by Gina Ciocca
“He will not. That picture screams ‘Marisa.’”
“Which is exactly why he’ll laugh at it.”
“He’ll love it.”
I stared at the sketch. I loved it, but that didn’t mean TJ wouldn’t think it was ridiculous. I’d dusted the tufts of snow around the pond with shimmery white powder to make them sparkle the way real snow did in the sun. I’d used a similar gray powder to bring the dancing mist ghosts to life over the pond. In the pond itself, I’d used tiny gray crystals to mimic the reflective parts of the surface. Behind it all stood the white barn, every bit as grand as I saw it in my mind. And next to that, I’d drawn Molly and Shirley, the horses he’d loved so much.
“I made this for me, not him.”
“I don’t care if you made it for Satan himself, you’re giving it to him.”
I grabbed the back of her seat and pulled myself up, panicking as we pulled up to TJ’s house. “Charlie, turn the car around. What do you want me to do, walk up to the front door? What if his parents answer?”
She threw the car into park and picked up her cell phone from the cup holder. “A problem easily solved.” She put the phone to her ear. “TJ? Come to your front door for a second. Marisa has something she wants to give you.” With that, she turned to me and smiled.
“I hate you so much right now,” I said.
But I got out of the car, picture in hand.
42
“Hey,” TJ said when he opened the door. He checked me out from head to toe and promptly redirected his stare to his feet. “You look amazing.” In the background, his mother cleared dishes from the dining room table. She waved at me, then disappeared into the kitchen.
“Thanks.” I smoothed my slinky black dress, suddenly very glad I’d had the chance to look this good in front of him, even if my shawl did nothing to prevent the goose bumps covering my skin and I was giving myself lockjaw trying not to let my teeth chatter. “I told you I wouldn’t let anything stop me anymore. I didn’t even bring my glasses.”
TJ smiled. “I guess it’s too late to get a tux and fix my attitude, huh?”
“It’s never too late to fix your attitude.”
We grinned at each other for an awkward couple of seconds. “So what’s that?” TJ asked, indicating the paper I held against my bosom.
“This…” I looked at it one more time. Too late to back out now. “This is for you.” I held it out to him. “My latest attempt at capturing Narnia. Except I replaced the goats with horses.”
He took the paper from me, his forehead creased as he studied it. A full minute must’ve passed before he said, “You made this for me?”
“Well, you made me a bracelet, so…” I studied the concrete step.
“TJ?” His mother called. “Why don’t you invite your friend in? You’re freezing us out in here!”
“Oh. Um—” He looked at me.
“No, it’s okay. I have to get going anyway. Charlie is waiting.” I gestured at the car. Charlie was on her cell phone, not looking particularly anxious to be anywhere.
“All right,” TJ said. “Thanks for stopping by.” He held up my drawing. “This is really great. You did an amazing job.”
“I’m glad you like it.” I twisted my hands, wanting to say more but not sure what. “Guess I’ll see you at school.”
I turned and walked away, feeling TJ’s eyes on my back as I went. I knew it hadn’t gone badly, but it wasn’t quite the ending I had in mind. I could only hope he hadn’t been completely satisfied either.
• • •
The night was every bit as awkward as I imagined it would be, even with, or maybe because of, my friends bending over backward to make sure it wasn’t. I was dateless at a dance, and for all my talk about representing modern times and proclaiming myself a non-coward, I still felt like a loser without a date. Even Jordan must’ve talked his way back into Sara’s good graces, because they were hanging all over each other every time I spotted them.
By some miracle, I caught him alone when we were leaving our respective restrooms at the same time. “So,” I said. “Have you talked to Kendall lately?”
Jordan shook his head. “Nope. And I don’t plan to.”
“Me neither. It’s probably better this way. And I’m glad your mother apologized to Charlie, even if the story she told the paper wasn’t true. You’re lucky she protected you.”
Jordan sighed. “Listen, Marisa, I talked to Sara and I told her everything. I’m done with screwed-up relationships. I’m sorry I gave away your pin.” He reached into the pocket of his jacket. “I got it back for you.”
He opened his hand. My heart pin sat in his palm, as shiny and colorful as the day I finished it.
I blinked in surprise. “Jordan! N-no. No, I don’t want the pin. I wasn’t trying to hassle you.”
