“Hönd,” she blurted. “In English, it’s hand. Very similar.”
Lame. Embarrassment dumped warmth down her back. She wanted to put her own sticky hönds over her mouth so it’d stop talking.
As he turned the crank the last few times, he had to really muscle through to churn out the remaining juice. When he did, he cranked too hard, and the pressure sprayed Evie with a blast of cherry juice. She froze, recoiling from the cold, and looked up at him in shocked amusement.
An accident, obviously, based on the oops expression he wore. But laughter rumbled out of his throat, deep and authentic. It might have been the prettiest grouping of notes she’d ever heard. She could paint warehouses full of canvases based on that sound alone. She wanted to hear it again, put the song on repeat.
“You think it’s funny, huh?” Evie stood and grabbed the empty container on the ground. Cherry juice rolled around in the bottom. He shook his head and backed up, chuckles still simmering.
An evil grin spread across Evie’s lips. With a flick of her wrists, she flung it at him. It soaked his shirt, covering the remaining white with red and sprinkling sticky liquid on his neck and into his blond hair.
Things devolved from there.
He grabbed a handful of the squeezed juice—from the bucket that would become wine—and flung it at her, splashing her left ear. Wind whooshed past her head and Evie unleashed her laughter as he chased her round and round the wine press. She took off her apron to use as a shield but dropped it in the scuffle.
She squealed when he landed a shot, giggled maniacally when he missed.
They were wasting all their hard work, but she didn’t even care. For a moment, she forgot that he’d never breathed a word to her, because this playful side of him needed no translation. She understood it just fine.
When she lunged to get away from one last effort, he grabbed her and pulled her toward him, spinning her around at the waist. They stood there, inches from each other. His hands swallowed her hipbones where they rested. Their laughter faded to loud breathing as they surveyed the damage. Evie’s hair and clothes were wet and sticky. Oskar had a streak of red on his left cheek that dipped down into his deepest dimple. She swallowed hard. What would happen if she climbed up on her tiptoes and licked it?
Her pulse throbbed in her neck.
God, she could not think things like that. What if he was, like, one of those mind-reader people like Miss Izzy and could see that thought swimming around behind her pupils? The disarming look in his eyes only worsened her paranoia.
His fingers squeezed, as if using her to hold himself upright. She tilted her chin, sure he was going to kiss her. Any second now. She locked on his eyes and waited. Now would be good.
But then she sensed it—a subtle backing away, a microscopic release of his grip. His eyes, after what felt like years of contact, slowly drifted. He was chickening out. But why? Evie thought she must’ve done something wrong. Maybe he’d mistaken her nerves for rejection.
He dropped his hands and pointed to the water, about twenty meters behind her.
“Vv-vatn.” He said it barely above a whisper, with a slight stutter, but it brushed chills over Evie’s skin. It was the first time he’d ever spoken directly to her.
“Water?” Evie exhaled the question mark. He nodded and turned toward the pond, motioning for her to follow. He didn’t have to say it twice. She’d follow him into a volcano for five more seconds of his hands on her hips like that.
Their shoes crunched the gray-green moss underfoot. It reminded her of the pine straw that fell in Florida marshlands, except it was longer, and it curled against the earth at rounded angles. It was as if they were walking around in some pre-historic bird’s nest. She glanced up at the color-wheel sky. Anything seemed possible in a place like this.
A damp warmth hovered in the air as they neared the pond. Bordering black pebbles separated the mossy grass from the still, jade liquid. They walked through a wet cloud, and Evie breathed the vapor. She realized then that the fog shrouding the water wasn’t fog at all, but steam.
Cotton grass swayed at the water’s edge, and even as the sun hovered teasingly over the horizon, never to actually dip below, the sky turned a sleepy blue—dreamlike against the green of the water.
Oskar stooped on a sloping rock that kissed the edge of the pond. He rinsed his hands. Evie sunk next to him and did the same. The heat surprised her; she’d expected it to be warm, but not quite this warm. Swirls of pink left their hands and melted away, disappearing beneath the surface.
Her heart had begun to slow down after all the running and laughing. But then…
Oskar reached behind his shoulder and tugged his shirt over his head, then tossed it on the ground. Evie’s breathing went into shutdown mode for fear that inhaling and exhaling would somehow blow the moment away. He stepped out of his boots, dropped his jeans to the ground, and kicked them to the side.
Holy. Boxer. Briefs.
She glued her moon-sized eyes to the landscape of their secluded little valley, concentrating on the contrast of colors and ignoring the demands of her greedy peripheral vision. He stretched his hand to her. Waved her toward him and pointed at the water.
Don’t look at his crotch. Her gaze panned downward. Yep, she looked at his crotch. When she looked back up, he was staring at her. He saw her look at his crotch.
“You’re loco,” she said, forcing herself to focus on his eyes. They were more blue than gray, now that she really looked at them. Or maybe it was the dim daylight causing the shift in hue. The pond stilled, anticipating. “Who knows what’s swimming around in there?”
