The Wayward Sons: Starlee's Heart: WhyChoose Contemporary Young Adult Romance

by Angel Lawson

  “Why would it take me two hours to get a muffin?”

  She glances up. “Oh, well, I thought maybe you were just looking for a reason to hang out with the boys.”

  My cheeks heat. Partially because I am looking for a reason to go over there, but not to hang out with the boys. Is that what she thinks? “I think they left a while ago. I saw them drive off when I went to get the mail.”

  “Ah, okay. Well, go get your muffin. I’ve got six chapters to read before Phyllis picks me up.”

  I almost reconsider but the letter is burning a hole in the back of my pocket. If I don’t do it now I probably never will, and then I’ll spend the rest of the summer circling Dexter in this weird standoff we can’t seem to get past. “Okay, I’ll hurry.”

  I’m thankful there’s a line out the door for the shop, it means Sierra’s busy. The front door is open and when I enter the screen door I’m greeted by Growley, who doesn’t bark at me this time, just sniffs and licks my toes. I don’t waste time but quickly move down the hallway, past the kitchen that’s a mess of dishes and half-eaten food. I run up the stairs, stopping at the first room. It’s tidy like before. The guitar propped on the stand in the corner. I pull the letter out, the corners wrinkled from me carrying it for so long. He’ll know I came up here when he finds it, but what else can I do? I don’t really want the others to know. I think of leaving it on his bed but that seems…too intimate. That bedroom thing. I’m sure any and every book I’ve ever read would say that. I look to the right and see a desk. That’ll do. I prop the letter against the lamp and my eye catches on a framed picture. It’s Dexter and Sierra—he’s younger—they both are. His hair is longer but his grin is wide. I’ve never seen him smile and I wonder if that has to do with me or with the woman in the photo; obviously his mother. They all three share the same gray eyes.

  There’s a flannel hanging over the back of the chair and out of instinct I lift it up and sniff the fabric. It smells so good, like pine with a hint of something muskier. I sniff it again before leaving it like I found it.

  Growley, who’s been circling my feet, turns and bolts out of the room suddenly. I figure that’s my signal to leave. It won’t take Sierra long to help those customers and the last thing I want is to be caught in the house snooping.

  I step into the hallway and crash into something hard. “Oof,” I say, too rattled to be panicked. Hands grip my shoulders and I blink, looking up from the yellow Wayward Sun logo on the shirt in front of me to the sharp jaw of the exact person I didn’t want to find me.

  “What—” I start then stop. Thankfully he finishes my sentence for me.

  “What are you doing up here?”

  “Uh,” I swallow. “Looking for Charlie? About my computer.”

  “You just walked in?”

  “Sierra said it was okay the other day. I figured it would be fine now.” I’m lying. So badly. So much lying. The letter is on his desk and as soon as he finds it he’ll know.

  “He’s not here.”

  “I see that.”

  “They went on a hike.”

  “And you didn’t.”

  “Sierra got slammed just before lunch. She needed some help. You want me to tell him you came by?” His eyes are the clearest shade of gray, like steel. His facial hair is grown out, thicker than most boys should have at that age—or at least, that’s what I assume. I should be intimidated by him. I am in a way, his presence is forceful, but I’m not scared. Not of him physically, but more about what he thinks of me and why I care so much.

  “Uh, no. I mean, you can if you want. I’ll catch him later.”

  I step to the side but it’s not enough to get by. We stare at one another for a beat longer and I think about thanking him now, saying all the things in my letter to his face, but the words won’t come. Finally, he shifts to the side, allowing me to pass, and I race down the stairs, across the yard, and back to the office.

  When I walk in Leelee looks up and asks, “Where’s your muffin?”

  I slink behind the counter to catch my breath.

  “They were out.”

  “Already? Must have been a busy day, Dexter will have to make a fresh batch.”

  Dexter. The fighter. The baker. The guy who probably has already found my letter and knows I’m a ridiculous liar. I sit at the tiny desk in the back, where I work on the tasks my grandmother gives me. Maybe my mother was right after all—maybe it was better if I stayed inside and didn’t engage people.