He took my hand and placed the pin in it, then closed his fingers over mine. “Keep it. So you remember that every once in a while, I do try to do the right thing.”
I held the pin against my chest. “I will. Thank you.”
Jordan’s shoulders relaxed. He looked over at the dance floor, where Sara twirled with one of her friends. Then he smiled at me. “I’m sorry. About everything. You know that, right?”
I nodded. “I know.”
“Take care of yourself, okay?”
“I will. You too.”
As Jordan turned and walked away, my cell phone vibrated inside my clutch. Who could be texting me now?
I dug the phone out of its impossibly tight confines and let out a little gasp when I saw the message: Outside on the patio. Can you meet me?
It was TJ.
I frantically scanned the windows, trying to spot him outside. It was too dark. So I ran—well, the stiletto-heel version of running—over to our table, snatched my shawl, and dashed out to the patio. Lingering by the door, my gaze darted around. A handful of people had braved the cold, huddled in the corner of the huge stone courtyard to sneak a cigarette or to talk on their phones away from the music. I peered around the massive, acorn-shaped fountain at the center. No TJ in sight.
“Pssst, Marisa!”
It came from my right. I headed toward it. “TJ?” I whisper-called. “Is that you?”
“Back here,” he said. “In the trees.”
“You’re in the trees?”
“Not in them, in them. I didn’t want to get in trouble for being here without a ticket.”
Finally, I spotted him. The edge of the patio gave way to a wooded area, and I could just make out his frame leaning against one of the trees. “What are you doing here?”
He stepped toward me. “I owe you an apology.”
“For what?”
“For letting you come here alone. I asked you to go to the dance with me, and I should’ve been here with you.”
I wrapped my shawl tighter around my shoulders and looked at my shoes. “I wouldn’t want you to take me if it’s not really what you wanted. I don’t need a pity date.” His hands touched my shoulders and I looked up at him.
“It is what I wanted. I wouldn’t have asked you if it wasn’t.”
Something about being this close to him, about looking into his eyes, blocked my ability to form a coherent sentence. “Okay. So…” I vaguely registered the muted notes of a slow song pulsating from inside the hall. “Do you want to dance?”
“Actually, I have a better idea.” A hint of a smile played on his lips. “How much convincing would it take for you to get out of here with me?”
• • •
It didn’t take much convincing at all. Within ten minutes, I’d babbled an explanation to Charlie, left my brother with my car keys and a warning to keep his hands where Charlie could see them, and found myself in the front seat of TJ’s car, shivering inside my wrap as he aimed the heating vents at me on full blast.
; “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see,” he said with a mischievous glint in his eye.
“I’m a little scared.”
“Don’t be. You’ll like it.”
A few minutes later, we were both cracking up laughing as he tried to guide me through his barn with my eyes closed.
“Why can’t I look? I’m going to fall on my face!”
“No you won’t. I’ll let you open your eyes as soon as we get up to the loft.”
I planted myself where I stood and stuck out my hand in protest, eyes still squeezed tight. “No way. You cannot bring me up the stairs in these shoes. Not unless you want me to break an ankle.”
TJ stepped in front of me, or at least I guessed he did from the movement of the air. “Fair enough. I’ll help you take them off. But no peeking.” He bent in front of me and took my hand. “Here, hang on to my shoulder.” His fingers touched my ankle and he slipped off one shoe, then the other. His hand lingered against my skin, moving up ever so slightly to my calf. Goosebumps that had nothing to do with the cold erupted all over me.
Then, without warning, I felt him near my face again. “Come on,” he said softly, the sweetness of his breath touching my lips. “Almost there.”
I wanted so badly to open my eyes, to let him see how much I wanted to kiss him, but I forced myself to keep them shut and let him guide me to the loft. Once we reached the top of the stairs, he stood behind me and put his hands on my shoulders.
“Ready?”
I nodded.
“Open your eyes.”
I did. And gasped. The soft glow of Christmas lights illuminated the entire space; wrapped around the railing, draped over the coffee table, framing the couch. They cast shadows on paper snowflakes that he’d hung from the ceiling and taped all over the walls. And right there, in the middle of the paper blizzard, he’d hung my drawing.
“It’s not the winter formal,” he said. “But it was the best I could do on short notice.”
“It’s beautiful,” I breathed. “I can’t believe you hung up my picture.”
“I can’t believe you drew my horses.”
