by Lori Wilde
He walked toward me, stopping when we were about a foot apart. “There’s only so much temptation I can withstand.”
I burst out laughing, and his eyes widened in surprise.
“I’m— I’m sorry,” I giggled, pushing stray strands of hair out of my face. My tank top strap slid down one shoulder; my cut-off jean shorts were permanently stained with rainbow hues of paint; my hair was pulled back into its usual rat’s nest ponytail, and I hadn’t even showered yet. “By temptation, you must mean the candy and vodka bar,” I pointed behind me, “because you couldn’t possibly mean me.”
He didn’t crack even a hint of a smile when he closed the distance between us. His fingers reached out to slowly lift my strap back in place. Tiny thrill bumps followed the trail as he grazed my skin.
He leaned in toward my ear, and his voice lowered to a whisper. “This tank top is exactly the reason it’s not a good idea for me to stay.” When he pulled back, he kept his eyes on mine. “The entire time we were together the other day, I barely registered a word you said. I watched your lips, and all I could think about was the way they felt against mine.”
Troy’s hands traveled up to cup my face, and I melted into him.
His voice lowered to a whisper. “And we’re here. Alone. Together.”
My breath caught in my chest.
His eyelids lowered as he focused on my mouth. “Do you have any idea how hard it is not to pull you into my arms again?”
“Then don’t fight it.” Everything was moving in slow motion, and I honestly didn’t know if I said that out loud or in my head, but I stretched up on my toes as he leaned in to kiss me softly. Then he pulled back just as I wrapped my arms around his neck.
“For all of these reasons, Nora, I really think it would be best for me to leave.”
“You know, you don’t have to,” I said quietly. We were alone. We were adults. And we had history. Hot heavy history. Where was the harm? The blood rushing in my ears was so loud I could barely hear him speak. His hands slid up my arms, then gently unhooked them from his neck.
“You wanted something without strings, Nora. But that’s not something I can do with you. For twelve months, I’ve thought about you. We’re already entwined, and I only see that getting stronger.” He moved his hands down my sides, over the curve of my hips to rest on my lower back.
I shivered under his touch, then again in frustration when he released me. He was right, of course. The way my body responded to his touch, it would be very dangerous for him to stay. And while I could barely admit it to myself, a huge part of me really wanted more than just a summer fling with him. Or a repeat of last year. I was ready to step beyond my imagination and into something real. Strings and all. And that terrified me.
“So until you’re ready for that...being here alone with you…” He kissed the top of my head. “Very bad idea.”
Troy headed for the door, but something stopped him. He moved across the room, pausing in front of the bookcase to look at the stuff we had on display. Photos of me and Kenzie in high school. Pictures of Grandma and Granddad. And one photo he took particular interest in, though I had no idea why. It was an old photo of my house. The one I was born in. I don’t remember it, since I’d only lived there till I was five, before my parents’ tragedy landed me with my grandparents. But I liked having it. A piece of a past life I didn’t remember living. Next to it were some sketches of Darcy, not that I’d tell anyone who it was. That made me uneasy, like having a photo of an old boyfriend on display in front of your current one. Neither of which was the case, but it was impossible not to notice the way Troy’s shoulders stiffened when he saw them.
I took a quick breath. Now or never. “It’s a sketch I made. There’s this guy I used to dream about.”
He didn’t look at me when he spoke. “Used to?”
I swallowed uncomfortably. I’d never disclosed anything like this before to a guy, and now I was just spilling secrets to him like we’d known one another forever. But the words tumbled out, falling over each other. “Well, sort of still do sometimes. Never actually met him, because he doesn’t exist, you know, since he’s a dream…but I decided to draw him.” I shrugged. That was why I didn’t open up to people. I sounded like a verbal train wreck.
I watched his head nod ever so slightly as he returned his attention to the other photo.
“This house.” He looked back at me, holding the frame. “Where is it?”
