Swing (Landry Family #2)(38)

Hux grabs his hat and jostles it back over his head. Shaking mine, I wait until he’s settled down before continuing with my explanation.

“You and your mom have that,” I say finally. “You’re a family. She gave birth to you. But when adults marry each other, they’re picking that person to love. It’s a different thing.”

“I get that.”

“And your mom had to pick more carefully because whoever she loves will be around you. And you are the most important person in her life.”

Inch by inch, the anxiety in his eyes melts away. “You think?”

“I know,” I say.

He sighs, resting back against the sofa. Gazing out the window, he seems to be caught up in his thoughts. Slowly, he turns to me. “So, about what they’re doing in the bedroom . . .”

“You really want to know?” I laugh.

“Nope.”

“Thank God.”





Lincoln

“ARE YOU SURE IT TAKES all this stuff to make dinner?” I survey the kitchen. It looks like the grocery store threw up on the floor, counters, and table.

“How do I know? I’m a kid.”

“You were the one that read off the ingredients from the app. I need a little confidence here, Huxley.”

“There were about seven ingredients on the list. We got . . .” He looks at the golden plastic bags overtaking the kitchen. “We got way more than that. We should start putting this stuff away.”

I start opening cabinets and looking inside.

“What are you doing, Lincoln?”

“Trying to figure out where this stuff goes.”

I think he sighs behind me, but I don’t double check. We’re running out of time. The app says it will take almost an hour to make the pasta and I wanted to try to make sure the wine was chilled and put the cake from the bakery on a plate of some sort like my mom does when she tries to pretend like she’s baked something.

“Can I ask you something?” Hux asks.

“Sure.”

“Why are you going to this much trouble to make dinner for a girl? Do you like her or something?”

My hand stills on the bag of frozen spinach. “I do. I like her a lot.”

“What’s her name?”

“Danielle.”

He nods, organizing all the ingredients from the recipe beside the stove. Then he goes to work putting things in an empty cabinet.

“I’m going to need your help tonight,” I say, sticking a container of coffee next to my brand new coffee pot.

“How?”

“I need you to help this girl think I’m awesome.”

He peers at me over his shoulder.

“You’re my wingman.”

“Wingman?”

“Yeah. Wingman,” I say, putting three different flavors of coffee creamer on the door of the refrigerator. “That means it’s your job to be adorable and to say nice things about me when you can. But, you know, don’t force it. Just when the time is right. And don’t say anything about the texts on my—”

“I get it. You need me to make her fall in love with you.”

“In love with me?” I balk. “No, no, no. You don’t get it at all.”

The little shit smirks at me. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was Barrett’s kid with that look. “I think I get it better than you do.”

“Fuck,” I sigh, opening a box of plates. They’re navy blue and heavy.

“We should wash those first.”

“What?” I ask, looking at him. “Where do you get this stuff?”

“Life. Haven’t you ever moved? You always wash things before you use them if you haven’t used them in a while.” He watches me before laughing. “Did you buy glasses too?”

“Yeah.”

“Didn’t you have glasses?”

“I’m not sure how many.”

He glances at the clock. “What time is she coming?”

“In about an hour.”

“Do you have any idea how to cook? Have you ever cooked at all?”

“Some,” I say defensively. “Look, I’m the adult here. You’re the kid. You put this shit away and I’m going to . . .” I pull up the recipe on my phone. “I’m going to bring a large pot of lightly salted water to a boil. Add pasta and cook for eight to ten minutes or until al dente, whatever that means, and then drain and reserve.”

Hux sighs. I do too.



Lincoln

The cake looks pretty good on the plate. Some of the icing got knocked off as I tried to slip it out of the box, but I fixed it with my finger. Then licked it off. That got me a look of disapproval from Hux.

“So you know what to do, right?” I ask, drying the glasses and setting them on the table beneath the lit candles.

“Yes. Be cute. Say nice things about you. And don’t talk about what’s on your phone or what I heard you say to the girl on the phone after Barrett’s election at the Farm.”

My brain races to remember what I would’ve been saying. “Did you mention any of that conversation to your mom?”

“No,” he grins. “But I Googled it.”