“Text me updates,” Toby said, giving me a wink. “Have fun!”
We walked down to the foyer together, Palmer leading the way—she knew my house as well as her own. “So,” she said, stopping at the door to dig her keys out of her purse, “if it’s going really well, bring him to the Orchard later.”
I smiled at that, feeling my cheeks get hot at the thought of things going well enough that I’d bring him to meet my friends after the first night. For that to happen, there would definitely be some kissing. “Let’s just see how this goes.”
“Andie?” I turned around to see my dad standing in the hallway that led from his study, squinting at me. He had stopped wearing his button-downs in the last few days, and now he was wearing what he wore at more casual events on the campaign trail or strategy sessions—khakis, a polo shirt, and loafers. I honestly wasn’t sure I’d ever seen my father in a T-shirt. I wasn’t entirely sure he owned one.
“Yes?” I called back, looking at Palmer and then widening my eyes at her. I had assumed my dad would stay in his study, reading or watching old sports games, like he’d spent the last few days doing. I was going to write a note and leave it on the kitchen counter before I left, but that was as much as I’d decided to do in terms of alerting him to my plans for the night.
“I thought I heard—” my dad said as he walked down the hall toward me, and I felt my stomach sink. I’d hoped he had a quick question that I could shout back the answer to, and then he could have gone back to watching eighties basketball players and their disturbingly short shorts. “Oh,” my dad said when he saw Palmer. “Sorry—I didn’t realize Andie had anyone over.”
“Hi, Congressman Walker,” Palmer said cheerfully. A second later, though, when she realized what she’d said, she paled. “I mean . . . Mr. Walker,” she added quickly. My dad was still looking at her, so she glanced at me, then tried, “Alexander?”
“Mr. Walker’s fine,” my dad said, giving her that practiced smile he used when he was working a rope line. “How are you doing, Palmer? How are your parents?”
“Oh, they’re fine. Thanks for asking.”
“Palmer was just leaving,” I said, before my dad could start asking about her brothers and sisters—I could practically see him slipping back into concerned-candidate mode, wanting to show her that he remembered her siblings’ names, that he’d held on to tiny snippets of information. We didn’t have time for that. It was going to be tight, but I was hoping I could get her out of here—and my dad back in his study—before Clark arrived. I had never ever done the guy-parent introduction thing and I really didn’t want to start now. I raised my eyebrows at Palmer, and she nodded.
“I was just leaving,” she repeated back, matching my inflection and shooting me a tiny smile. “Talk to you later,” she said as she opened the door. I pulled it back for her and she mouthed, Oh my god! to me before turning back to my dad, her face composed and polite. “Nice to see you again, Mr. Walker,” she called.
“And you as well,” my dad said, his voice warm and sincere, like she was just the person he’d hoped to see in his house unexpectedly today. “Please give my best to Mark and Kathie.”
“Will do,” she said, giving him a tiny wave before she headed out the door, pulling it shut behind her.
I looked at my dad in the sudden silence of the foyer, trying to figure out how I could get him back to his office without letting him know that’s what I was trying to do. Or maybe I could drive down the street and meet Clark at the gatehouse to avoid any possibility of overlap. “So—” I started, just as my dad said, “Are you going somewhere?”
“Oh,” I said, then nodded. “Yeah . . . I’m . . . going out to dinner. A friend is picking me up.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them. Why hadn’t I just said I was meeting someone? I didn’t have Clark’s number, but if I was out by the street early enough, I could have flagged him down from out there.
My dad nodded, and silence fell between us again. I had just taken a breath to say that I’d see him later when he asked, “Which friend?”
“You don’t know them,” I said, then heard, from somewhere on the second floor, a clock begin to chime. Was it seven already? I pulled my phone out from my bag and saw that the clock upstairs must have been fast—it was five to. But either way, I needed to wrap this up now.
“I don’t?” my dad asked, folding his arms, and again I cursed myself for not just saying that I was meeting Toby or Bri at the diner.
“I don’t think so?” I said, letting the sentence rise in a question as I started to edge toward the door. “I’d better get going.”