Lowering my eyes, I run my fingers over the emblem on his shirt, some symbol that I’m sure means something geeky, but I have no idea what. My heart quickens its pace, every inch of me conflicted but eager. I almost jump when his fingers move to my waist, and then I suck in a quiet breath when they settle at my sides, firm pressure against the thin layer of my swimsuit.
“You two are just so sweet,” a little old lady says next to us.
Startled, I jerk away and stare at the woman, shocked.
The man she’s with, I’m assuming her husband considering they’re wearing matching polo shirts, looks embarrassed and shoots Linus an apologetic look.
“Do you have a camera?” the woman continues. “We’ll snap a picture for you. There are too many photo albums missing together pictures, don’t you think? I know that in the first three years we were married, we hardly had any of the two of us—besides our wedding pictures, of course, but that’s entirely different.”
I blink at her, shocked. One, because she said that all in one breath and two, because I’m sort of surprised they’ve had cameras around that long.
She holds out her hand, expectant.
“Oh, um,” I say, digging my phone out of my pocket. “Yes, that’d be great. Thanks.”
After I go to the camera app, I hand it to her. For just one moment, I wonder if she’s actually a well-disguised phone thief. But she only smiles, steps back three times and then forward once, and says, “Smile, lovebirds.”
At that, my eyes go wide, and my mouth drops open.
“Oh, that was terrible,” the woman announces.
Nearby, other tourists gawk at us, most laughing.
We try again, and this time we must get it right because the woman hands me back my phone. As she does, she pats my hand. “You keep him around, young lady. That boy is a right nice one.” She leans in close, conspiratorially. “And I’m good at telling these things.”
Bemused and embarrassed, I smile because I have no idea what to say. The woman’s husband finally ushers her away, off to torment some other couple, no doubt. I look at Linus, stunned.
He leans close so only I will hear him. “See? I’m a ‘right nice one.’”
Rolling my eyes, I grab his arm and pull him toward the car.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I have no idea what I want, but I do know I was going to let Linus kiss me. Let him—please. I was about to yank him closer. But there’s no bringing that moment back now.
Though he joked and talked when we first got in the car, he’s gone quiet on the way home, lost in his own thoughts. He barely even notices when we pass a herd of bison that’s standing in the road.
It’s starting to make me nervous, like maybe he’s regretting our moment…like maybe he’s glad we were interrupted.
A sane, smart eighteen-year-old woman would pull the car over and ask him. Unfortunately, right now I feel like a flighty, oversensitive girl, and I’m afraid I’ll be crushed if he’s rethinking it. Rethinking us.
Because we drove so far into the park, it’s dark by the time we get back to town. Somehow the radio ended up on a country station, and all they keep playing are these sappy, romantic songs that are making the air in the car a little too thick.
I pull in front of the video game store, next to his truck, and roll down my window to let the cool night air in. The park lights are on across the street. It’s a nice night, and people are out. Two women power walk, and another couple jogs. There’s a family pushing a stroller, and a guy plays Frisbee with his Australian Shepherd.
Linus picks up the duffel bag that holds his unused swimming trunks and towel and opens the door. Before he steps out, he looks back at me. “I had fun.”
My throat tightens, and every fiber of my being wants me to ask him what’s going on between us. Like a wimp, I force myself to smile. “Me too.”
“Sorry about swimming.”
“Don’t worry about it. It was a great afternoon.”
He stares at me for a minute, and I can tell he’s thinking hard about something. I hold my breath, waiting. Then, to himself, he shakes his head and steps out of the car. “Night, Riley.”
“Night,” I whisper back, my voice puny and pathetic.
He opens the door to his truck and tosses his duffel bag over the top of the console, into the passenger seat.
What is wrong with me? Am I a shrinking violet? No. No, I am not.
I open my door with force, and then I swing it shut. Linus glances over, surprised. Without a word, I stride around the front of my car and stop in front of him. My insides quake, but I refuse to wuss out now.
