Page 20 of Drop Shot
I sip at my own lemonade and it’s downright heavenly. It’s a reminder that I really should visit home more often when I’m in the area. Normally, I’m so happy to be in my own space again that I don’t venture out much.
“You’ve been holding out on me, Whim.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s not like I possess these skills. Don’t look at me if you’re looking for some fresh sourdough. My mom swears sourdough starter is deceivingly easy, but somehow, I never managed to make mine last and now…” I shrug, sitting down on the end of Junie’s bed. “With traveling so much there’s definitely no way I’m getting it to last.”
He nods like he understands but I highly doubt he knows anything about a sourdough starter.
“Our mom also makes bracelets and things like that. She’s the best,” Junie says, stirring her straw in the liquid.
“She sounds like the best mom,” he says, smiling at my sister.
I know this isn’t real, that we’re just playing pretend, but I also know that Elias is being nice to my sister just because he wants to and it does something funny to my heart.
“Come on.” Junie reaches for his hand. “Let me show you the bracelet station.”
“You’re in for it now,” I warn him playfully, following behind them.
“That’s fine.”
His tone says he truly doesn’t care what Junie drags him into and fuck if that doesn’t make my heart go even softer for this guy.
That’s the thing about Elias—he truly is impossible not to like.
Downstairs, she leads him past the kitchen straight back to the small addition we call the sun porch. It’s more of a hobby room than anything else.
“Sit.” She all but shoves the giant man into a chair, which is rather amusing considering the difference in their size. “Do you know how to make bracelets?”
“Um … no,” he admits.
“Don’t worry. I’ll show you.” She sits down beside him and starts opening the drawers filled with beads.
“I’m going to see if Mom needs any help.”
Juniper waves me away with an annoyed jerk of her fingers.
I leave them to their bracelet making and find my mom in the kitchen cutting up tomatoes. She smiles as soon as she sees me, her familiar yellow apron draped around her thin frame and her hair now pulled back with a clip.
“Do you need any help?” I ask.
“Always,” she smiles, sliding the cutting board over for me to finish.
I wash my hands and get to work. “I thought I’d make BLTs for lunch. I just made a fresh sourdough loaf this morning.” Under her breath, she adds, “And an extra one your dad doesn’t know about for you to take with you.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Anytime.” She presses a kiss to the side of my head as she passes, grabbing bacon from the refrigerator.
I’m so lucky to have parents like mine. Growing up, I often saw other kids in school with parents who fought or didn’t care to spend time with their kids. Mine, if anything, have always been a little too involved.
I finish the tomatoes and move on to cleaning the lettuce and dressing it with fresh lemon juice.
“Elias seems kind,” my mom says casually. Bacon sizzles and pops in the pan. “Even better looking in person than on TV.”
I try not to laugh at her attempt at subtlety. “What is it you’re getting at, Mom? Spit it out.”
She plants a hand on her hip. “I’m just wondering if this is as new as you two claim or what? It’s okay if you’ve been seeing each other longer and been keeping it on the down low.” She gestures with her hand like she’s going low. “I can keep a secret from your dad.”
I rinse my hands of the sticky lemon juice and shake the water off my hands before grabbing a clean towel.
