Page 88 of Some Sort of Love (Happy Crazy Love 3)
“Of course!” She perked right up. “We’d love to have her!”
“Good. We’ll see you then.”
• • •
In the days leading up to Friday, I spoke about Jillian to Scotty. He listened, I think, but whenever he’d ask about her, he’d refer to her as Ellie, no matter how many times I reminded him her name was Jillian. It was sort of sweet, and very Scotty, so after a while I gave up correcting him and figured it would work itself out on its own—or maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe he’d call her Ellie for the rest of her life. Somehow, I knew she’d be OK with that, because it meant Scotty recognized that we loved each other.
As long as he didn’t start calling me Carl.
I hadn’t been this nervous since my board exams. Walking up the front steps of Levi’s house, my knees knocked, my hands shook, and my stomach flip-flopped like a fish out of water. At the front door, I took a second to stand still, breathing slowly and deeply. On the count of three, I knocked.
Levi pulled the door open, and I barely had a chance to look at him before he grabbed me and pulled me to his chest, hugging me so tight I could hardly breathe.
“It’s so good to see you,” he said in my ear. “I missed you so much.”
“I missed you too.” I wrapped my arms around his waist and breathed him in. This felt so good. Was he really ready to move forward, get past his fears? God, I hoped so. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but all I needed to hear was that he was willing to try.
“You’re freezing,” he said, rubbing his hands up and down my back.
“It is pretty cold. I think we’re going to get some snow too. But I’m fine.”
He released me, kissing me hard on the
lips before taking my hand. “Come on in. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
My heart hammered in my chest as he walked me from the front entrance through a small formal dining room into a family room that was open to the kitchen. For a guy’s house, it was decorated nicely—art on the walls, beautiful finishes like granite counters and polished wood floors, fabrics and paint colors that complemented each other in warm neutrals. I don’t know why it surprised me, since he was an architect and had an eye for design, but he was always referring to himself as such a caveman. What kind of caveman has throw pillows on the couch and candles on the dining room table?
“Hey, Scotty. Come here.” Levi held on to my hand as Scotty got off the floor where he’d been playing and came over to us.
My heart ached, and I squeezed Levi’s hand. He was so sweet. Huge, dark eyes like his dad’s, the same thick, tousled brown hair, those adorable ears that stuck out a little. He didn’t quite meet my eyes, but that was OK.
“Hello,” he said, holding out his hand.
“Hello.” I dropped Levi’s hand and took his son’s, leaning down. “I’m Jillian. Nice to meet you, Scotty.”
“Nice to meet you, Scotty,” he repeated.
Levi and I exchanged a smile. “I hear you like baseball. I do too.”
“Babe Ruth hit sixty home runs in 1927,” he told me, twirling his hand in his hair.
“Wow,” I said. “That’s impressive. Is he your favorite player?”
“Who do you like on the Tigers, Scotty?” Levi prompted. “Who do we want to go see hit a home run at Comerica Park?”
“Miguel Cabrera has 408 career home runs,” Scotty said.
“I like Martinez,” I told him.
“J.D. Martinez. Eighty-five career home runs, thirty-eight last season.”
“You know your stuff.” I smiled at him. “Very impressive.”
“What do you say, Scotty?” Levi asked.
“What do you say, Scotty?” he repeated.
“You say thank you.” Levi’s voice was firm but kind.
