming than ever as he shakes her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Davis.”

She beams in return, already falling under hisspell. “You as well, Caleb. Come in.”

Dad steps out of the living room as we walk intothe entry.

“Honey, this is Caleb,” Mom says with a widesmile.

Caleb sets my laundry bag aside to shake his hand.

“Mr. Davis. It’s good to meet you, sir.”

“You too.” Dad flicks from him to me, then backagain. “You also go to Delham?”

“Yes, sir. We ran into each other on Monday.” Helooks at me, and I know what he’s going to say as he steers his focus back tomy parents. I don’t bother stopping him. At this point, I need to know.

“Actually, Jordyn and I met eight years ago. Wewere both at the foster home.”

“Oh, wow,” Mom remarks, both looking amazed. “Whata coincidence.”

“Indeed.” Dad steadies on me, a worry line on hisforehead.

I shrug it off. “I don’t remember.”

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