I stepped closer. “It was my parents’ house.”
“And the bike?” He was still scanning it closely.
I frowned, puzzled. “Um, it was my favorite? Why?”
“Reminds me of one I’ve seen before.”
“My turquoise two-wheeler? It’s weird that I don’t remember getting it, but from what I was told, it was the only good thing that came from that house. Wasn’t exactly a happy home, but…” I took the picture, feeling uneasy with the way he was scrutinizing it.
As my hand touched his, a memory of my own flashed in my mind. The photo on Grace’s desk of her daughter, Celeste…the girl who’d supposedly disappeared into her dreams... There’d been something familiar about her, because I had seen her before. That same girl was in a picture with Troy, locked in a passionate embrace. It was the photo that made me bolt from his bedroom that night last year.
I floundered as I put the frame back in its place, nearly dropping it on the floor. “Oh my God,” I blurted. “You knew Grace’s daughter.”
He didn’t seem surprised by my random accusation. In fact, he didn’t react at all.
“You could say that,” he said slowly, lifting his dark eyes to mine. “We were engaged.”
My sudden moment of clarity ended with what felt like a dropkick to the gut. “Engaged. Wow. Okay, so...” I had no idea what to say next. This was completely unprecedented in the history of awkward conversations. He was engaged to a girl who’d basically gone missing four years ago. He would have been about twenty then. These were the kinds of useless, random thoughts coming to me as I tried to sort out how I felt about this little info bombshell.
“Technically, we were almost engaged, but I had to call it off. We were young, but even then, I knew she wasn’t the one I was supposed to be with. We both knew it. She disappeared years before you and I connected, if that’s what’s causing that deep crease between your brows.”
He was trying to figure out if my mouth gaped open out of jealousy or fear. I could tell by the look in his eyes, because it was as if I’d known him a lot longer than I had. I wasn’t even sure what I was feeling; I just knew I didn’t like it. My stomach churned uneasily as I pondered a) what any of this really meant, b) if he was a psychotic kidnapper in disguise, and c) what level of crazy it would be to fall for a psychotic kidnapper.
Troy’s eyes darkened as he looked at me searchingly. “Dreams are more powerful than anyone realizes. Mine were, and I learned that the hard way.”
“So she just took off and, according to Grace, up and disappeared into her dreams? How?”
He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I could go into all of the scientific jargon about how and why dreamwalking happens, but, Nora, all that matters is Celeste is gone. And Grace has dedicated herself to not letting that happen again.”
I shook my head, railing against his words. “I see. And is that the special quality that got me hired here? My dreams, and the fact that I’d make a good case study for you both?”
“Not a case study. A rescue mission.”
Anger trickled down my spine. “I don’t need saving, Troy, not by you or Miss Strange. My dreams aren’t trying to kill me.”
Something flashed in his eyes. A memory, or a thought perhaps, but he didn’t say anything. He took a step back, putting more distance between us. “I should go.” He echoed his earlier thought, only now his voice was resolute. “There’s clearly nothing more I can say right now.”
“Good plan,” I said and opened the door for him.
He stepped out and the
n took off without another word and without looking back.
Chapter Sixteen
I’d survived the two weeks of training and a full week of orientation spent observing and prepping classes for the tween campers. The tweens stayed for the entire summer, while the younger middle grade kids stayed for only a month. Two more weeks passed by since my last session with Grace, and Troy and I had both done a pretty good job of avoiding each other. He’d sent replacements to help train me, and I took any opportunity to not be in the same place he was at the same time. In fact, I’d pretty much been ghosting them both. It was easy enough to come up with excuses, volunteering for extra shifts or helping out in the drama department with Kenzie. Week four delivered a few more busloads of younger kids piling out and filling the camp with a flurry of noise and activity and frenzy. Classes were officially in session, and I was finally going to be able to do some hands-on stuff. It was game time.
