P.S. I Like You(43)

“I do know him and that’s why I don’t want him over here for Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Well, your brother invited him and he accepted.”

Ashley popped an olive in her mouth. “Wyatt invited him to Thanksgiving dinner? Weird.”

“See. It’s weird,” I said. “Just call Cade and tell him there was a change of plans.”

Because Cade Jennings, my enemy, my former secret pen pal, could not show up at my house for Thanksgiving.

“Who’s Cade?” Aunt Lisa asked, a baby on her hip while she stirred yams. She and her three kids, along with my grandparents, had arrived an hour earlier. My uncle, his wife, and their four kids had arrived the night before. And we were still waiting on my mom’s other sister.

And Cade, apparently.

“Lily’s friend,” my mom said.

My face went hot.

“No. We are not friends. He’s Wyatt’s baseball coach.” I placed the gravy boat next to the potatoes. “Mom, our family is too crazy to have guests over,” I tried to argue. And why couldn’t Cade go to Sasha’s house for Thanksgiving? Couldn’t he torture another family?

Ashley, now raiding the vegetable tray, said, “He and Mark can talk.”

“What? I thought you’d convinced Mark to stay home,” I said.

“No, I didn’t. But everyone be normal today, okay? Normal!” Ashley marched out of the kitchen, probably to give the “be normal” instructions to the rest of the family. My family didn’t know what normal was. She’d have to be a bit more specific than that.

I wiped my hands on a dish towel and found myself heading to the bathroom and analyzing myself in the mirror. My analysis ended with me applying more mascara, a dusting of blush, and some lip gloss. Not for Cade, but because it was Thanksgiving.

The doorbell rang and I closed my eyes, giving myself a pep talk.

I am glad Cade can spend Thanksgiving away from his house. He needs this. And I can handle him for one afternoon.

Right?

The doorbell rang again.

Did nobody else know how to answer the door around here?

It was probably better if I answered it, anyway. I could let Cade know what he was in for or better yet, turn him away.

I opened the front door and stepped outside while Cade’s fist was in the air, getting ready to knock again. He wore a nice pair of pants and a button-down short-sleeved shirt. His hair was combed and he held a wrapped box in his hand.

He looked at the closed door over my shoulder and then said, “Your brother invited me.”

“I know. Did he warn you about how crazy our house is?”

“No.”

“Well, here is your warning. You can leave now before anyone even knows you’re here if you want to.” I wanted to add that I wasn’t sure our house was exactly a better alternative to his. But that would mean giving away that I knew he was my pen pal.

“I told your brother I’d come,” Cade said.

“Fine. But I want to have a nice day so let’s call a truce, okay? Let’s not fight today … because it’s Thanksgiving.”

“Because it’s Thanksgiving?” he asked, one eyebrow going up.

I hadn’t meant to quote one of his letters again. It just came out. But he wouldn’t possibly guess that I was quoting him. I was the last person he would think was exchanging letters with him.

“Unless that much self-control is too hard for you,” I added, trying to cover.

“You’ve already broken the truce with that comment,” Cade pointed out with a half-smile.

“The truce doesn’t start until you enter the house.”

“And it ends the second I leave?”

“Yes.”

“Deal.” He held out his hand like we should shake on it.

I almost walked away from his outstretched hand but figured I should get a head start on playing nice.

I shook. “Good.”

When I tried to pull my hand back, he held on. “You look nice.”

“What?” I spit out. “No need to overdo it. I said no fighting. I didn’t say we had to think of compliments.”

A slow smile spread across his face. “This is going to be fun. And I sense it might be harder for you than it will be for me.”

“Because you’re used to being fake?” I bit my tongue before I said more.

“No, because you seem incapable of being nice.” He dropped my hand and opened the door, leaving me on the porch staring after him.

So had we called a truce or not? Sealing a truce with insults didn’t seem like a very promising start.

He was right, I wasn’t sure I could do this.

“Cade’s here, everyone!” I called, walking in behind him.

“Coach!” Wyatt came running down the hall. It looked like he was tempted to hug Cade, but then he held up his hand for a fist bump instead. Cade complied. Jonah appeared as well, and wanted his own fist bump.

“I’m Jonah. I’m seven and you’ll be my coach in two years,” he told Cade.

“Hopefully,” Cade said. “I might be away at college by then.”

“You can come back to coach me,” Jonah assured him.

“I hope I can. Wyatt, direct me to your mom. I have a gift for her.”