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Chapter 17Dalton“She’s allergic to strawberries,” Peyton mumbles when she walks into the kitchen.
“Seriously?” Giving up on cutting the strawberries, I scrape all of them in the trash.
“What are you playing at, Dalton?”
My sister props her hip against the counter, and I can tell by the way her arms are crossed over her chest that she isn’t impressed with me at all.
“What do you mean? I was going to make strawberry lemonade, but we can just have regular since she’s allergic.”
“If you’re doing this as some type of messed up joke, I’ll never forgive you.” She straightens. “Better yet, if I find out you’re trying to manipulate her or convince her you’re a nice guy only to turn around and be mean to her again, I’ll kill you.”
I smile, loving that she’s in Piper’s corner.
“Have you always been so violent?”
“I’m serious, Dalton. She deserves better.”
“I know she does,” I agree. “I was only making lemonade, promise.”
“My threat may not mean a damn thing to you, but I swear I’ll make it happen.”
She doesn’t give me time to answer her before she walks out of the room. It seems I may have more than one person to prove myself to.
Piper doesn’t knock when she comes back over, and I love that she must feel welcome in my house enough to just walk right in. Of course, she’s wearing an economical one-piece. Only in my fantasies would she show up in a revealing two-piece. She’s the complete opposite of the girls that were over here earlier, and I love that about her, too.
“I made lemonade,” I tell her with a smile as I reach into the cabinet for four glasses.
Preston assured me he’d be down in a few minutes after his game was over, and I’m certain he means it. His eyes lit up when I stopped by his room to see if he wanted to hang out with us. If only Piper and Peyton were as willing to see past the way I used to act.
“Is it poisoned?”
I chuckle, but when I look over at Piper, I can tell she’s at least a little bit serious.
“Well,” I begin, “I almost poisoned you, but Peyton told me you were allergic to strawberries. I put them in the trash. You’re allergic to nuts, too. Any other deadly foods I should know about?”
“How did you know I was allergic to nuts?”
“Kyle mentioned it earlier.”
“Did he mention fourth grade, or were you two plotting on another way to hurt me?”
I ignore the skepticism.
“He mentioned I tried to kill you with a Reese’s when we were younger,” I admit. “And it may mean nothing now, but I’m sorry about that. Anaphylactic shock isn’t just some stupid prank. That could’ve been really bad.”
“We were just kids,” she mumbles. “Just so long as you wouldn’t do it now.”
She grabs the pitcher of lemonade and follows me to the back patio.
“When was the last time you were over for a swim?” I ask before placing the glasses down on the patio table.
“Never.”
I’m shocked by her answer, but if I really think about it, I know I shouldn’t be. If I started being mean to her in kindergarten, then I guess she never would’ve had the chance to come over.
“Well, you’re welcome to it any time,” I offer.
“Thanks.”
Her response is muttered, so I do the only thing I know to do. I change the subject.
“I brought towels out already. Are you going to swim in your shorts?”
“I’m not swimming.”
I don’t argue with her or try to pressure her into getting into the pool. Hounding her until she gives in seems like something the old Dalton would do, and since I’m no longer that jerk, I let it slide.
“Okay. Well, if you change your mind, I’m pretty sure you’ll have a good time.”
“Cannonball!” Preston yells as he runs across the patio in dinosaur printed swim trunks.
He tucks his knees, wrapping his arms around his legs and flies into the pool.
“He knows how to swim, right?” I ask Piper when he doesn’t immediately pop back to the surface.
“I sure hope so.”
A second later, Preston’s head breaks the surface of the water, and his face is overrun with a huge smile.
“I’ll be back,” I tell her before heading back inside.
She’s settling in a sun lounger on the edge of the pool when I make it back out with a tray of sandwiches.
“You’re not allergic to turkey on wheat, are you?”
“Are you making fun of me?”
“No.”
“You sure are laying it on thick. Lemonade and sandwiches? You don’t have to turn into Betty Crocker in an attempt to prove to me you aren’t a jerk.”
“Peyton helped,” I tell her. “Plus, I was hungry. It’s just as easy to make six sandwiches as it is to make one.”
“Well, that’s very nice of you.”
I hitch my thumb over my shoulder. “There are chips inside, if you want me to grab them.”
