Butterflies Don't Lie

by B. R. Myers

  All I wanted was to fall asleep and forget all this mess. I threw my pillow onto the floor and took out my laptop, but instead of opening Francine’s spreadsheet, I Googled the lyrics from Luke’s tattoo. He’d told me it was a song about how to handle rotten stuff in your life that you couldn’t change. The words to the chorus caught my eye. I soon realized Luke and I had completely different impressions of the music’s meaning. For me, the ballad wasn’t about dealing with change, it was a love song—a sad, hopeless love song.

  After I got the title, I downloaded it from iTunes and added it to my summer playlist. I grabbed my earbuds from the bedside table and turned up the volume. Once the song was over, a tear rolled from the corner of my eye, down my cheek, and into my ear. I hit the repeat button seven more times. Finally, sleep dragged me under.

  The float was completely still. The water was so flat, it perfectly reflected the night sky. I was convinced that if I put my hand in the water, I’d touch a star.

  I mentioned this to Luke and he smiled at me. We were sitting side by side, our feet brushing against each other’s in the water. He looked at me with those blue eyes and I felt like I was falling into a crystal-clear ocean.

  “What do you want more than anything else in the world?” he asked me.

  I leaned in closer, staring at his mouth. His kiss was soft and warm. Slowly it took hold, sending tingles all the way down to my toes. I wrapped my arms around his neck, unable to move away. I was pressed against his chest like a willing hostage.

  “Kelsey,” he whispered into the kiss. I moaned and moved against him. Suddenly he was shaking me.

  “Kelsey!” His voice rose an octave.

  “What?”

  I bolted up in bed. My Holly Hobbie bedspread came into focus…and so did Mom. She said my name again, the cordless phone pressed into her chest. “It’s someone from the restaurant for you,” she said. “It sounds important.” She held the phone out to me.

  I waited until she left my room. My stomach knotted up. Was Mr. Mulder on the other end, ready to fire me? Had Luke told him what I said about his bride?

  “Hello?” I said, unsure.

  “Dude! Mr. Deveau is freaking out. Ronnie’s sick and Chloe can’t come in until later.” Julia paused to catch her breath. “You’ve got to get down here. I can’t do the whole brunch myself.”

  “Brunch is only on Sundays.” Julia wasn’t making sense, but her tone was enough to get me out of bed. I started opening drawers looking for something to put on. Julia never got excited about anything. I kept the phone pressed to my ear. “What’s going on?” I asked.

  Her voice became hard. “Mr. Mulder is closing the restaurant for the weekend. We’re having the rehearsal party in two hours.” She waited for a few seconds. “Just get down here,” she ordered gruffly. “Like, now.”

  “Uh…okay.”

  Mom offered to take Chet to his swimming lessons, since I had to be at work speedy-quick. She only said a few words during the drive, and I suspected she was still wearing the same walking shorts and wrinkled top from last night. Chet was reading out loud in the back seat. I was thankful for his constant chatter; Mom’s silence was unsettling.

  “Owed always wands to give up,” he told us, “but Fwog makes him keep twying.”

  “That’s right, honey.” Mom’s voice was like gravel. My stomach twisted.

  When we pulled up to the Queen’s Galley, we could tell something was going on. Several delivery trucks were parked in the driveway by the kitchen. A florist’s van was taking up two spaces, and, weirdly enough, a police car was also parked there. At least there isn’t an ambulance, I thought, picturing Mr. Deveau clutching his heart with all the activity going on.

  Chet gave me a big wave goodbye. Mom smiled at me, but I could tell it was forced. Like when you whack your hip on the corner of a school desk but you’re so embarrassed you just smile through the pain.

  I dragged my feet up the walk, glad to be out of the car and away from Mom’s sullen expression but not exactly thrilled to face Mr. Mulder—junior or senior. The police car had me worried.

  Was last night’s screw-up with the garbage enough to get Luke in trouble with the police? What about his shrink and the jail?

  My head started to throb again. I had started to call it my “Luke headache.”

  The foyer was full of huge bouquets. The dining tables were being taken out and white folding chairs were lined up along one wall. A mini arbour covered in white roses was set up at the front of the room. I glanced up at Captain Bowsky’s portrait, half expecting him to roll his eyes at all the fuss.

  “Finally!” Julia pulled me around the corner. Five tables had been pushed together, creating a long row in front of the windows facing the harbour. “We’re seating twenty guests,” she said, “two at the end and nine down the sides. Get the wine glasses from the bar while I polish the silverware and then we’ll get started on the linen.”

  “Why the rush?” I asked. Her hair was still wet from the shower. She must have gotten an unexpected call too. “I mean…I get it, Mr. Mulder is the owner—”

  “Just get the glasses!” She yelled over her shoulder, heading toward the kitchen.

  This was shaping up to be a super-duper day. I went through the French doors to the bar, mumbling to myself. I stopped dead in my tracks. Mr. Mulder and a uniformed cop turned my way. I blinked back at them like a deer caught in headlights.

  And we all know what happens to the deer in that situation, right?

  TWENTY-FOUR

  “Kelsey?” Mr. Mulder’s voice had a slight impatient edge. “What do you need?”

  My heart began to race. Oh God! Luke really was in trouble. The cop gave me a concerned look. The thought of him questioning me pulled words out of my mouth.

  “Um…” I pointed at the bar. “Wine glasses. Need them, I will.” My Yoda impression had little effect on either man.

  Lucky for me, Mr. Deveau breezed into the bar and put a hand on my elbow. “There you are!” He pushed two trays into my hands and started gathering wine glasses. “Pardon us, Edward,” he apologized. There was a faint patch starting under the arms of Mr. Deveau’s baby-blue dress shirt. At his throat was a white ascot with anchors.