“I did it from memory, so I’m sorry if it’s not very good.”
His hand traveled up my shoulder blade until his thumb grazed the back of my neck. “It’s perfect. Thank you.” He looked down at me and smiled. “So how about that dance?”
“There’s no music.”
Really? Really, Marisa?
“We don’t need any.” He lifted my wrap off my arms and tossed it onto the couch. That’s when I noticed he’d traded his usual jeans and Henley for black pants and a white dress shirt. He looked amazing.
We stood facing each other and he put his arms around my waist. I lifted mine around his neck. We only swayed for one or two imaginary beats when I felt words rushing up my throat like a geyser.
“TJ, we should probably talk about Kendall.”
He frowned. “There’s nothing to talk about. It happened. It’s over. End of story.”
“I get the feeling you didn’t want your relationship with her to be over.”
“Marisa.” He stilled and rested his hands above my hips. “Did you want it to be over with Jordan when he broke up with you?”
“Not at the time, but—”
“Exactly. It’s the same thing with me and Kendall. There are things I’d change about the situation, like having my reputation dragged through the mud, and there are other things I wouldn’t. Like breaking up with her.”
The perfection of his answer sent warm, sweet relief flooding through me. “Really?”
He nodded.
“So do you believe me when I say I’m not hung up on Jordan anymore?”
He moved his hands to the sides of my face. “I told you,” he whispered, leaning in close. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
As his lips came down on mine, every last thought flew out of my head.
I rose up on my toes and wound my arms tighter around his neck, relishing the smell and taste of him. Pressed up against him, molded into his embrace, I knew that if one worthwhile thing had come out of letting Kendall Keene back into my life, he was it. Her need to be the top dog had caused her to discard one of the best people in her life. And if I got to stand here and thread my fingers through TJ’s hair and feel the softness of his lips against mine because of it, then I was more than happy to pick up where she left off.
I didn’t even know how we wound up on the couch, limbs tangled around one another. I didn’t care. All I knew was that TJ had restored my faith that cheaters didn’t have to be the rule and exceptions really did exist. After tonight, I’d no longer be spending my time chasing down other people’s problems. I’d be too busy appreciating how perfect life could be, bathed in twinkling lights, surrounded by a swirl of paper snowflakes, and wrapped up in the right pair of arms.
Acknowledgments
This book’s journey to publication began four years ago, so if I’ve forgotten to mention anyone who played a part in bringing it to life, please know that I am truly grateful for your help!
Special thanks to my agent, John M. Cusick, for being the first person to believe in this story, and for your spot-on revision suggestions that made the rest of my edits a breeze. I remain in awe of your awesomeness.
To my editor, Annette Pollert-Morgan, thank you for swooning over this book, for loving the same things that I love about it, and for adding the perfect finishing touches. I am so grateful to you for giving Marisa’s story a home.
Hugs to the fabulous readers who suffered through the book’s earliest iterations and helped me whip it into shape: Marieke Nijkamp, without whom I would not have written the kissing scene that became the foundation for the entire book. Dahlia Adler (whom we can thank for Marisa’s love affair with the word “vom”), Maggie Hall, Jenny Kaczorowski, Erica Chapman, and Katie Mills. Your input and commiseration have been invaluable.
To my husband, thank you for our tradition of cutting down our Christmas tree at Maple Row Tree Farm, the place that inspired TJ and Marisa’s “Narnia.” The memories I invented for them started with the memories we made for ourselves.
For my mom, mother-in-law, and sister, thank you for the time you took to get me back on my feet during one of the most difficult times of my life. You helped me take the first steps toward light at the end of a long, very dark tunnel. I love you.
And finally, to Aunt Gloria. I will never be able to thank you enough for the five weeks you selflessly spent away from your home and family because you knew how badly I needed you. Thank you for everything you did for my little family, for allowing me the time I needed to finish this story, and for helping me feel like myself again. No matter how many words I write, they will never be adequate enough to express how grateful I am to you.
About the Author
Gina Ciocca graduated from the University of Connecticut with a degree in English, but in her mind, she never left high school. She relocated from Connecticut to Georgia, where she lives with her husband and son. When she’s not reading or writing, you can find her taking long walks around the lake in her neighborhood. Gina can also be found online at writersblog-gina.blogspot.com, on Instagram @gmciocca, and Twitter @gmc511.
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