P.S. I Still Love You

John lowers his voice. “She was my great-grandpa’s second wife.”
“My favorite of all my husbands,” Stormy says. “May he rest in peace, that old buzzard.” She
looks from John to me. “Johnny, be a dear and bring me a vodka soda with lots of lemons.” She sits
back at the piano bench and starts to play “When I Fall in Love.”
John starts toward me and I point at him. “Stop right there, John Ambrose McClaren. Do you have
my name?”
“No! I swear I don’t. I have—I’m not saying who I have.” He pauses. “Wait a minute. Do you have
mine?”
I shake my head, innocent as a little lost lamb. He still looks suspicious, so I busy myself with
making Stormy’s drink. I know just how she likes it. I drop in three ice cubes, an eight-second pour of
vodka, and a splash of soda water. Then I squeeze three lemon slices and drop them in the glass.
“Here,” I say, holding out the glass.
“You can put it on the table,” he says.
“John! I’m telling you, I don’t have your name!”
He shakes his head. “Table.”
I set the glass back down. “I can’t believe you don’t believe me. I feel like I remember you being a
trusting kind of person who sees the good in people.”
Sober as a judge, John says, “Just... stay on your side of the table.”
Shoot. How am I supposed to take him out if he makes me stay ten feet away all night?
Airily I say, “Fine by me. I don’t know if I believe you, either, so! I mean, this is a pretty big
coincidence, you showing up here.”
“Stormy guilted me into coming!”
I snap my head in Stormy’s direction. She’s still playing the piano, looking over at us with a big
smile.
Mr. Morales sidles up to the bar and says, “May I have this dance, Lara Jean?”
“You may,” I say. To John I warn, “Don’t you dare come close to me.”
He throws his hands out like he’s warding me off. “Don’t you come close to me!”
As Mr. Morales leads me in a slow dance, I press my face against his shoulder to hide my smile.
I’m really quite good at this espionage thing. John McClaren is sitting on a love seat now, watching
Stormy play and chatting with Alicia. I’ve got him right where I want him. I can’t even believe how
lucky I am. I’d been planning on showing up at his next Model UN meeting, but this is so much better.
I’m thinking I’ll come up from behind him, take him by surprise, when Stormy stands up and
declares she needs a piano break, she wants to dance with her grandson. I go turn on the stereo and
cue up the CD we decided on for her break.
John is protesting: “Stormy, I told you I don’t dance.” He used to try and fake sick during the
square-dancing unit in gym—that’s how much he hates dancing.
Stormy doesn’t listen, of course. She pulls him off the love seat and starts trying to teach him how
to fox-trot. “Put your hand on my waist,” she orders. “I didn’t wear heels to sit behind a piano all
night.” Stormy’s trying to teach him the steps, and he keeps stepping on her feet. “Ouch!” she snaps.
I can’t stop giggling. Mr. Morales is too. He dances us over closer. “May I cut in?” he asks.
“Please!” John practically pushes Stormy into Mr. Morales’s arms.
“Johnny, be a gentleman and ask Lara Jean to dance,” Stormy says as Mr. Morales twirls her.
John gives me a searching look, and I have a feeling he’s still suspicious of me and whether or not