Determined, and possibly looking a little crazy judging from his startled expression, I clasp the sides of his waist, stand on my tiptoes, and lean in, stopping only when our faces are a bare two inches apart.
“Linus,” I say, my voice high with nerves. “I’m going to kiss you. If you have any objections, you have exactly three seconds to make yourself—”
He pulls me forward, flush against his chest, and wraps his fingers in the hair that’s fallen from my updo. I stare at him, wide-eyed, waiting for him to close the distance between us.
“Three,” he breathes, and then his lips are on mine.
The fresh scent that’s unique to Linus envelops me, making me crazy. His lips are soft but not overly full, firm but tentative. I run my hands up his chest, memorizing the feel of him, of the way his hands feel on my waist and in my hair.
Kissing Linus is nothing like kissing the boys I’ve dated. He’s not sloppy or overeager. Not once do his hands attempt to stray anywhere that makes me uncomfortable, but everywhere they touch leaves me warm.
Suddenly, just when I’m feeling all weak-kneed and fuzzy, he pulls back. “Do you still have feelings for Zeke?”
“What?”
“I want this,” he says, pulling me closer. “But not if you’re still hung up on him. I need to know that he’s not here, getting in the way.”
Zeke is the last thing on my mind. In fact, I haven’t thought about him for the entire afternoon. But, for the briefest moment, I feel a flicker of confusion, and unfortunately, it must show on my face.
“Okay,” he says, looking down and stepping away.
“No, Linus…” I reach for him again.
He takes my face in his hands, gentle. His eyes are on mine. “It’s okay, Riley. Really.”
It’s not okay. What’s he doing?
“No, I—”
“Take some time, all right? I want a real answer. I don’t want you to say it because this feels good right now. I want you to mean it.”
I shake my head and wrap my arms around myself. “I do mean it. I’m sure.”
He brushes his thumb over my cheek and lets his eyes fall again. “Maybe I’m not.”
Like I’ve been stabbed with a knife made of ice, I go cold. Frozen, I stand completely still as he steps away, murmuring a goodbye, and gets into his truck.
“Go on, Riley,” he says from the driver’s seat.
Feeling broken, I look away and walk numbly to my car. Linus doesn’t pull out of the parking lot until I’m inside.
His headlights flash in my rear-view mirror as he leaves, and I look away, my eyes stinging. Once he’s gone, I rub my temples.
“What just happened?” I mumble to myself.
In the dim parking lot, I dial my phone.
“I kissed Linus,” I say when Lauren answers.
Obviously, she can tell from the way my voice breaks that it didn’t end well. Softly, she asks, “What happened?”
I stumble through the whole story, and nearly start crying when I see he left a park brochure on the dashboard.
“What did he mean, ‘maybe he’s not?’” she asks. “Did he mean he’s not sure if he wanted to be with you? Or that he wasn’t sure if you were still hung up on Zeke?”
“I don’t know.” I roll the brochure in my hand. “What’s wrong with me, Lauren? Why does no one want me?”
It�
�s a pity party, I know. But, right now, it feels like the truth. And it hurts.
“He wouldn’t have kissed you if he doesn’t like you,” Lauren points out, practical.
“Maybe I’m a bad kisser!” I sit up, panicking. “What if I’m awful, and he just couldn’t bear the thought of going through with it again?”
“I highly doubt you’re a bad kisser.” I can practically see her rolling her eyes. “Get some sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
“Maybe I’ll come home for a little bit,” I say quietly.
She pauses for a moment. “You know what? I think that’s a good idea. We’ll have some girl time.”
I nod. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
After I hang up, I stare at the brochure for a few more minutes, flipping to the page with pictures of the Grand Prismatic Hot Spring. Then I shove it into the glove box and pull onto the street.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I sit on my parents’ back porch, clutching a mug of herbal tea. It’s red, tastes like berries and flowers, and I’ve never liked it. But it’s a blend my mother has had in the pantry for as long as I can remember, and the scent is comforting.