  Look what happens when I do.

  “I know this is the first time I’m leaving you here alone, so let me know if you want me to stay.” Leelee noticed I was bothered after coming back from the Wayward Sun earlier. She assumes this is because I’m worried about her going to June Lake for a few hours, not because I’d been busted up in Dexter’s room.

  “I’m fine. I promise.”

  “The busy season is picking up. Starting Saturday, we’re booked solid for the next month. The Lee Vines Fourth of July Festival is in a week and we have recurring visitors each year.”

  “Leelee, you’re stalling.”

  She sighs and tugs on her sweater. Phyllis runs the bookstore three doors down. They rotate towns and this month the club is being held in June Lake. “I just don’t want it to be too much. Do you want me to call one of the boys to come over? Charlie? He’s helpful. George will break something.”

  “No. Really. I’m fine.”

  She moves to the door. Phyllis’ car is out front. “Oh, don’t forget that group of six renting the big cottage is coming in a little late tonight. They called—they missed their flight so they got behind schedule. It’ll probably be around six thirty or seven o’clock.”

  “Got it.”

  She goes down the steps, moving a little slower than I’d like. She gives me one last look. “Call Sierra if you need anything. Or one of the boys. Tom should be around too, but only call him in an emergency. He’s busy at the café.”

  I force a smile and say nothing. Truth is, I realize as she finally drives off, that I’m hurt. And a little angry. Does she really think I’m incapable of doing this on my own? I’ve done everything she’d asked me to. Am I really so incompetent that I can’t handle the front desk for a few hours?

  I’m at the counter reading a book when our late arrival comes in the office door. He’s young—but not high school young. Maybe college or older. Athletic—dressed for outdoor activities.

  “Hi,” he says, approaching the counter. “I’ve got a reservation. Jordan McNair.”

  “Right.” I click on the computer system and find his booking. I see the name of six men that he’s listed as guests. I confirm. “There’s six of you? For a week?”

  “Yeah, the others stayed in the car.” He leans his elbows on the counter. I notice the sheen of dried sweat. They’d probably come through the desert.

  I check his identification and grab the keys from under the desk. “Here’s three. Is that enough?”

  “That should be fine.” He looks around the office. “Where’s the best place to eat?”

  “Depends on what you want. The Epic Café is really good. Kind of fancy hippie food. The barbeque is alright. The diner will be open in the morning. Oh, and there’s a pizza place.”

  “Pizza sounds good. Anywhere around here sell beer or liquor? It’s been a looong day.”

  “The market across the street is open ‘til ten. They’ve got a full selection of beer and wine.” All of this is things I’ve heard my grandmother say to guest after guest as they check in. “There’s a notebook in your cottage with additional information about the area.”

  “Thanks,” he says, giving me a cheesy wink and snatching the keys off the counter. “What’s your name?”

  “Starlee.”

  “Starlee? Now that’s a name.”

  “My grandmother’s. And her mother’s.” His eyes sweep over me, like he’s noticing me for the first time, and I feel my cheeks heat. “Well, let us know if you need anything. There’s
a number in the book in your cottage.”

  “I will Starlee, thanks.”

  He exits the office and I notice he holds the door open for someone, shifting out of the way so they can pass. I don’t know who I expect, but it’s not Dexter.

  He watches the guy leave and steps in the office. My eyes shift to his hand and I see the envelope I’d left in his room earlier that day. Oh god. I may puke.

  He doesn’t move away from the door and he’s got that tense, angry face that is somehow a mixture of terrifying and disturbingly attractive.

  “You were in my room.”

  My heart hammers so loudly I feel like it may burst out of my chest. “I was. I’m sorry I lied. I panicked.”

  “I read it—your letter.” He grips it in his hand. “You didn’t have to thank me.”

  “You covered for me at the museum and you made me a pie and well, you beat up someone for me.” I reach for the pen on the desk and fiddle with it. “I should have said something to you weeks ago, right when it happened, but the whole thing freaked me out so much and just being here in general freaked me out and then you…”

  His eyes narrow. “What about me?”

