by A. Destiny
for Mom’s.”
“Wow.” I wondered what it would be like to live that way—moving to a new city or country every couple of years.
“So what about you?” Logan asked. “Have you always lived here?”
“Uh-huh.” I shrugged. “Totally boring, right?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” He flashed me that off-kilter smile. “There’s something kind of nice about knowing where you belong. Maybe I’ll finally find out what that’s like. It looks like this time my family might actually stay put for a while.”
“Oh.” I’d observed Simone talking to guys for long enough to know that she’d probably have a flirty comeback for a comment like that. Me? Not so much. For a moment I’d almost forgotten I was talking to a guy. Now it all came crashing back, and Logan and I stood there staring at each other for what felt like forever but was probably only a few seconds.
“So,” he said at last, “what’s the local high school like? I’m starting there tomorrow, and I could use any tips you can
give me.”
“It’s okay, I guess.” I tried to think of something witty to say but came up empty. “Um, just a typical high school.”
The door flew open again. This time at least half a dozen more rugby players poured in. At the same time, Susannah hit the little silver bell by the register.
“Morse!” she called out. “Order’s up!”
“That’s me.” Logan glanced over. “I should get going, I guess. Looks like things are getting busy.”
“Yeah. They probably need me to help back there.” I stepped aside as a rugby player barreled past, shouting something about a bacon craving.
“Okay.” Logan hesitated, shooting another look in Susannah’s
direction, then turning back to me. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow, right, Bailey? You and—um, your friend.”
I blinked. Had my ears deceived me, or had this cute guy actually remembered my name—and forgotten Simone’s? That had never happened before.
“Yeah,” I said just as Susannah shouted my name, sounding frazzled.
“Guess you’d better go. See you.” With one last smile, Logan eased his way through the shifting mass of rugby players to grab the big white bag with his name scrawled on it. I noticed there was a smiley face drawn in the O—Simone’s work, obviously.
Seconds later he was on his way out. I watched him go, feeling oddly disappointed. I figured it was probably because I hadn’t learned more about his mother. It was always cool to hear about successful women in science. It gave me hope that my dreams of becoming a biomedical researcher someday could actually come true.
Simone made a beeline for me when I entered the kitchen. “Well?” she demanded. “Tell me everything!”
“Everything?” I grabbed an apron from the hook by the door and tied it around my waist. “That’ll take a while.”
“Ha-ha, very funny. You know what I mean.” She jabbed me in the arm with a latex-gloved finger. “Logan. You. What
happened after I left? Did he ask you out?”
“What? No!” I shot a look at my dad and Uncle Rick to make sure they hadn’t overheard. “Are you crazy?”
“Girls!” Uncle Rick’s voice rang out from the other end of the huge stainless-steel table, where he was rapidly assembling a pair of roast-beef subs. “More work, less gossip, please.”
“You’re crazy if you missed the way Logan was checking you out,” Simone hissed.
There was no more time for talking. Which was just as well, since I had no idea what to say to that.
A. DESTINY is the coauthor of the Flirt series. She spends her time reading books, writing, and watching sweet romance movies. She will always remember her first kiss.
CATHERINE HAPKA has written more than one hundred books for children and adults, as a ghostwriter for series as well as original titles. She lives in Pennsylvania.
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Read the entire Flirt series!
Lessons in Love
Never Too Late
Portrait of Us
Sunset Ranch
Puppy Love
Love Is in the Air
Sparks in Scotland
Our Song
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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