Love, Utley (Love Letters #1)

They’re both staring at me.

“I know the owner. And—” I stop there.

And what? I don’t hate him. Not really. I don’t even know him. Not anymore. Plus, there’s no reason to believe he’ll even be in the office that much.

Or… will he?

Dammit, I should have asked around. Figured out if he’s the type of owner who actually works at the company or if he just shows up every once in a while to check on his investment.

He wasn’t interacting in the interview before Peter said my last name, but maybe he was dealing with something important on his phone.

Or maybe he was being a dick.

How am I supposed to know?

“Uh, Grandma. I think someone needs to reset Aunt Hannah.”

“Maybe we should add a little extra cheese to the top layer,” Mom replies. “That might help.”

I snort. “You two are ridiculous.”

“And you’re glitching like a robot in a rainstorm,” Chelsea retorts.

“I think I preferred you as a baby who couldn’t talk back.”

She laughs. “No way. Babies are gross.”

I have to nod my agreement, because they kinda are.

And to be fair, when Chelsea came to live with us, she was already two, so more a toddler than an infant.

“Oh, stop it.” Mom clicks her tongue. “Babies are adorable. And if your Aunt Hannah ever left the house for something other than work, then maybe she could meet a man and have a baby of her own.”

“Mom,” I groan.

“I’m just saying.” She points to the bag of shredded mozzarella. “Now tell us what happened while you dump that on top of here.”

Picking it up by the corners— because I don’t trust that they haven’t grabbed it with their messy hands— I shake the rest of the cheese on top of the lasagna.

When I set the bag down, they’re both staring at me again.

“You ready to tell us how you know this new owner?” Mom asks.

I puff out my cheeks. “He’s just a guy I used to know back in college. I didn’t realize he was in the industry, so I wasn’t expecting to see him sitting in on the interview. It caught me off guard, is all.” There, the truth without too much information.

“Guy from college?” Mom narrows her eyes.

Chelsea wiggles her eyebrows. “Did you date him? Is he like an ex-boyfriend or something?”

The tween is too clever for her own good.

Mom’s eyes widen. “Hannah,” she gasps. “Is it… you know… the football player?”

I let out a loud groan as I pinch the bridge of my nose.

“That’s a yes.” Chelsea snickers. “Who’s the football player?”

“This boy your aunt—”