He swallowed against the tide of nerves boiling in his stomach. “I think that calls for a celebration, though, don’t you?”
She cocked her head, and he couldn’t keep from staring at her long, smooth neck. “What do you have in mind?”
This was it. Don’t screw this up. “It’s a surprise. Tomorrow night? Eight o’clock? I promise you’ll be back by ten, in case you have a curfew.”
“My curfew’s midnight.” She was blushing again. “So if we decide to stay out later, that won’t be a problem.”
“Yeah, but your parents are my clients, so I don’t want to piss them off before the job’s done.”
She laughed. “Good plan. My dad was an Olympic archer way back in the day. Probably best not to piss him off…like, ever.”
“Good to know.” He picked up his spade. “Tomorrow then.”
“Tomorrow.”
Once she skipped back into the house—really skipped—he leaned against the spade’s handle. Could this be it? Could she be the one?
He hoped so.
That night, after a shower and a lot of Neosporin for the cuts on his hands—azaleas bite, apparently—he went down for dinner. Grandpa was already at the table, dressed in a bright orange golf shirt and matching pants.
“Ouch, are you trying to blind me?” Kyle asked, taking his seat. “What’s with the neon?”
“I like to be visible on the golf course, in case some idiot forgets it’s not hunting season.” Grandpa pushed a paper bag his way. “Burgers from McCallen’s. Rosanna has bingo tonight, and your dad’s working late.”
“Fine by me.” Kyle dived into his cheeseburger and fries. The date had him nervous—what would they talk about for two whole hours? He had a plan for where to take her, but beyond that, he was totally stuck. “Grandpa?”
“Yup?” He barely looked up from his onion rings, but Kyle didn’t care. McCallen rings were a religious experience.
“Um, I’m taking this girl out tomorrow.”
Grandpa’s head whipped up, half a ring dangling from his hand. “Say what?”
Oh, for the love of… “You heard me, old man.”
He chuckled. “I was just wondering if maybe I needed a hearing aid after all. So, you’re actually taking a girl out—and telling me about it?” He set his onion ring down. “You have my full attention.”
“I’ll talk fast, because I don’t want the blame if your rings are too cold to eat. Anyway, it’s this girl from school I was telling you about yesterday.”
“Is she pretty? Is she nice? Does she have nice parents? Does she get good grades?”
Kyle laughed. “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. I knew you’d freak out.”
Grandpa held up a hand. “I promise to stop. I’m really proud of you, kid.”
“Yeah. About that…I have no idea what to talk to her about for two whole hours.”
“Aw, that’s easy.” Grandpa went back to his onion rings. “What does she like to do for fun?”
Date stupid football players? Run around with a purple-haired sprite? “She likes to dance. I heard her say something about the school musical.”
That perked him up. “Which one?”
Kyle shrugged. “How should I know?”
Grandpa rolled his eyes and pointed his onion ring at him. “Maybe ask? Or better yet—ask someone she knows. That way you can surprise her with small talk.”
Okay, some of that made a little sense. “I can do that.”
“Good. Text the friend, then finish your dinner. We have plans.”
Uh-oh. When Grandpa said they had plans, it was definitely smart to worry. Still, Kyle texted Violet, wondering what the old man was up to.
Two minutes later: Oklahoma! Duh—there are posters all over school. Why do you want to know?
He frowned at his phone. What would she believe? Because I need to know some things about Faith if anybody on the team asks me about her. Duh.
She sent an emoji with its tongue wagging out, and that was the last he heard. “She’s in Oklahoma! If I had to guess, she’ll be the lead.”
“Perfect!” Grandpa crumbled his sandwich wrapper and tossed into the paper sack. “Finish your dinner, then come to my den.”
Kyle did as he asked, grumbling the whole time, then went to Grandpa’s den—a wood-paneled man cave with well-worn leather furniture, a two-month-old flat-screen TV, and a sixty-year-old vinyl collection. Kyle had always loved this room. Leather couches so old and soft they were nearly falling apart. A dartboard, complete with holes in the wall from when he was little and couldn’t hit the target. Tin signs, collected from flea markets and yard sales, going back to the 1920s. This part of the house didn’t feel like the rest, which meant it didn’t look like it belonged in a ten-thousand-square-foot home in The Hills subdivision. Maybe that’s why Kyle loved it—the room was real. Lived-in.
Honest.