*Book one in the Again series*
After a heated argument lands him in the spare bedroom of his grandparents' rancher, late bloomer Leon Snyder finds his love life heating up after multiple unsuccessful run-ins with a mysterious girl. Despite his faile...
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"So Kase—I mean, Katie," Nan says through a laugh. "That's gonna take some getting used to." She dishes out lasagna on each of our plates and continues, "How did you come up with the name Kasey for your name tag? Is it a name you wish you had, a relative's name, a celebrity?"
"My initials are K and C, and when said together, they sound a lot like the name Kasey," Katie replies, grabbing her glass of water and bringing it to her full lips. I can't help but stare at them, wondering what kissing them would be like, what kissing her would be like.
Would I even be good at kissing? I've never kissed a girl before, so how would I know what to do? Is it instinctual? And since when do I have these kind of thoughts?
"C?" Pop asks, cutting his lasagna. "What's your last name?"
"Calhoun," Katie answers, flashing my Nan an appreciative grin when she passes a plate of lasagna to her.
"You wouldn't happen to be related to the Calhoun girls? They're twins, Denise and Ka—"
"Katherine," Katie interrupts, nodding her head with a faraway glint in her eyes. "Yes. Katherine's my Grandma."
Pop's face alights with recognition. "Ah, yes! I knew you reminded me of someone. You look so much like her, Katherine, I mean," he comments. "She was a great woman; kind, beautiful. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree."
Katie clears her throat, casting her gaze downward, clearly affected by his words—more specifically, his use of past tense. As soon as her Grandma was mentioned, her eyes dimmed and her energy plummeted. I wanted to speak up, ask if she was okay, ask my grandparents to not bring up her Grandma anymore or change the topic altogether, but as soon as I opened my mouth to speak, Nan started speaking.
"Have you thought about working at Grab 'n' Dash? I hear they get good business, and it's in a safer neighborhood." Nan inquires, her mouth full of pasta.
"I can't," Katie sighs, setting her fork down on her plate. "I don't have the transportation to get there every day." Recalling the night I trespassed and saw her come home on a bike from the patrol car, I realize now that must be her form of transportation.
"Why do you even work at Dawson's?" My concerns for her safety surfacing. "Don't you realize how dangerous it is?" I take a bite of my lasagna and wipe my face off with a napkin.
"Not that it's any of your business, but because it's within walking distance of my house and I need the extra money to buy myself a car," she answers in between bites. "And yes, I realize how dangerous it is. Need I remind you that I work there?"
"Nah." I didn't need a reminder. The bile traveling up my esophagus at the thought of her walking or riding a bike to and from work alone was enough. I change the subject. "I heard you got Peyton Armstrong's ass a good one."
"Yeah, I did." She flashes me a nostalgic smile, clearly recollecting the night she'd unknowingly taken down a trained boxer.
This is the first time she's ever smiled at me or something I've said without there being a sarcastic connotation behind it. My heartbeat quickens at the sight.
