Page 54 of Levi Bailey has Butterflies

I huff out a breath and flex my hands—opened and closed. I can do this.

But I can’t ignore the sudden tap on my front door. Uncle Bob should be up. He’ll be in his plaid robe, three cups of coffee down him, writing a scene that is sure to rival all other scenes.

I sit up on my elbows and listen to Uncle Bob’s voice… Uncle Bob and someone else. Who would be at our house at eight in the morning? Uncle Bob doesn’t get visitors.

“Just down that hall.” I hear my uncle say… but his words don’t make sense, because the only thing down the hall ismy bedroom.

The door to my room swings open and I sink down into my sheets and comforter.

“Morning, Meredith.”

“Levi? What are you doing here? It’s eight in the morning.”

He is way too put together—black shorts, black tee, hair combed. “You say that like we aren’t the kind of friends to wake each other up occasionally.”

Huh. So this is how it feels. No wonder he growled at me.

I pull my yellow comforter up to my nose, making sure my Barbie night shirt is completely hidden. “Why aren’t you at work?”

“The shop doesn’t open until ten. And it isn’t open at all on Sundays. Remember?” He taps the foot of my bed. “Come on! Up and at ‘em! We’re tackling number eighteen today.”

“Play a team sport?” I fold my blankets down, uncovering my nose and mouth, but keeping Barbie a mysterious treasure—one that Levi does not need to find.

“You have them memorized?” He grins, and it’s ridiculously handsome on him. Are men really this handsome? This man should be making every woman he runs into weak in the knees.

“Wait,” I say, realization dawning on me. “You do too?” I throw the question back at him—because how would he remember which number is which?

He gives a half smile, a thoughtful smile. “A few.” He taps the post of my bed again. “Come on. Find your yoga pants. We’re playing football with the Baileys today.”

Warmth blooms in my chest and heart. Football with the Baileys? I watch his backside—it’s a very nice backside—as he exits the room, before leaping out of bed.

“Five minutes,” he calls, tapping on my bedroom door.

I take ten. Ineedten. I don’t shower—no time, but I do comb my hair and pull it back into the tiniest of pigtails. Sprigs of hair already fall out at my sides. I pin a couple back before lacing my lashes with mascara.

Yoga pants are fine, but they are not as comfy as a cotton dress. Still, if I’m going to tackle number eighteen today, I’m going to need pants.

I sneak out into the living room—where I’m assuming Uncle Bob is holding Levi hostage.

“How tall?”

“Ah,” Levi runs a hand through his hair, “Six foot two.”

“I’m thinking three, six foot three.”

Levi gives an awkward shrug. “Maybe.”

“Stretch out your arms.”

“Excuse me?” Levi coughs. “My arms?”

“Yes,” says Bob. He doesn’t look Levi directly in the eyes, but he isn’t shy about snatching one of Levi’s arms and holding it out as far as it can go. “Now the other.” He even has a notepad in one hand. He makes a quick note and then goes back to examining a more than uncomfortable Levi.

“What’s going on out here?” I say before Uncle Bob can pull out the tape measure and take the length of Levi’s chest.

“Just getting to know each other.” Uncle Bob tightens the front of his slacking robe, hiding his blue flannel pants.

“I’ll be home by dinner,” I tell him, planting a kiss on his whiskered cheek.

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