He shrugged and dove in with a laugh. Warm water splashed on the shins of her pants. She imagined her painting—the comfort of the family who swam in the jade pond—and wondered what his reaction to it meant. Did her paintings give him the same sense of nostalgia as they seemed to give Agnes?
Oskar’s head broke the surface with a wet explosion and he stood up. Droplets rolled off blond curls made darker by the water. She made a mental note not to let her eyes dip below his neck. She’d already memorized every line in his chest, spent nights tracing them on the canvas in her bedroom; there was no need to look now. He raised a hand and motioned her forward again.
“Fine,” Evie huffed, drawing a circle in the air with her hand. “But turn around.”
A smile stretched between Oskar’s dimples and he obliged, ripples cascading through the water with his movement as he gave her his back. Evie focused on the awen on his arm as she shrugged out of her shirt and jeans, hurrying before she could change her mind.
Her purple striped bra wasn’t awful, but the tattered black underwear with one frayed leg hem was another story. Sweet saints above, she could not let him see those. Nerves flooded her all the way up to her neck. She swallowed repeatedly, trying to choke it back. Then she yanked her ponytail free and put the band around her wrist. Huddling on the slick rock at the water’s edge, she dipped her fingers in the opaque liquid, face-to-face with her timid reflection. She tried to reconcile the things happening right now.
Life.
Life was finally happening.
She curled into a ball behind her legs when Oskar peeked over his shoulder.
“Nuh uh,” she commanded him with a gesture. “Don’t look.”
Grinning, he turned back around.
Okay, maybe he understood her a little bit. She pulled her long dark hair around her shoulders, using it as a curtain to hide her bra. Maybe it was the same as a two-piece swimsuit, but they both knew it was underwear. Which somehow made it more intimate, more personal. She plunked her thick legs in the water and slid forward, letting the hot liquid swallow her whole. Her toes met a bumpy, springy bottom. Her face must’ve betrayed her surprise, because he turned and grinned at her as she pressed up on her tiptoes, wading further toward him on a surface that felt like hardened mini-marshmallows.
“Oh my God, Oskar, what is in this water?” She squealed as she cupped a
handful of floating white crystals that resembled sea salt, water dripping through her fingers. A red halo surrounded her as the cherry mess rinsed from her skin. Oskar took a step into her outstretched hand. She drew back and dropped the crystals when her fingers bumped the taut flesh of his belly.
She looked anywhere, everywhere else as they waded deeper into the water.
Lavender streaked the sky. Hues of blue and green and purple curled around them like pastel watercolors.
She waded out until the water stopped just below her bra. She splashed it up on her chest and shoulders, rinsing off all the stickiness. Her long locks floated around her, swirling like a mermaid’s. “The minerals are gonna dry my hair out.” She pressed the wet ends to her chest, only for them to float away again a moment later.
He moved closer, causing a strange current of electricity between them. Ignoring him was impossible. She trembled in her wet skin. His minty breath overpowered the mineral scent of the water, and she inhaled as inconspicuously as she could. She’d never had such a craving for spearmint gum in her life. She was close enough to him to notice there was a slight dimple in his chin, too. Another step and she could have touched it with the tip of her nose.
She looked up and caught his gaze roaming the front of her body. Flustered, she crossed her arms awkwardly in front of her, trapping her hair in place. He reached down and picked up her right hand. His callused fingers sent chills squirming over her wrist as he pulled the ponytail holder free.
Before she could think or breathe, he lifted her hair off her shoulders and gathered it behind her head. A fizzy effervescence tingled outward where his fingers raked her scalp. She looked down and her chin bumped his collarbone as he wrapped her hair into a bun and twisted the band to hold it in place. Weirdly impressive that he even knew how to do that.
“You worried about my hair drying out, too?” She laughed a little, hoping it would hide the quiver in her voice. When he was done, he dragged his fingers around to the sides of her neck and cupped her head, tilting it toward his face. His lips parted as he traced her jawline with his thumbs.
“Please just kiss me this time,” she whispered. “I’m so tired of waiting. And hurry, before I bail.”
Something warm and overpowering grew there between them like an unspoken promise. But—no. This boy couldn’t be the real thing. This was a summer crush, someone she’d forget about until she was rocking on a porch in her eighties. This was stupid. She searched for a word, a gesture, a reason to back away and stop it from happening. But a disconnect between her brain and body prevented it.
Oskar peered down at her, a storm raging between his long lashes. Evie was doomed. Fighting her feelings for him was as pointless as trying to stop a volcano eruption with a metal trash can lid. Heat rode a current from his hands to her skin, melting into every cowardly cell, disabling them. The lid just kept getting hotter. It was time to let go.
His lips parted, and there was no sound but his breath, then her breath, and the faraway echo of water lapping at their waists. Through a wispy white curtain of steam, his mouth met hers. Velvety soft, his lips moved like gentle brushstrokes. Her eyes fluttered shut as he painted streaks of pink and green with his spearmint tongue.
Her damp flesh pressed against him, erasing all the negative space between them. If the two of them had been a painting, there would not be one inch of canvas untouched by all-consuming color. Evie’s arms floated outward, buoyant and unaware they were still connected to her. Everything burned. A fire raged in her lips and chest and hips and toes. She traced her hands up his waist, over the lines she’d been thinking about touching since she’d first painted them.
