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“What the hell was that?!” Steph squeals.
“I don’t know, actually,” I admit. As soon as I think Hardin could not get more confusing, he does something like this.
“I cannot believe that just happened! I mean, Hardin . . . the way he came in here, like he was nervous or something! Oh my God! And he offered to drive you to his dad’s . . . Wait, why are you going to his dad’s house? And you thought you left something in his car? How do I miss so much! I need details!” She practically shouts and bounds onto the foot of my bed.
So I go through the whole thing, explaining to her how he showed up here last night and we watched a movie and he fell asleep, how we went to look at cars today—and how I didn’t mention him being there before because I figured that if I insisted she help me keep him away, it would feel odd to admit I’d hung out with him. I don’t say much about his dad except that I am going there for dinner, but she seems more interested in last night anyway.
“I can’t believe he stayed here—that is a huge deal. Like Hardin doesn’t just stay places, ever. And he never lets anyone stay with him. I heard he has nightmares or something, I don’t know. But seriously—what have you done to him? I wish I would have recorded the way he looked when he just came here!” she yells and laughs. “I still don’t think this is a good idea, but you do seem to handle him better than most. Just be careful,” she warns again.
What have I done to him? Nothing, surely. He just isn’t used to being nice, but for some reason he’s being nice to me. Maybe it’s a way to beat me at some game, or prove a point that he can fake manners? I am not sure and it hurts my head to try to figure it out.
I bring up Tristan, and Steph takes the conversation from there. I try to pay attention to her stories from last night’s party: how Molly ended up shirtless (go figure) and Logan beat Nate in a drunken arm-wrestling match (she swears it was one of those things that are much funnier when you’re there). My thoughts drift back to Hardin, of course, and I check the clock to make sure I have enough time to get ready for tonight. It is four o’clock now, so I should start getting ready at five.
Steph talks until five thirty and is ecstatic when I ask her to do my hair and makeup. I am not sure why I am putting such effort into looking okay for a family dinner that I really shouldn’t be going to, but I do anyway. She applies the makeup lightly so you can barely tell it’s there, but it looks great. Natural but pretty. Then she curls my hair the way she did before. I decide to wear my favorite maroon dress, despite Steph’s attempts to have me wear something from her closet. My maroon dress is nice and conservative, perfect for a family dinner.
“At least wear the lace tights underneath, or let me cut the sleeves off it,” she says with a groan.
“Fine, give me the lace tights, I guess. This isn’t that bad, though—it’s formfitting,” I rebut.
“I know, it’s just . . . boring.” She crinkles her nose. She looks more pleased when I put on the tights and agree to high heels. I still have a pair of Toms tucked in my purse from yesterday, just in case.
As six thirty approaches, I realize I am more nervous about the ride to dinner than the actual dinner. I fidget with the tights and practice walking around the room a few times before Hardin finally knocks on the door. Steph gives me a strange smile and I pull the door open.
“Wow, Tessa, you . . . um . . . look nice,” he mumbles and I smile. Since when does he say “um” in every sentence?
Steph escorts us out the door, winks, and exclaims like a proud parent, “You two have fun!”
Hardin flips her off, and she returns the vulgar gesture as he closes the door in her face.
Chapter forty-six
The drive to Hardin’s father’s house is nice. The low music in the background of his car feels like a distraction, and I notice the way his hands are gripping the steering wheel a little too hard. He seems on edge during the drive, but I know if he wants to talk about something, he would have no problem calling it out.
I climb out of the car and walk up the steps from the sidewalk. With the sun still in the sky, I can see some old vines creeping up the sides of the house and the small white flowers that join them. Unexpectedly, I hear Hardin’s door open and close, and then his boots on the sidewalk. I turn around to see him a few steps behind me.
“What are you doing?” I ask him.
“Coming with you, obviously.” He rolls his eyes and takes one long stride to join me at the top of the steps.
“Really? It seemed like you weren’t—”
“Yeah. Now let’s go inside and have the worst night of our lives.”
His face twists into the fakest smile I have ever seen. I elbow him and ring the doorbell. “I don’t ring doorbells,” he tells me and turns the knob. I suppose it’s okay because it’s his father’s house, but I still feel a little uncomfortable.
We walk inside and through the foyer before his father appears. The surprise is evident on his face, but he smiles his charming smile and goes to hug his son. Hardin, however, dodges his gesture and walks right past him. The embarrassment flashes on Mr. Scott’s handsome features, but I look away before he realizes that I saw his subtle gesture.
“Thank you so much for having us, Mr. Scott,” I say as we pass through the doorway.
“Thank you so much for coming, Tessa. Landon has told me some about you. He seems very fond of you. And please, call me Ken.” He smiles and I follow him into the living room.
Landon is sitting on the couch with his Literature book on his lap as I enter. His face lights up and he closes the book as I walk over and sit down next to him. I’m not sure where Hardin went to, but he’ll appear sooner or later.