The Perfect Guy (Books We Love Young Adult Romance) (3 page)

By the time everyone left I was too tired to do any more unpacking, but I didn’t want to go to bed if I could spend some time alone with Pres.

"Well, I’m beat," Pres said. "I’m going to bed. See you in the morning."

I’d hoped that Pres would kiss me goodnight. But it would be kind of awkward if I went running up the stairs at this point to kiss him. So I went to my room and changed into my new pink robe
. I decided that the first night under the same roof was probably too soon to expect any great advancement in our relationship. Maybe, as Celeste so often had pointed out, I was a
bit
overly optimistic. It would probably take a few weeks for Pres to see me as a girlfriend instead of just as his new stepsister, or as best friend of
his
best friend’s sister.

I tightened the belt on my robe and stepped out into the hallway. The door to Pres’s room, which was directly across from mine, was closed. I wondered what his room looked like, but right now I was more interested in the fact that the bathroom door was open and the room was dark. I figured it was safe to go in.

For some reason, using the bathroom hadn’t crossed my mind when I’d pictured my new life with Pres. I tiptoed in and, delaying the inevitable, washed my face and brushed my teeth. Finally, I couldn’t wait any longer.

It wasn’t as though I’d never done it with other people nearby, just not when Pres was in easy hearing distance. I turned on the faucet to cover up the noise, but it didn’t seem loud enough. Well, I couldn’t hold it forever. Talk about embarrassing.

Afterward, as I was washing my hands, I tried to figure out how to flush the toilet without making too much noise. I closed the lid and sat on it, cringing, hoping my body would absorb at least some of the sound.

I tiptoed back down the hall and
crawled into bed, my heart pounding and my cheeks burning. I tried to be logical. I reminded myself that going to the bathroom was natural. Everybody did it. Still, I shuddered.

It had been a long day. I’d woken up in my old house and participated in a wedding that doubled my immediate family. Now I was lying in bed in my new home, trying to recuperate from what should have been an ordinary task.

Pres was in the room just across the hall from me. It was the start of a new life. My mind twirled at the thought of it all. It was quite a while before I could relax and fall asleep.

The next morning I took my time washing my face, brushing my hair, and even putting on a touch of lipstick and blusher. I dawdled in my bedroom, readjusting my pink robe and wondering how I was ever going to face Pres without blushing after last night’s mortifying event
of using the bathroom. Finally, I took a deep breath and stepped out into the hall. Emerging from the bathroom was Pres—wearing nothing but a towel!

I looked away, but not before noticing Pres’s face turn crimson as he pulled the towel tighter. I hurried downstairs and busied myself searching for the cereal. I had to get a grip on myself.

If I hadn’t even noticed the sound of the shower running this morning, he probably hadn’t noticed the sound of the toilet flushing last night. Even if he had, I had to admit that he must have gone to the bathroom at least one or twice in his life too. Though the thought was just the tiniest bit disillusioning, it was also reassuring. Pres, though certainly one of the finer examples of the species, was only human. If I could keep that in mind, maybe I wouldn’t be so nervous around him.

As for catching Pres in just a towel, well, I’d certainly seen Josh walking around like that often enough when I’d stayed overnight with Celeste. If I had paid any attention at all, it was to whistle at him or maybe ask him to hula for me, which of course he would do. Unlike Josh, Pres had obviously been embarrassed. It made him all the more endearing to me.

I finally found the cereal just as a fully dressed Pres slinked into the kitchen. We looked at each other, and then for some reason, maybe nervous tension, I laughed. After a second, Pres laughed too.

We both stopped, and then there was another short burst of snickers.

"I’m sorry," Pres said. "I guess I’m just not used to having a female audience in residence. I forgot you were even here. Give me some time to get used to having a sister. Next time I’ll remember my robe. At least you didn’t catch me going
into
the bathroom."

"Going into? Oh!" The thought of seeing Pres completely naked made my face hot.
I imagined it looked ten shades redder than his had before.

