Page 42 of A Pretty Fixation

They frown.

“The washer is free, honey,” Mom tells me. “Put inthe load. I’ll prepare the batter.” She cuts back to Caleb, eyes glistening asshe asks, “Would you like blueberry or chocolate pancakes?”

“Chocolate, please,” he replies politely.

Dad chuckles. “Great. Something we have in common.I was the only one until now.”

“Ugh.” I scrunch up my face. “Sweetness overload.”

“Hush now.” Dad pats my arm playfully. “You’re oneto talk, salted caramel addict.”

Caleb snickers under his breath, and I hiss athim.

My parents lead him into the kitchen while I veerdown the passage. Nervous about leaving him alone with them too long, I hurryto put my clothes in the washer and quicken back.

They’re in the middle of talking about his major.

Dad pours orange juice for everyone before sittingon a stool next to Caleb.

I sit on Dad’s right and drink a little.

“So you and Jordyn were friends at the fosterhome?” Mom confirms, slanting from the stove.

“Best friends,” Caleb emphasizes while staring atme. “I’ve been trying to find her all this time.”

Warmth tickles my tummy, and I duck my eyes tosettle the sensation.

“Oh,” Mom drones in a low tone. “We had no idea.”

“Didn’t I mention having a friend?” I ask them.

They shake their heads.

“You didn’t,” Dad says, sighing after. “We figuredyou wanted to leave Mrs. Anders’ foster home in the past as well.”

“Mrs. Anders,” I repeat and look across to Caleb.

He watches me over his glass as he drinks.

So he was right about that. We stayed at the samefoster home.

My stomach flutters with hope.

In addition to the brief flashback the day before,more and more, it’s starting to look like I am his childhood crush.

It’s time to ask my parents the burning question.“Um, did I tell you guys a nickname?” I swallow before saying it. “Dove?”

“Not that I recall,” Dad answers. “It doesn’tsound familiar.”

“No, I don’t think so, honey.” Mom comes over withthe first two chocolate pancakes, setting them on Caleb’s and Dad’s plates.“Mrs. Anders didn’t mention that either.”

“Yeah,” Dad mutters, sadness in his dark bluegaze. Sometimes I wish we had similar features. I would have loved to be theirblood.

“Maybe Jordyn wanted a fresh start,” Calebassumes. “She wanted you to use her real name since you were adopting her.”

My parents seem to agree, bobbing their heads.

That might have been the case. Still, there’s alevel of uncertainty.

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