Page 90 of One More Made Up Love Song
“Message from Laney,” Siri says. “How’s the trip going? Have you told him yet?”
I scramble to grab my phone and turn on Do Not Disturb mode just in case Laney texts again, then I let out a nervous laugh. “Ha. She’s probably talking about my dad. Just the other night I was…telling her all about his recent…tree thing.”
Carina leans forward and slips a hand around my arm before whispering, “It’s only going to get worse if you keep talking.”
Her whisper isdefinitelyloud enough for Freddie to hear, and his shoulders start shaking from the passenger seat, but she’s right. Laney could have been talking about anyone, but my weird reaction made it perfectly clear she was talking about Freddie.
Now he’s going to spend the rest of our trip wondering what it is I’m supposed to tell him and why I haven’t yet.
“Stop laughing,” I say, though now my nerves are making me laugh too. “It’s not funny.”
He looks over at me, warmth and humor in his eyes. “I mean, it’s a little funny.”
Carina at least has the sense to keep her mouth closed. For once.
“Come on,” Freddie says. “What is it? What are you supposed to tell me?”
“Absolutely nothing,” I say. “Because look.” I motion toward the enormous wooden sign on the side of the road that reads Conway Nursery. “We’re here.”
Freddie’s eyes are glued to the surrounding landscape as I turn onto the dusty gravel road that leads to my parents’ farm. On either side of the road, rows and rows of Dad’s field-grown trees cut through the hillside. Behind the house, several large greenhouses hold the smaller varieties he cultivates in pots and larger containers, but out here, maple, cypress, redbud, dogwood, and so many others grow for five, even ten years before they’re ready to sell.
“This is all your family’s?” Freddie asks, his eyes taking it all in.
I nod, happy to have a distraction that can pull us away from our previous conversation. I’m keenly aware that it’s time to tell Freddie how I feel, even without Laney’s gentle prompting. But I’ve had enough conversations with Carina or Wayne or the entire freaking internet watching or listening in. Privacy with Freddie is hard to come by, but for this conversation, it’s worth waiting for.
Or so I tell myself to justify my procrastination.
I point across the field to our right. “There’s a swimming hole over in that cluster of trees,” I say. “We used to spend all summer out there.”
“Especially when the Benson brothers were home,” Carina says from the back seat.
“Who are the Benson brothers?” Freddie asks, and I grin, loving how jealous he sounds.
“Will, Brady, and Chad,” I say. “They grew up about a mile down the road.”
“And theylovedto swim,” Carina adds.
“I’m sure they did,” Freddie says dryly, and I laugh.
“Will was my first kiss,” I say, watching Freddie’s reaction. “Brady was my second.”
His eyes widen. “Two brothers?” He’s smiling, despite his indignant tone.
“What?” I say innocently. “Will went off to college. His brother was absolutely fair game.”
“You should have waited around for Chad,” Carina says. “He wasmyfirst kiss, and it was epic.”
“I think I draw the line at kissing more thantwobrothers,” I say, and Freddie scowls, looking undeniably grumpy about the idea.
“Someone looks jealous,” Carina singsongs from the back, and Freddie huffs.
“I’m indignant,” he says. “That’s different.”
What hedoesn’tdo is protest. Act like he wouldn’t have reason to be jealous or indignant. And that realization makes me smile all the way to the end of my parents’ driveway.
When we finally reach the house, I shift into park, but Carina stops me before I can open my door.
“Wait,” she says. “What are we telling Mom and Dad?”