Embarrassment outweighed my chagrin over the fact that, even temporarily, he’d forgotten I was there. Nervous giggles bubbled out of my throat again, which set Pres laughing once more. It wasn’t exactly the instant intimacy I’d imagined, but I think it broke the ice.

As we ate, then cleared away the breakfast dishes, we chatted easily. Nothing too deep, but I felt more relaxed with Pres.

"Well," Pres said, "I promised to mow the lawn."

"And I’ve got several unpacked boxes still nagging at me." The phone rang. I hesitated for a second, forgetting it was now my house, too, then answered it.

It was a girl. She asked for Pres. I handed him the phone.

He walked into the next room, but I could still hear him. "Hello. Oh, hi...Umm, I’m kind of busy ... Mow the lawn ... This afternoon? Baseball practice .... Yes .... No ....Well ... bye." He hung up.

The phone must’ve woken Gramma because she looked sleepy as she scuffed into the kitchen mumbling, "Good morning."

I answered the phone two more times that morning, and both times it was a girl—
different
girls—for Pres. The conversations were as short and noncommittal as the one after breakfast. Since it was not his cell phone the girls were calling, maybe they weren't all that, um, close to him.

At lunch, grilled cheese sandwiches that Pres fixed to perfection, there was yet another call. Since I was sitting only three feet from the phone, and I stopped any chewing and swallowing that might drown out what was being said, naturally I couldn’t help hearing the same sort of restrained dialogue being repeated once more.
How many girls called Pres and how many times a day, anyway?

Later in the afternoon Celeste came over to help me finish unpacking.
Once again, the phone rang.

"Hello. No, he’s not here," I told another female voice. "At baseball practice
.... Around five .... You’re welcome." I hung up and turned to Celeste. "Honestly. That’s the fourth girl to call Pres today."

"Oh?" Celeste put down a stack of
books she’d been sorting. "Really?"

"Yes. Fortunately, when he’s here he hardly talks at all with them." I tossed an empty Valentine candy box back into a carton. "That’s got to mean he’s just waiting until the
right time to ask me out."

Celeste let out a disgusted snort. "Did you ever
think that he might just be shy with girls?" She didn’t wait for an answer. "Let’s not worry about that. We’ve got a long way to go to finish your room."

"Okay. We’ll do it today. But I may put some old stuff up in the attic. I can’t go on living out of boxes forever." Why get into a pointless discussion about Pres with Celeste? She would see soon enough that I was right.

***

The evening Mom and Bill were due back from
Cape Cod I helped Pres with a special Chinese dinner he was preparing in honor of their return. It was the first time he’d accepted my offer to help, so I gladly peeled and cut the cucumbers for the Cucumber Soup. Cooking together, I hoped, would be a key to forging a new, close, relationship.

"Ouch!" In the midst of daydreaming I’d nicked myself with the knife.

Pres ran over from the sink and took my hand in his. "Are you okay? Come here. We’ll run water over that cut."

I was afraid the increased pounding of my heart would send the blood gushing and I would pass out before I had a chance to enjoy all the attention.

As cold water ran over my finger, numbing it, I stared at Pres. His long eyelashes accented his blue-green eyes and his gleaming white-blond hair. His lips pulled down in the most adorable frown as he stared at my finger. I could’ve stood there all night savoring the nearness of him as he held my hand under the faucet.

"Maybe
I should get you a bandage." His frown deepened.

"Oh. No." I didn’t want him to leave my side. "I think my finger is fine now."

"Well, in that case …" Pres let go of my hand and gave me a towel, "If you’re done slicing the cucumbers, you can cut the asparagus." He turned to another section of the counter. "Now let’s see. What did I do with the sesame seed oil I need for the dressing?"

As I finished drying my hands and checking my finger for any sign of fresh blood, a car pulled into the driveway.

Pres peeked out the window. "It’s our parents. Oh no. The soy sauce, where did I put the soy sauce?"