From the swing, wrapped in a blanket, I watch the sun rise. I drove back home a few days ago, telling Aunt Marissa that I needed a few days at home. She didn’t ask me why, but I think she knew. Of course, she probably thought it was Zeke who broke my heart.
My phone sits on the wooden armrest next to me, silent. I’ve waited two whole days for Linus to call or text, but my phone has stayed silent. Last night, by nine o’clock, I knew he wasn’t going to, but I still stared at the screen until midnight nonetheless. Not nonstop, of course. I’m not that pathetic.
I blow on the tea, take a tentative sip, and then grimace. It always smells so much better than it tastes.
A bird lands on the porch railing not far from me, and it hops several times on its little gray legs. It cocks its head to the side, peering at me with its beady black eyes—judging me.
“What?” I demand.
It chirps once, probably wondering why the strange human is talking to it, and then flies off, possibly looking for a house with a feeder that’s not empty. The twins haven’t been keeping up with their chores.
Maisy, our aged Basset hound, snuffles up the steps, looks at me with her droopy, perpetually sad expression, and then makes the precarious leap to the seat beside me. Though the swing isn’t tall, only a few feet off the ground, every time she jumps with her stocky, short legs, it’s like she alone has learned how to defy gravity.
She turns a few times, making the swing wobble, and then plops down with her head in my lap.
Inside the house, through the open windows, I can hear Harper, who’s in charge of cooking this morning, arguing with Benjamin about what we’re going to have for breakfast. Harper says cold cereal, but Ben demands French toast. Moments later, Nathaniel and Dad join them in the kitchen, and they outvote Harper three to one.
Looks like Harper’s stuck cooking a real breakfast.
I wait for her to yell for me to help like she normally would, but so far, they’ve been leaving me pretty much to myself. Mom hasn’t asked me to weed the vegetable garden with her. Dad hasn’t asked me to run any errands.
In fact, they all look at me like I’m the lone surviving victim of some horrible accident. No doubt about it, Lauren warned them before I got here.
My friend offered to spend the night again last night, but Harrison had a social event for work, and I didn’t want her to miss it, so I told her I was fine. Because she knows me so well, I’m sure she didn’t believe me.
Maisy huffs out a breath, making her jowls jiggle and causing her to emit a sleeping noise that has, until this point, only been heard in cartoons. I shift away, knowing the dog will drool on me if I don’t.
I stand on the porch for another moment, looking out over the backyard, debating going for a walk, but then I decide I’d rather go inside instead of moping by myself.
The funny thing is that I’m not heartbroken, exactly. I’m just sad, sad that maybe I’ve lost Linus as a friend because I let this go too far. I’m not sure I can go back if he won’t be there to spend time with—not that I have a choice. I promised Linda I’d set up my booth every Saturday in the summer, and I don’t want to let her down, especially when it would reflect badly on Marissa if her niece flaked out. As it is, Linda wasn’t happy when I told her I wouldn’t be there today.
The coffee maker is sputtering when I walk into the kitchen, and the sound is like music to my ears. I dump the rest of my tea down the drain and lean against the counter, watching the commotion.
The twins sit at the counter in pajamas, their dark brown hair rumpled from sleep. Ben builds a Lego ship, and Nate, who has no toy at the moment, keeps swiping at it. Just when Ben looks like he’s ready to lunge on his brother, Dad moves their stools, pulling the two apart.
“Check the fridge for cream cheese, would you?” Harper says to me as she beats at least a dozen eggs in a bowl.
“How many people are you planning to feed?” I ask her as I open the refrigerator door.
My sister’s hair is twisted up in a messy knot. She didn’t quite get her makeup washed off last night, so she has smudges of eyeshadow and mascara under her eyes.
Harper shifts the whisk to her other hand and motions to our brothers. “Have you seen the way these boys eat now?”
Mom wanders into the kitchen and yawns. “Why is everyone up so early?”