This. This was how it was supposed to feel.
Somewhere in the distance, a grumbling sound brought Evie back to earth. Slowly, reluctantly, her lips let go of his, and she pulled back and opened her eyes. The air stilled and cooled.
“Damn,” she whispered, trailing her hands down his chest and into the water.
He grinned like he understood it was a compliment.
Then, the grumbling again. It swirled somewhere above their heads, churning on the breeze.
“…here to see you! And there’s gnats in the juice! Daft children couldn’t be bothered to cover it!”
They both turned their attention toward the voice.
Agnes stood over the wine press, looking in the bucket, fists punched firmly on her sides. “Did ya not hear me?” she called to them, and Evie thought she must be talking to her, since she was speaking English. She sunk down into the water, hiding her bra.
Agnes said something to Oskar then, something harsh and heavy with k’s. She pointed to the bucket of cherry juice and then back to the cellar door at the base of the barn. She rambled in Icelandic, words that made Evie think it sounded like she was choking on something.
Oskar moved past her in the water and climbed onto the rock. Evie couldn’t stop her eyes from tracing the curve of his bottom under his wet boxer briefs as he stood and pulled his pants back on. He shoved his feet into his boots and his head into his sticky shirt as he walked toward the bucket in question. Evie watched as he lifted it and carried it into the cellar.
“And you!” Agnes pointed directly at Evie. “Your father called looking for you.” She threw her hands up in the air, as if overwhelmed by irritation, and then turned back toward the barn.
Despite the frustration in her voice, Evie could’ve sworn she saw her smile.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Oskar’s Journal
She tasted like cherries.
Nothing like that other girl.
The one whose name fails me now.
That always feels like a list item.
Something I did to prove
I’m a regular guy.
Even if I don’t speak like one.
Kissing Evelyn could be a list item
on a list of things I’ve been missing all my life.
She kissed me like she meant it.
I want to do it again.
And soon.
I jog up the steps of the cellar,
water dripping down my legs under my jeans
and I see Bjorn.
Standing at the top of the stairs.
His eyes squint, like the sun is in them, but it isn’t.
Talked to Sana lately?
Unmistakable anger infuses the syllables.
The pitch is off.
I shrug.
He must know.
She must’ve told him.
Seems you liked my sister a few nights ago.
I stop on the top step.
Narrow my eyes at him.
That isn’t what happened with her.
I ended it, finally.
His truck is parked on the far side of the lot,
facing the water.
But you had your tongue down that girl’s throat a minute ago.
How long was he watching us?
I look over his shoulder, toward the water.
Evelyn is gone.
Her clothes are gone.
Before I have time to prepare a defense
or even say anything back,
his fist blasts the side of my face.
I fall backwards.
Down the stairwell.
And crack my head on the cellar door.
Darkness swims the currents
behind my eyelids
and the last thing I hear is his warning.
Stay away from my sister.
I lie there on the cool concrete
for an indeterminate amount of time,
sometimes thinking, sometimes dreaming,
a constant dull ache pinching the back of my skull.
It’s Agnes’s shrill voice that brings me out of it.
Oskar! Where’d you get that goose egg?
Did somebody hit you, lad?
I sit up and rub my face.
Why’d he hit you, lad?
That hooligan never comes ’round unless he wa
nts something.
I shake my head and wince from the pain.
Ffffell, I say.
Aye, like hell you did.
She tugs me by the shirtsleeve until I’m on my feet
and up the cellar steps.
I scan the empty landscape around us.
Don’t worry, she’s been gone awhile,
Agnes says, tugging me harder.
Come on, we need to get some ice on that.
I slump on the sofa in the back of the store
while she gets the ice.
This is just the kind of thing that proves you should be away at school
instead of here scrapping with those losers.
Agnes hands me the ice bag
wrapped in an old tattered towel.
I won’t tolerate this brand of behavior.
Why’d he hit ye, then?
I grit my teeth.
D-d-don’t worry about it.
Her eyes turn violent.
I most certainly will worry about it!
Ye let that boy know he isn’t welcome here anymore!
I’ll have him arrested if I so much as hear that ratty truck of his putterin’ by.
I don’t doubt her one bit.
She’s a force to be reckoned with.
And the girl! Did ye tell her the truth yet?
I look down.
Shake my head.
Well, that’s fantastic.
She’s been confessin’ all sorts of things in your presence,
thinkin’ you don’t comprehend it.
She’s learnin’ Icelandic just so she can talk to you.
What do ye mean kissin’ her like that
if you don’t intend to tell her ye understand her just fine?
The vein in Agnes’s forehead pulses.
I don’t like her being mad at me.
Especially because I know she’s right.
I never meant for any of this to happen.
But this girl—she lays waste to me.
She questioned if I’m a druid.
For once,
I wish I was.
So I could track down a spell
to turn back time.
And start over.
I’ll tell ye right now, I’m tired of lying on your behalf.
The Language of Cherries Page 16