Kenzie was surprisingly excited by their arrival. She’d been seeing that Steve guy fairly exclusively, which was weird, but it seemed to do a lot for her disposition. She even skipped her usual trip to the vodka bar this morning. She wasn’t an alchy, even though her middle name could have been Jello-shots. She worked hard and partied just as hard. Sometimes harder. And she totally credited the booze for her stellar grade point average. I came by my GPA honestly, light on the partying, heavy on the work-my-butt-off. Which is what I was preparing to do as I made my way to the theater for the puppet show we had planned for the new students.
There’d be no avoiding Troy today. Seeing him was going to be awkward, to say the least. But we were stuck here together. Me locked into a contract I couldn’t afford to get out of. And he was still my mentor, supervisor, and pretty much my shadow. So that left us with endless moments of awkward. It was foolish for me to hope things between us could be anything more than what they were. Focus on work, Nora. I used that as my mantra as I walked over to a small group of kids and introduced myself. My job was to sit with the kids and supervise while they enjoyed the show. “You guys are going to love this,” I said, returning their smiles. “Grab a seat; the show’s starting soon.”
I was about to sit next to them, when Sue, another instructor and a novice like me, stopped me.
“Hey, April’s sick, probably with mono,” she added, “but anyway Troy wants you to fill in on stage.”
“What? But…but…” I shook my head, bewildered. Grabbing her arm, I pulled her close. “Can’t you do it?” I whispered. But she was already shaking her head.
“I have to sit with the group,” she said. “And he asked for you specifically.” Then she gave me a gentle shove toward the stage door. “Hurry up. We’re starting soon.”
I sucked in a quick breath and scuttled up the steps into the room overlooking the puppet stage. It was a cramped space, long and narrow with just enough room for people to maneuver their marionettes. To make matters worse, the only two people in the small dark and agonizingly romantic space would be me and Troy.
Great.
What would I do, ignore our last conversation? Pretend like nothing had happened? Or I could just come clean, say it was a mistake for us to have gotten involved, now and back then. Or I could just not talk to him at all and get immersed in putting on the show. I looked around in despair at the wooden marionettes dangling below, attached to so many strings. Hopefully he didn’t actually expect me to operate one of these things.
I opted for the third choice, hoping I’d have to concentrate hard enough on what I was doing to avoid any and all conversation of a non-puppet nature.
That plan had epic fail written all over it. A fact that became blindingly obvious the moment he entered and our eyes locked.
When he did finally say something, his words were preempted with a deep sigh. “I, um. Sorry about the night I saw you last. I didn’t, I mean I don’t—” He scratched the back of his neck and took a quick breath. “For what it’s worth, I’ve never thought there was anything wrong with you, Nora. Not now. And not then.”
It was weird to see him tongue-tied, but it made me feel like less of a dork, and hearing him say that he didn’t think I was crazy…well, that helped too. “You know, I never really wanted to go out with you. Last year,” I said, and my face immediately flushed.
His brows lifted. “Good to know. Why did you, then? Was it for the food, because I think they delivered?”
I laughed uncomfortably. “That came out all wrong. It’s just that, I wasn’t really interested in anything serious…” But now, things are different. I paused to think of how to best articulate that, under the present conditions.
Troy positioned himself in front of me and rested his hand on the wall behind me. I looked up at him as he leaned in toward me. “You’re looking for something stringless. I get that. Problem is, I don’t really do stringless. It’s a myth. Once you connect with another person, physically, emotionally…you’re entangled. Strings come with the territory,” he said. “Wishing them away doesn’t really change it.”
He stepped back, making a little easier to breathe normally again, then started fiddling with the sound board.
I cocked my head. “Wow. That’s quite an interesting perspective for a guy. Especially a guy that, well...” I gestured toward him. “Looks like you look.”
The shift in his expression said he knew exactly what I meant, but he was daring me to come out and say it. “Which is?” He watched me intently.