  “You’re…” My neck prickled from his attention. “There’s a tension between us. I’ve felt it from the beginning and over the past few weeks I’ve become friendly with everyone you live with and I just don’t want that lingering between us.”

  “Tension,” he repeats.

  “Yeah, like, the whole ‘I hate Starlee’ vibe I get from you.”

  He absorbs that, sucking on the piercing, which makes my stomach twist in a different way. The dark shade to his eyes doesn’t take away from the vibe I’d just mentioned.

  Finally, he speaks. “Beating up people is something I’m good at, Starlee. It’s the only thing I’m good at. Give me a reason, like some dickhead threatening the hot new girl in town, and I’m in.”

  Everything he just said flusters the crap out of me. The way my name sounds rolling off his tongue. The admission about fighting. The fact he called me hot.

  “You’re good at baking,” I blurt.

  “What?”

  “Those pies? The muffins? They’re amazing.” I stare at the counter. “I saw the guitar in your room, you’re probably good at that, too.”

  “That guitar belonged to my mom.”

  My eyes jerk up at the sound of his voice. It’s soft, quiet, and there’s a distinct lack of anger. I want to ask what happened to her but I know better. I may be socially awkward but I know now is not the time to ask. Maybe never.

  The phone next to the computer rings and I blink, taking my focus off the boy still standing near the door.

  “Hello,” I say into the receiver.

  “Is this Starlee?”

  I frown. “Yes.”

  “It’s Jordan—I just checked in.”

  “Oh right. What can I do for you?”

  “Looks like we need a few more towels. Can I come by and get them?”

  “Uh, no. I can bring them by. How many?”

  “I think two should work.”

  “Great. I’ll come up now.”

  “Thanks, Starlee. You’re the best.”

  I hang up the phone and say, “Well, I have a towel delivery to do.”

  “That the guy that was just in here?”

  “Yeah.” I walk to the linen closet, grabbing three white towels. “Why?”

  “No reason.” He shrugs, but he chews on his lip ring. I’m realizing it’s a tell for something bothering him. “Want me to go up there with you?”

  “Why? You think I can’t deliver towels on my own?” I’m not sure why I say it. Probably still sore from my grandmother worrying about me. But here I am with one of the boys offering to help anyway.

  “Of course, you can take the towels up there. I was just offering. I know you’re…”

  “I’m what?” I ask sharply.

  “I know you’re not used to being around people.”

  My eyes narrow. “How do you know that?”

  “Because of the homeschooling and the way you never do anything. The fact you’re in this tiny town and jump like a scared mouse anytime anyone moves. The fact you froze that day in the street, making me—”

  “Making you what?”

  “Nothing.”

  “So you are mad.”

  He sighs and runs his hands through his hair. “I’m not mad.”

  “You’re mad because I made you break your probation. You could go back to juvie because of me. Because of meek, scared like a mouse, Starlee Jones.” I walk around the counter, towels bundled in my arms. “This is why I said thank you. It’s why I wanted you to know that I appreciated what you did. That I understand your anger, because you took that risk for me and now you realize it wasn’t worth it. I’m not worth the trouble. That it’s my own fault for being out there that day—too scared of my own shadow. Too dumb to realize the danger. Too stupid to follow the rules.”

  I push past him toward the door and he grabs my arm. “Woah, woah, woah. What the hell are you talking about?”

  I glare at his hand, where the heat burns between us. “Get your hand off of me.”

  He releases me and I open the door, barging out. He follows, racing down the porch steps. “Starlee, wait. None of that is true. Not one word.”

  “It’s all true, Dexter, it’s always been true. I don’t know how to do this.”

  “Do what?” He looks so confused.

  “Life. People. Friends.” I hold up the towels. “What I can do is deliver these towels. I can do that. Then I can lock up and go home and curl up and read a book, living life there. Where it’s safe, away from dangerous boys with lip rings and tattoos. God, my mother would lose her mind.”

