18. Don’t Go Bacon My Heart #3
His brows quirk as he gestures for me to head up the stairs, and I think he’s going to drop it, until we emerge from the basement, and he pauses at my side to whisper in my ear. “You’re a terrible fucking liar.”
When he leaves a minute later, I find Cara and Alannah spread out on the living room floor, pizza covering the coffee table as they flip through Netflix.
“There’s a special pizza for you,” Cara tells me without looking up.
I pad into the kitchen and lift the lid on the box, huffing a laugh at the toppings. It’s only one, actually. Bacon. Real bacon. An unholy amount of bacon. Like, an entire pound. Curled, crispy edges, tiny bubbles of grease, a savory, smoky aroma that overloads my senses in the best way.
My phone vibrates in the pocket of my hoodie, and I press Play on the video from Emmett.
It’s of Carter, loading up a plate with pizza while he sings.
“Don’t go bacon my heart! Mmm, mmm! I won’t go bacon your heart! So, oooh , oooh ! Don’t go bacon my heart!”
Carter heaves what sounds like a happy sigh, flopping down on the couch.
“You think Ollie likes the extra-extra bacon pizza I ordered her? I bet she found the most bacon-y slice.” He hums a laugh, tipping his head back as he drops half a slice of pizza into his mouth.
“I can’t wait to see her at the party Saturday. Maybe I’ll line my pockets with bacon.”
The video goes black at the exact moment I realize how inexplicably doomed I am when it comes to this man.
* * *
It’s nearly midnight when I disengage from Alannah’s koala-like grip, quietly climbing out of bed and tucking the blankets up around her shoulders.
Turning on the lamp in the living room, I snuggle up beneath a cozy blanket on the couch and dial the number that’ll connect me to the voice I need to hear more than anything right now.
“The only acceptable reason for you calling so late is to tell me that you’ve finally come to your senses and you’re moving home.”
Giggling, I lay on my side, stuffing the phone between my ear and the cushion. “Sorry to disappoint you yet again, Mom.”
She laughs, light and soft, a sound I’ve missed. “What’s up, sweetie?”
“I just miss you.”
“I miss you always, honey. What’s going on?”
“I met…I met someone.”
“Oh, honey. You have a boyfriend! James! James, Ollie has a boyfriend!”
“Mom, no! I don’t have a—ugh.” Why did I call?
“Boyfriend? Who? She’s too young for a boyfriend. No. Not ’til she’s thirty. I’ve got five more years! Get my shotgun!” Dad doesn’t have a shotgun, which is how I know he’s joking. Mostly. I think. I hope.
“Carter’s not my boyfriend,” I mumble into the cushion.
“Carter? Sounds cute. What does he look like? What does he do? Oooh, let me guess! He’s a teacher at your school. No—principal! Are you dating the principal? So scandalous. I’m into it.”
“You literally could not be colder.” I’m also not going to tell my mom what Carter does. I didn’t even mean to say his name. I’ve already said too much, so I just repeat, “He’s not my boyfriend.”
“But you like him.”
“I like him.”
“And does he like you?”
My heart patters a little harder. “Yes.”
“So…what’s the problem?”
“He has a reputation…with the ladies.” This is about as awkward as I expected it to be.
“Oh. And you’re scared.” She’s not asking; she’s telling. My mom has always been one of my best friends, hence being so utterly upset with me when I packed up and moved across the country. She knows me like the back of her hand, and I can’t hide a thing from her.
“Terrified.”
“What scares you the most?”
“That I’m going to fall in love with him.”
“Oh, honey.” Mom laughs. It’s one of those humoring laughs, the kind where you expect her to say you sweet, sweet fool when she wraps it up. “I hate to tell you this, sweetheart, but if you’re scared of falling in love with him, well…you’re already halfway there.”
I fall asleep with her words playing on repeat, and when Alannah and I are on the way out the door the next morning, my phone sounds in my coat pocket. I pull it out as I lock the door, tapping through to Emmett’s text message as I head down the steps.
Emmett: Theater 4, row L, seats 10 & 11. Tonight at 7:30.
Emmett: He’s still going.
The air around me stills as I reread the details, the seats Carter meticulously picked for our movie date while we curled up by the fire on his balcony—last row, dead center.
He’s still going.
A strange but welcome calm unfurls in my belly, climbing into my chest, allowing my shoulders to unstack, my spine to straighten.
I feel lighter somehow, like a weight has been lifted.
The weight of my fear, maybe, or my indecisiveness.
Both of those things have the power to drag you down like anchors, and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been letting them pull me under since the first time that man made my heart stutter.
Alannah tugs on my hand. “Why are you smiling so big, Auntie Ollie?”
I fix the Vipers toque on my niece’s head, covering her ears. “I’m just happy, honey.”
She grins up at me. “Happy looks good on you.”
Feels damn good too.