Page 55 of Valentine Nook
I’m glad I have her on speaker because the next thing from Clementine is her yelling, “Lando, Churchill’s got into Holiday’s garden.”
There’s a muffled response before Clementine adds, “We’ll be right there.” And the phone goes dead.
I freeze.
Shit.
This wasn’t even remotely close to any idea I had about how I could legitimately see Lando today. But I’m going with it.
And if he’s coming too, then I have approximately ten minutes to wash this running sweat off and make myself vaguely presentable.
I sprint up the stairs, and for the first time since I arrived here, I manage to get to the top without adding more bruises.
If Clemmie’s grinning widely when I open the front door, then Lando’s doing the exact opposite.
He looks like he’d rather be anywhere else, which confuses me because no one’s forced him to come. I called his sister, not him.
The smile I greeted them with falters a little.
“Hey, thanks for coming. I wasn’t sure what to do.”
“Oh, no problem,” Clemmie replies, breezing through the door into the hallway.
My eyes are still on Lando, his jaw tight as he steps over the threshold. He’s looking around like it’s the first time he’s seen the place even though I could have sworn his mom said he used to live here.
Not to mention, he owns it.
“Lanny, you okay?”
Lando glances up at his sister and blinks. The trance he’s in breaks.
“Yes, fine,” he replies, and a pair of stormy gray eyes meet mine and turn away. “Fine. Hi, Holiday, where’s Churchill?”
He’s curt. Gruffer than he’s been since the first—second—time I met him.
He’s never called me Hollywood in front of other people, but he still managed a smile, yet I don’t even get that.
I point out into the backyard where the culprit has moved on to the pear tree.
“Great, Lando will deal with him. I must pee,” Clemmie says, running into the downstairs bathroom.
I glance over at Lando, who’s back in his trance. There’s a weariness to him as he stares at the wall, an unguarded sadness in the way his shoulders stoop. I want to ask him what’s wrong, what’s causing his brow to drop so deeply it could givemea headache.
But in the end, I lightly touch his arm and go with, “Hey?—”
When his eyes flick up, they don’t quite meet mine. “Right.Goat.” He marches through to the backyard and loudly claps his hands. “Churchill. Out.”
Churchill stops chewing and spits out the pear, then turns and jumps back over the hedge the way he came.
Seriously?
“Well, I could have done that,” I grumble.
The ghost of a smile hits Lando’s mouth, and for the first time since he arrived here, he looks like the Lando I’ve become acquainted with in the past month.
“Now you know for next time.”
“Hopefully, there won’t be one.”