  The confusion turns to hurt, but I’ve got nothing else to say. I turn and leave him there, standing in the Lodge driveway watching me walk off. I do deliver the towels. And Jordan gives me a sweet smile and a thank you. He’s nice but I know that’s a trick—a trick that my mother told me to be wary of. And when I walk back and lock up the office and climb the steps to the porch of LeeLee’s house, I pretend like I don’t see Dexter watching, keeping an eye on poor, pathetic Starlee as I go through the motions of trying to be a normal person, in a normal world, and failing miserably.

  13

  I refuse to allow my outburst with Dexter spoil my sunrise meetings with Jake. I’ve started compartmentalizing the boys from the Wayward Sun. Jake is for sunrises. George for easy companionship. Charlie for computer glitches and quiet. And Dexter? I wanted nothing to do with Dexter. I’d said my piece and tried to smooth things over. He was nothing but a reminder of my failures and weaknesses.

  When Jake and I meet the next morning, he notices the book in my hand right away.

  “What’s that?” he asks.

  “My favorite book.” We’re walking on the sidewalk down to the overlook.

  “You’re going to read?”

  “I thought maybe we could read it together. I think you’d like it.”

  He gives me a wary glance. “I told you I’m not very good at reading.”

  I smile. “I know. But I am.”

  He doesn’t reply to that but when we climb up our rock, we settle in our spots and I hold up the book and say, “It’s kind of like the Hunger Games, except in space.” His eyebrows rise in interest. “There’s an amazing champion. Lots of bad guys and a very epic romance.”

  “How epic?”

  “PG epic, but it’s still worthy.”

  He nods but doesn’t say anything else. He also doesn’t stop me when I open the book to the first page and start reading. “I would have lived in peace. But my enemies brought me war.”

  The glow of the sunrise brightens my page and once it’s reached over the top, I finish the chapter and close the book. I’m sure that he was listening since I felt his eyes on me the entire time. This is further confirmed on our way back to the town when he says, “So Darrow’s kind of a badass, huh?”r />
  “Oh, you have no idea.” Darrow of Lykos is a legend.

  Finishing the chapter makes us get back to town a little later than usual, and there’s already a small group standing in front of the now-open market. They’re dressed for a day of hiking and I notice Jordan is among the group, securing his water bottle at his waist. He looks up and waves and my stomach flutters. Not out of attraction—just from being noticed. I’m still getting used to any kind of attention.

  “Who’s that?” Jake asks.

  “Just a guest that came in last night.”

  He scratches the back of his neck. “Well, I better head in. Sierra has me on opening counter duty. It’s Crossroads Cobbler day. I’ll save you a piece.”

  “Oh! Sounds good. Maybe I’ll see you later.”

  “Only working until noon. We’ve got—uh—an appointment in town today.”

  “All of you?”

  “Just a thing we have to do once a month. So we can stay with Sierra.”

  “Oh, right.” I forget sometimes about their pasts and how they have a social worker that placed them in Sierra’s house. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

  The screen door on the porch of the Wayward Sun opens with a wailing creak and we both look up. George and Dexter are walking from their home to the shop. George notices us first and nudges Dexter. They both stop.

  “What are they looking at?”

  “Nothing.” I sense Jake tensing next to me. He’d carried the book this whole way but in a quick move he passes it over, like he didn’t want to be seen with it. Or me. This is only confirmed by the faint spread of pink over his cheeks.

  He’s embarrassed to be seen with me.

  George lifts his hand to wave. Dexter…well, Dexter does nothing, as expected. After our fight last night, I doubt we’ll ever speak again. Which is fine by me.

  “Bye, Starlee,” Jake says, stalking off to the shop.

  Without another word I turn and quickly walk back to Leelee’s house, wondering if I’ll ever get anything right.

  I have a pretty big homework assignment, so Leelee gives me the day off work to complete it. By the time I’m finished it’s late afternoon. I walk to the office to make sure everything’s okay and realize what a beautiful day it turned out to be. Summer finally hit this part of the mountains and it’s warm enough to shrug off my hoodie. I’m wearing a tank-top and the sun instantly warms my pale arms.