Our
parents! My heart raced. Soon the four of us would sit down to a real family dinner. I finished slicing the last asparagus spear and ran for the back door.

Bill staggered in carrying Mom over the threshold. After he put her down, she gave me a big hug.

"Oh, it’s good to be home. How are you, Rebecca? How was vacation? Mmm. What smells so good?" Mom stepped back and held me at arm’s length. "I swear, you look older since the last time I saw you."

I laughed. Mom always said that. Over her shoulder I watched Bill and Pres.

Pres wiped his hands on his chef’s apron before giving his father a quick hug and Mom a little kiss on the cheek. "Welcome home."

I waited for Bill to hug me or
maybe kiss my cheek, but when he pushed his way over to me in the tight hallway, all he did was smile. "How are you, Rebecca?"

"Um, fine." I hesitated, wondering if I should just go ahead and hug him. Instead, I smiled back. "
Can I help with the suitcases?"

"I’ll take them," Bill
said, heading upstairs. "Be right back."

"O
migosh." Pres’s eyebrows shot up. "I’ve got to check the roast." He ran into the kitchen.

"Come on, Mrs. Nelsen." I took Mom’s arm. "Let’s talk in the kitchen while Pres and I finish making dinner."

"You and Pres?" Mom pretended she was going to faint. "Has someone been brainwashing you while I was out of town?"

"Now, Mom. I’ve helped you in the kitchen. Occasionally."

"Under protest, as I recall."

I hoped Pres was too busy to hear that last remark.
I called to him, "Pres, what can I do now?"

"If everyone’s ready, we can eat." Pres pulled the pork roast out of the oven. "Rebecca, why don’t you take the asparagus salad to the table. Martha, would you mind bringing that tureen of cucumber soup?"

During dinner Bill and Mom described their stay on Cape Cod—the sand dunes, the Atlantic Ocean, the weathered cottages.

"Mmm. I’ve got to have some more roast pork," Mom said, helping herself to a big slice. "This is such a nice dinner, Pres." She paused, then said, "I have a great recipe for chicken in hoisin sauce you might want to try."

"Uh, thanks," Pres said coolly.

I got the feeling that he wasn’t too interested in someone else’s recipes.

I loved the dinner. Everything was delicious. But something wasn’t quite right. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but somehow I wasn’t getting the feeling of family. Maybe it was because I didn’t think of Pres as a brother and hoped he would soon think of me as more than a sister. It was like four individuals getting together and having a pleasant evening, but something was missing to make those four people a family. Maybe it was just me.

"You know, Pres." Bill tapped his fork on the table. "I think you put a bit too much ginger root in the marinade for the pork roast."

"Yes, sir." Pres showed no emotion.

I almost choked on my anger. I was shocked that Bill would do anything except praise the homecoming meal that Pres had so lovingly prepared. I leapt to his defense. "It’s all delicious. I loved every bite."

"Thanks," Pres murmured.

Bill raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth, but before he could say anything Mom put her hand over his and said, "I haven’t heard anything about what you two did over vacation. What have you been up to, Pres?"

"I’ve had baseball practice," Pres said.

"And homework?" said Bill. "Did you finish all your homework? What about that term paper?"

"All finished." Pres pushed the rice around his plate with his fork.

"What about you, Rebecca?" Bill asked. "Have you done all
your
homework?"

I nodded as I swallowed a bite of asparagus. It seemed to me that Bill was not merely expressing interest. It was as if he was checking up on us. That surprised me. Pres had always been a straight-A student, and I usually managed a B or B+ average, except for an occasional C in French.

"Did you do anything else over vacation?" Bill asked.

I squirmed in my chair. If Mom had asked me the same question, I would have assumed she just wanted to know if I’d done anything special. But there was something about the tone of Bill’s voice that made me feel I’d better tell him about something con
structive that I’d done. "Well … I finished unpacking. And—and I did a little writing."