It’s not often my family is awake to witness a sunrise on a free weekend. We’re usually so exhausted from a busy week that if we end up with a Saturday at home, we all sleep until at least eight-thirty or nine.
“Riley needs cheering up,” Nate says, finally giving up on stealing Ben’s toy. “So, we told Harper to make her a special breakfast.”
Harper raises an eyebrow at me. “They’re very giving.”
I attempt to crack a smile as I pull out a loaf of bread and pile thick slices on a plate. As I assure them that I don’t need cheering up, I slice a slit in each piece and fill the inside with cream cheese.
Mom sits at the table in the breakfast nook, watching Harper and me prep everything, looking slightly mystified. I’m decent in the kitchen, but nothing like Harper. We’ve all wondered where she learned to cook. My sister has always had a natural talent for throwing things together.
I’m just handing the plate of bread to Harper when my phone chimes with a text message. Except for my oblivious younger brothers, we all freeze, and then my parents and Harper quickly go back to their tasks. I stare at my phone, which I left on the counter when I came in.
It’s probably Lauren.
Gingerly, I nudge the phone to the edge of the counter and peer at it. It’s an unknown number, one I don’t even vaguely recognize.
What are you doing tonight?
I type back, Who is this?
Several moments later, the phone chimes again. Zeke. I got your number from Linus.
I stare at the text for several minutes, trying to digest that information. Does that mean he asked Linus for my number? Or did Linus volunteer it?
I thought you were in Nevada, I type.
Decided to come home early.
“You’re scowling,” Harper says quietly from my side. “What’s wrong?”
Mom and Dad pretend they aren’t listening. Both transfer their attention to Nate, who is once again trying to steal Ben’s toy.
“It’s Zeke,” I say to Harper.
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Who’s Zeke?”
I wait several beats before I answer, “He’s a friend.”
But, no. No, he isn’t. Lauren is a friend. Brandon is a friend…Linus is a friend.
Zeke is just someone I know. “I met him the first time I went to the Artisan Festival.”
“What about Linus?” Harper asks.
“What about him?” I answer with a little more force than necessary. “He hasn’t called in days.”
She takes a piece of bread and dips it in the egg mixture. Carefully, she then sets it in the hot, buttered skillet and steps back as it sizzles and pops. “You haven’t called him either.”
“Oh, like you’re one to give relationship advice.”
“Nate, you have plenty of toys.” Mom’s voice rises as she grows exasperated. “Stop taking your brother’s.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harper demands, ignoring Nate’s rapidly growing tantrum. Still holding the spatula, she puts her hands on her hips and tilts her chin up.
“I mean Brandon has been in love with you for years, and you just keep stringing him along, pretending like it’s nothing.”
Her expression only changes a minuscule amount—a slight parting of her lips, a subtle widening of her eyes, but her posture doesn’t shift.
Mom and Dad end up taking a crying, angry Nate into the other room for a talk, and as they leave, Dad flashes me and Harper a look, reminding us that, unlike the boys, we’re not seven anymore.
Now it’s just me, Harper, and Ben, but he’s not paying us any attention. He marches his creation across the counter, making laser-shooting noises as he pretends to blow up the napkin holder.
Harper, choosing to ignore me, turns back to breakfast and then says a nonsense curse under her breath when she realizes she burned the first side. Scowling at me from the corner of her eyes, she scoops the bread up with her spatula and drops it in the trash—like it’s my fault she wasn’t paying attention to what she was doing.
“Are you going to answer him?” Harper demands, motioning to my phone.
I stare at the screen. If Linus likes me, why would he give Zeke my number? Does that mean he doesn’t—that when he said he wasn’t sure, he really did mean he wasn’t sure about us?
Call Linus, the rational part of my brain says. Stop guessing and just talk to him.
Harrison didn’t want you, and Linus doesn’t want you either, the less reasonable, slightly high-strung part feels the need to add.
Shine and Shimmer (Glitter and Sparkle #2) Page 11