by E. S. Maria
Overcome with sudden joy, I suck in a breath, covering my mouth so he won’t see my stupid grin. “You will? You won’t regret it. I promise.”
He chuckles, “I never taught anyone before. What if I become an even bigger jerk to you?”
“So, do you want a diplomatic answer or an honest answer?” I ask, trying to be cheeky.
“So, do you want me to teach you, or will you be bringing that smart mouth of yours?” he asks back, almost succeeding at looking insulted, if not for the glint in his green eyes.
Still feeling playful, I answer back, “I’ll be good. Please, Mister Foster. Teach me everything you know. I’ll be your willing student,” I plead in a breathy voice, biting my lower lip.
“Don’t do that,” Atticus answers warily, shifting his seated position.
“Do what?” I ask with big innocent eyes.
He lets out a resigned sigh, “Just … I’ll teach you because you do have promise talent-wise, and I want to make it up to you for being such a giant douche bag. But only if you agree that we’ll keep this as platonic as possible.”
I try to push the sudden disappointment away, knowing that kissing Atticus again is probably now an impossibility. But he’s offering an olive branch, and if it means being able to hang out with him, then I’ll accept his terms.
“So, does this mean we’re finally friends?” I ask.
He rolls his eyes before nodding, “Yes. We’re friends. But only if you let me call you Songbird or Canary, depending on my mood.”
“Why?”
“Because it sounds cute on you.”
Rolling my eyes at him, but secretly thrilled that Atticus associates me with the word cute, I offer him my hand, “Songbird is okay. Agreed?”
He takes my hand and we shake on it, “Friends,” he confirms. And even though my skin prickles from the contact, my heart can’t help but dip into a dull thud from disappointment.
Damn, stupid feels.
We agree to have my guitar lessons after school on Tuesdays for an hour, and if he’s free, before he practises with Halcyon.
“So how much do I pay you?” I ask, standing up. He follows suit, waving at people surfing and gesturing to them that he’s leaving.
“I’m not charging you anything,” he says.
“It’s okay though, I want to pay you.” I have to ask Mum and Dad, but I’m sure it’ll be okay with them. They like Atticus, and I’ve seen him helping out Mum clean up at the kitchen. Those were the times when I wondered why he was never that nice to me.
He exhales loudly, “Please don’t insult my ego. I can’t accept your money.”
“There must be something I can do for you. I can’t just take something like your precious time and leave you empty-handed.”
“Your cookies.”
“Excuse me?”
Please let that not be actual cookies.
“You can pay me with your Anzac cookies or your famous Mars Bar cookies.” His sudden enthusiasm of my baked goods is infectious, making me forget my disappointment that he wasn’t referring to any of my body parts.
I can’t believe how Atticus is seriously making me such a horn bag.
A virgin horn bag, but a horn bag nonetheless!
I can’t help it. Just looking at him makes me think of highly inappropriate things … unladylike things.
Things reserved for the bedroom.
I’m starting to rethink if having guitar lessons with Atticus is a good idea at all.
“Hannah?” He’s gently shaking my shoulder, and my glazed eyes focus back on him.
This is bad. Very bad.
“Okay. You can have my cookies!” I blurt out.
He looks at me with surprised amusement.
Very, very bad.
“Great. First lesson’s at your shed on Tuesday at 4.30.”
I nod back, “Uh, yes. Okay. Done. Can’t wait.”
He smiles back in response, and my stomach twists when he bites his lower lip to hold his imminent laughter. He stands up and runs across the sand to grab what looks like his T-shirt, then he jogs back to me and offers his hand, “C’mon, I’ll walk you home.”
I hesitate for a second before taking his hand and standing up. He takes the board from me and holds it using his other arm.
But him taking my hand is getting me all sorts of confused.
Atticus starts walking, and I walk a step behind him. When he tugs me closer, I can’t help but stare at our linked fingers in utter confusion. He must have noticed it because he raises our linked hands up.