“Like a guy who could talk a girl into as few strings or entanglements as he wanted.”
His expression relaxed. “Maybe I like strings. I did major in puppetry after all.”
I had to laugh. “Who does that by the way?”
“Family business. Remember? My adoptive grandfather owned a traveling show when he was young, and well, no one else in the family had any interest in it. I had no interest in puppets, but I idolized my grandfather. Now, here I am. Running his dream.”
“So Masquerade Studios...”
“Joesephe Egbert Maskerad. My grandfather. Not by blood, but in every way that counted.”
I leaned against the railing. “You’re like this riddle wrapped up in a puzzle.”
He laughed this time. “Is that a good thing?”
I thought it over despite my head screaming YES. “It’s a confusing thing. Let’s say that.”
“You’re one to talk.” He nudged me. Then he fell quiet for a beat. “Nora, there’s something I’ve been wanting to do for a really long time.”
Ohgod-ohgod-ohgod. Please tell me he wants to kiss me again. And please tell me he’s not actually going to. I was a walking contradiction. I wanted him to want to, knowing fully well how complicated it would be if he did, and yet somehow wanting that too.
“What’s that?” I croaked out the words.
He leaned toward me, until his face was an inch from mine. My eyes fluttered shut expectantly as I waited for what was sure to be a life-altering, angelic-harp-producing moment. Suddenly there was the feel of hands fiddling in my hair. A soft tugging sensation. Then nothing.
Frowning, I opened my eyes.
He handed me my hair clasp. “Thanks.”
“Um...you’re welcome?” I blinked at the neon pink clasp in my hand, as my hair draped over my shoulders.
“I’ll sleep better tonight with at least that one mystery solved.”
I wanted to question it, but my mouth was too busy being disappointed at not getting kissed. Jealous that my hair had gotten all of the attention. As for the rest of me, I was stuck on what he’d said. He’d thought about my hair at night. That alone gave me butterflies in hidden places.
Another staff member joined us—Eric, I think—and took over control of the sound system.
Then he put his hand on the small of my back to guide me across the narrow room to another set of stairs.
“Wait, we have to go higher?”
“Just a little. Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”
I peeked over the edge of the railin
g and let out a small squeak as I clung on for my life. It had to be at least fourteen feet to the ground. “How high are we going exactly?”
I felt him behind me, his hand steady on my back, urging me to keep climbing.
“They say you can tell a lot about a person by what they fear,” he said. “Almost as much as by what they keep on their bookcase.”
“Well, I fear falling to my death in a Phantom of the Opera sort of way, so what does that say about me?”
“That you spend too much time watching life and not enough participating in it. C’mon. This way.” He squeezed past me to walk across to the other side to adjust some of the lighting.
I stepped onto the narrow platform, which was not much more than a narrow bridge running from one side of the stage to the other. My knees wobbled. I’d never been up this high during my training, and my heart was stuttering for an entirely different reason now. Bars strung with marionette strings dangled over the edge.
“You’ll be fine, Nora. Just focus on me.”
My gaze shifted to the audience of tiny children below us. Focus on him. “What about you? Everyone has fears; what are yours?” Apparently being terrified out of my mind made for stimulating conversation.
Troy pulled a file from the shelf and handed it to me. “I lied when I said I didn’t do stringless. You nailed it, I was that guy for a while.”
“And what happened to him?”
He glanced over at me. “He grew up and realized that there was something more important than staying untied. Belonging to someone. Having them belong to you in return.”
I swallowed, silently wishing, wondering, what it would be like to belong to someone like him.
His eyebrows tightened. “Anyway, I want to apologize for the day of your interview. I wasn’t sure if you remembered me.”
As if he was the least bit forgettable—with amnesia and a frontal lobotomy, I’d still remember him.
“And if you did remember, I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.” He dragged a hand through his hair and cleared his throat. “I should apologize to you for that night as well. I moved way too fast, considering.”