The Grump Who Doesn't Belong Next Door by Emily Dana Botrous

Author:Emily Dana Botrous [Botrous, Emily Dana]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-05-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Lottie

I place another dish in the drainer, my eyes on the window that faces Doris’s house.

“You forgot to rinse it,” my mom says.

“Again?” I shake my head at the sudsy plate slopping bubbles onto the clean dishes around it. My mom brushes my hand away as I reach for it and pulls out the sprayer attachment.

“That’s how we do it on the farm.”

I crack a smile, but barely.

“What’s on your mind, sweetie?”

My shoulders drop. “Felicity. She spends a lot of time with Anthony. A lot a lot. I’m getting…concerned.”

My mom’s eyebrows knit together. “He seems trustworthy enough. Have you talked with him about it?”

I don’t know how to even go about it. All I know is that in the past few days, Felicity has become secretive. As if she doesn’t have enough time with Anthony in the same house all day, she runs over after dinner most nights while I’m giving a piano lesson. When I questioned her about it, she pulled an invisible zipper over her lips.

“I don’t want to offend him.” I chew my lip. This is really bothering me. Felicity’s been through enough. I won’t stomach her being hurt by another man. Her father did the job quite thoroughly, thank you very much.

“She needs a good, fatherly influence, don’t you think?” Mom reaches for a towel and begins drying the dishes. It’s Tuesday, more than a week after my date with Anthony. It’s still pretty much all I think of, even if I haven’t said more than “good morning” and “have a great night” to him since.

“But Mom—he’s leaving soon.”

Her eyes linger on my face as I sponge out the sink. “And don’t you sound torn up about that?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I slap the sponge down and turn away, but she spins me by my shoulder.

“Charlotte Huisman, I’m your mother. I can see through you as clear as the water in the crick on the farm. You like Anthony Lucio.”

“Like him? No.” My heart protests her words—or is it my denial? “We only went on that date as a mutual agreement to pacify you and Doris.”

“And it was wonderful.”

I release a frustrated growl in my throat. “I already told you it wasn’t, so—”

“Lies, lies. I thought I taught you better than that.”

“Mom—”

“Admit you like him, and I’ll leave you alone.”

I lean my back against the counter. “He’s handsome, sure.”

“Very handsome,” she echoes. I clench my teeth.

“He’s also so not my type.”

My mom waves my words away. “John was your type, and we all know how that ended. Types can change.”

Yeah, but not for me. I can’t have a type. Not anymore. The farm needs me more than my love life does. End of story.

The next day when I pick up Felicity, she’s on the porch with Anthony, their shoulders hunched together as they pore over a piece of paper. I clear my throat, and their heads snap up. Anthony smoothly slides the paper under his leg.

“Hello, Lottie.” His eyes, though not unpleasant, are guarded. “How are you?”

My fists ball at my sides.

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