“What? Friends can hold hands.” He throws me a coy smile for good measure. All it does is get me further perplexed.
But as soon as we reach my driveway, he removes his hold on me and gives me back my board.
“Hey, um, you wanna come in for breakfast or something?”
Atticus looks up at our house, his face unreadable. Then he turns back to me and shakes his head.
“Nah, it’s cool. I have to get back to my place.”
“And where is this place you’re referring to?”
“Up north.”
“And how do you get to your place up north?”
“I bus it.”
“Bus it? Seriously, Atticus, where do you live?”
“Roscoe,” he answers dryly, expressionless.
“Roscoe? As in two lakes over, Roscoe? And you come all the way here just to go for a surf?”
He shrugs and looks far in the distance.
What are you not telling me, Atticus?
“Well, I’m really glad you do,” I tell him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Please, just stay for breakfast?” I insist. “I’ll even cook it for you as my thanks for saving my life earlier.”
He hesitates, before finally nodding his head, “Okay.”
“Oh, and um, don’t tell them about what happened while I was surfing, alright? I just don’t need them to worry unnecessarily.”
He nods, “If that’s what you want, then sure.”
I flash him a big smile in return. He takes my board again, and he walks up the driveway ahead of me.
And I swear, that just as he’s passing me, he bites his lower lip again to suppress another smile.
Mum calls out to me as soon as I open the front door, immediately followed with reprimanding me for not telling her I was going and for not bringing my phone.
Seriously, she worries too much.
But worry changes to surprise once we round the corner to the kitchen and she sees Atticus walking right behind me.
“Atticus! Oh. Good morning! Brodie’s upstairs playing his video game, I think. We just had our breakfast, but I don’t mind fixing up something for you and Hannah.”
“It’s okay, Mum. I’ll cook,” I tell her with a kiss on her cheek.
“But look at you in your wet suit. You’ll get sand all over my kitchen, mija!”
“Oh, sorry. Okay, let me change, and I’ll be right back.” I walk past Atticus, giving him a smile, which he returns, killing me with that dimple.
As soon as I make it up the stairs, I hear Mum offer Atticus a towel to wrap around him and his wet board shorts, which is a shame because wet shorts clinging on Atticus’s legs and bum is kind of my idea of visual heaven. But Mum is such a clean freak, bless her heart.
I shower in no time, changing into a dress. I don’t even know why I choose this particular short, flirty number. I don’t want Atticus to think I’m intentionally dressing for him. But I’m spending too much time up here already. I should be cooking breakfast for my knight in shining armour, right now.
Have I seriously just referred to him with some cheesy description?
What the hell is going on with me?
By the time I head back down, I can already hear Brodie and Atticus talking, laughing, and sounding like they’re mucking around.
Uh oh. Brodie.
I walk inside the kitchen, and Mum is nowhere to be seen. It’s a Saturday, so I can only assume that she’s upstairs gett
ing dressed so she can go out and do her grocery shopping. But all thoughts of Mum disappear as soon as I zero in on Atticus. He’s sitting on a bar stool next to the kitchen bench, and he zeroes in on me as well, his eyes running from my head to my toes and back, leaving a trail of tiny prickles in its path.
I try to stay unaffected as I walk straight to the fridge, opening it and grabbing some eggs.
“What’s this thing Mum said that you’re cooking breakfast for Tic? Do you know what it means when you ‘cook breakfast’ for a guy?”
I turn to him, puzzled. When it finally hits me, my mouth gapes open, and my expression turns to horrified. Thank goodness Mum isn’t here to hear this!
“Hey, keep your head out of the gutter and leave her alone. She’s just thanking me for … for uh, agreeing to help her play guitar better.”
“What? First of all, you’re defending Hannah? Second, Han, you had lessons. And I taught you too. How come I got shit for my efforts?”
“That’s ‘cause you’re a shit teacher who can’t teach shit,” Atticus answers, and I watch as he playfully punches Brodie’s shoulder, with Brodie retaliating with a punch of his own.
Boys.
“Okay, okay. Enough. So are you staying for this breakfast or what?” I ask Brodie pointedly.
“Nope,” he answers, shaking his head before turning to Atticus, “Hey, you wanna play some Forza while she’s cooking?”
“I was actually planning on not being a douche to your sister and helping her out.”
“Well that’s something I never thought I’d hear or see from you,” Brodie says, genuinely looking surprised.
“I like to keep everyone on their toes.”
I’m already grabbing a frying pan at this time, which means I’m facing away from them, which means they can’t see me blushing.
“Suit yourself. I’ll be upstairs trying to get over how you chose to help my little sister cook, rather than race cars with your mate.”
“You’ll get over it,” Atticus laughingly answers back.
I turn around just as both of them are getting up from their bar stools, with Atticus laughingly pushing Brodie towards the stairs.
And once my brother is in the next room, Atticus turns around and walks straight towards me, eyes never leaving mine. He stops only inches in front of me.
“I don’t mind if you wanna play Forza, Atticus.” I take a couple of steps back, making a point to go to the other side of the kitchen to get a bowl to mix the eggs in.
I need to keep my distance from this boy who’s making my heart beat way too fast for comfort.
“I want to help.” He takes the bowl I’m holding, momentarily grazing his fingers with mine. I can’t deny what his touch is doing to me. But now he’s smiling, and it’s that megawatt, dimpled smile he uses to guarantee any girl’s attention.
I used to wonder how it would feel to be at the receiving end of Atticus’s smile.
And now I know.
And now I wish I didn’t.
Because I’m melting.
I’m. Melting.
“Uh, you know how to cook?” I ask him, quickly grabbing the milk, cheese, salt, and pepper. I need to keep moving around. I need to be anywhere but in his immediate vicinity.
“I know enough to survive,” he pauses, then shrugs, “I’ve got no choice.” His explanation makes me want to ask further, but instead, I watch as he places the bowl on the space close to the sink and starts cracking the eggs. He cracks them with one hand, a skill acquired through practice.
I can’t help but move closer and watch in awe as he uses all of the ingredients without even asking me if he’s doing it correctly, whisking like it’s nobody’s business. Then he places his hands on my shoulders and gently nudges me to the side, winking at me before switching on the gas burner.
“Wait, I offered to cook for you in return for guitar lessons. Why are you taking over?” I tap on his shoulder, trying to get his attention.
He turns to me, but only to ask, “Where’s your butter?”
“Um, I asked you a question?”
“So did I,” he brushes past me, and opens the fridge. “Never mind,” he says, butter dish in hand.
“Hello?” I block his path, and he screeches to a halt.
“I’m cooking the eggs. Just deal with it!” I grab the butter from his hand and put a pan on the gas burner. He tries to grab the butter off me, but I stick my elbow out to stop him, moving from side to side to further block him off.
“God, woman. Relax!” Atticus laughingly tells me, and the way he calls me woman makes me feel giddy all over. Then he makes it worse by planting his chin on my shoulder as I pour the eggs on the hot, buttered pan.
He may be doing this as an innocent gesture, but the way he smells of sea and his own personal musk, the same way he smelled last night, is making me feel things that are far from innocent again.
“Uh, if you wanna help, you can toast a few slices of bread?” Without thinking, I turn my head toward him, not realising how close he actually is. Before I can stop myself, my lips accidentally touch the corner of his mouth.
Oh shit!
Cheeks now hot, I jerk my head away and face the eggs like nothing happened.
“Sorry,” I whisper out. What if he thinks I did that on purpose? Why did he have to place his head on my shoulder in the first place?
“Well, the eggs are done,” he says, straightening up and switching the burner off. He doesn’t speak about my major blooper, instead grabbing the loaf of bread from the fridge and walking over to the toaster. He’s standing mere inches beside me, acting all nonchalant. But the coy smile he’s trying to hide is enough for me to wish the earth would swallow me whole.
He didn’t want to kiss me anymore. He only wanted us to be friends.
Now he thinks I’m probably obsessed with him, trying to sneak in a kiss.
I try to concentrate on plating the eggs, and just as I’m about to carry the plate of cheesy scrambled eggs, he quickly closes our gap and drops a kiss on my cheek.
No warning, no hesitation, leaving me stunned, mouth agape.
“Now we’re even,” he says with a crooked smile on his face.
Oh.
The corners of my lips turn upwards in a slow smile, but I bite on my lower lip, not wanting to ruin the moment by saying something inane.
I hear footsteps coming from the stairs, and I take that as my cue to move away from Atticus.
Dad comes in the kitchen, dressed casually in shorts and a plain T-shirt. He smiles when he sees me, but his eyes widen when he sees Atticus a couple of steps behind me, toasting some bread.
“Good morning, Han … Atticus,” he kisses the top of my head, but not before I notice how his eyes are trained only at Atticus. “Taking a break from playing video games, Tic?”
Atticus looks guarded as he tries to answer, “Uh, I’m just —”
“He’s just helping out, Dad,” I finish for him.
It’s true anyway.
Sort of.
“Okay,” my dad shrugs, but the way his eyes follow Atticus warily makes me a little nervous.
He gets over it thankfully, turning his attention to me. “Did you go surfing this morning?” Dad asks, grabbing a fork and helping himself with a mouthful of my scrambled eggs. He nods in appreciation, “I actually wanted to check out the waves myself. I could’ve come with you.”
Knowing what just transpired at the beach earlier, I take a moment to make sure I answer back without making Dad worry about me.
“I didn’t stay for long. The waves started to get choppy.”
“Ah, okay. Maybe next time then?”
“For sure, Dad,” I answer back, beaming up at him.
We haven’t surfed together in quite a while, and I know he misses it. I do too. When his practice became busier, so did he. This meant his weekends were spent in his office and not with his family.
“Maybe we can go later? The waves might improve by then,” I tell him.
I ignore him and turn back to my father. “So, what do you say, Dad?”
His expression lightens, and flashes me a smile, “I’m in! After I take your mum grocery shopping, we should go check it out, yeah?”
“I’ll be here when you get back,” I nod back enthusiastically.
He gives Atticus a brief wave, and Atticus hesitantly does the same. “Well, enjoy your breakfast. I just need to clean up some crap in the garage. Tell your mum when she’s finally ready that I’ll be out there, okay? I swear your mum takes much longer to get ready as she gets older.”
“Dad! I’ll tell on you,” I answer back, laughing.
“No, you won’t because you love your daddy,” he yells back as he makes his way to the front door.
“Whatever, Dad!”
“Wait, I’m ready!” I hear my mum’s voice call out for Dad. “See you kids. Be good!”
When the door closes, I distinctly hear Atticus breathe out loudly.
“What was that about?” I ask Atticus straight away.
“I can’t believe you’d want to go back out there. You should be resting for the rest of the day.”
“Pfft,” I scoff, “why would I delay going back out? I’m not going to let what happened scare me.”
He shakes his head, “I don’t know if you’re just really, really brave, or really, really stubborn. Maybe I should come with you.”
“Just because you saved my life once doesn’t mean you have to feel obliged to be my fucking knight in shining armour. That’s not your job to do.”
He turns to me, eyes hardening, “You’re right. It isn’t.”
I squint my eyes curiously at him and decide to turn things around. “And anyway, I noticed how you reacted with my father. Don’t tell me he makes you nervous.”
He goes back to his task and shrugs.
“He’s just used to you hanging out with Brodie while you piss me off in general,” I continue, chuckling softly.
He picks up the plate of toast and stands next to me, smiling back sheepishly, “Was I really that much of an asshole to you?”
“You weren’t that bad. Most of the time you just ignored me, so technically, you probably didn’t mean to, but if I’m being truly honest, it sucked.”