  It’s like he’s trying to look like Fred from Scooby-Doo.

  But right now, he was my saviour, and we hustled out of the bar before you could say, “And if it weren’t for those meddling kids…”

  Julia had already set half the table. Mr. Deveau began to meticulously shine each wine glass. I grabbed a linen napkin and follow his lead.

  “Lobsters just arrived,” he mumbled to himself. “Flowers for the centrepiece are in the fridge. Loretta is mixing the ganache for dessert…”

  I tried to catch Julia’s eye as Mr. Deveau went through his mental checklist, but she was way too interested in placing the cutlery perfectly. I’d been hoping for an eye roll from her at Mr. Deveau’s back. Her eye rolls always made me feel better.

  “…photographer.” Mr. Deveau stopped his list to breathe on one of the glasses. After he stubbornly rubbed it with his cloth, he held it up to the sunlight and nodded with satisfaction.

  Mr. Deaveau may have been a mixed-up dweeb, but he certainly was devoted to the Queen’s Galley. Inspired, I moved one of the knives a quarter of an inch so it lined up properly. He gave me a rare smile of approval.

  I forgave him a little for yelling at me. “Thanks for rescuing me,” I told him. “I didn’t know Mr. Mulder was talking with a police officer.”

  Mr. Deveau’s expression hardened. “He wasn’t talking, he was being issued a fine. There were underage patrons in the bar last night. An off-duty police officer saw them sneak in.”

  The floor swooped out from under my feet. I leaned on the table, finally getting Julia’s attention, but there was no smile or eye roll.

  “The restaurant lost
its liquor license for a week,” Mr. Deveau continued, his voice cracking like he was going to cry. “All this plus the wedding tomorrow!” He loosened his ascot and blotted his forehead with it.

  “But we’re having the brunch today,” I said weakly, hoping for a happy ending.

  “Edward is the owner, silly girl,” Mr. Deveau replied. “He can close the restaurant for his own private function.”

  Julia piped in, “As long as no one is buying alcohol, he can serve as much as he wants.” I held her stare for as long as I dared. There was an awful drop in my gut. She’d been in the bar last night. She must have seen me let Blaine and his friends in.

  I hadn’t thought about Blaine since last night—that had to be a record. Had he gotten in trouble too? I was nothing but bad news for the Mulder men. My insides were so twisted it hurt to breathe.

  “Oh, perfect!” Mr. Deveau clapped his hands. “You’re right on time!”

  A woman loaded down with a tripod and several black bags stood in the doorway looking overwhelmed. “Where should I set up?” she asked.

  Mr. Deveau and the photographer roamed around the room, talking about lighting contrast and floral backgrounds. I snuck another glance at Julia, but she had decided to ignore me.

  “Kelsey!” Mr. Deveau called out, waving me over. “We need you to stand in front of the window for a light check.”

  “Me?” No one had ever asked me to model before. “Should I smile?” I asked the photographer.

  She shook her head, then took a few shots. She paused to look at the digital image.

  “Mmm,” Mr. Deveau said, leaning over her shoulder. “Too much glare.”

  People were rushing around now, setting up chairs for the wedding, placing flowers, assembling the microphone stand for the sound system. One guy with a crewcut wandered by the doorway with his hands in his short pockets. He was wearing a white oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow. I wondered if he was the photographer’s assistant.

  “It’s off balance,” Mr. Deveau announced, earning him a huff from the photographer.

  “I’m allowing extra space for the couple shot,” the photographer explained. “Hey,” she called out to her assistant in the hallway. “Come stand here for a second. I need another model.”

  The guy turned and I was hit with a flash of tropical ocean. Luke winked back at me. He pointed to his chest and gave us a “Who, me?” expression, then sauntered into the room. Mr. Deveau busily positioned him next to me, and then hustled back to stand beside the increasingly red-faced photographer.

  She pointed the camera at us. “Just a little closer,” she instructed.

  Luke’s arm slipped around my waist. I gulped. Of all the times to be without a peppermint!

  “So…your hair,” I said through a smile, staring straight ahead. All of the blue was gone. It was short, really short…and really hot.

  “Less maintenance,” he said. There was a lyrical tone to his voice, like we were sharing a secret. It gave me butterflies.

  Butterflies!

  I could feel the heat from his hand through my cotton T-shirt. “Sort of a wedding present for my dad, I guess,” he said.

  “I just saw your dad with a cop,” I dared to ask. “Is everything okay?”

  “Now look at each other,” the photographer ordered.

  I stared at Luke’s chin. The corner of his mouth curled up. “Look at each other, please,” the photographer repeated. I raised my gaze and fell into his eyes.

  “Hey,” he whispered.

  “Hey, Luke,” I whispered back.

  His crooked smile burst into a full-on grin. “That’s the first time you’ve called me by my name,” he said.

  And I realized I hadn’t thought of him as “How-hole” since last night. The butterflies were playing ping-pong now.

  Everything must be okay, I thought. He isn’t in trouble with the police and he doesn’t hate me.

  I smiled back and the photographer snapped like crazy.

  Clink. Clink. Clink.

  Chloe was standing at the set table, tapping a fork against one of the wine glasses. She gave me a wink.

  “Sorry I’m late, but I had to help deliver the wedding cake,” she announced. Mr. Deveau clapped his hands and disappeared through the doorway. A burst of applause from the foyer seconds later proved that Jesse’s mom had more than exceeded Mr. Deveau’s expectations.

  Chloe lightly clinked the glass again.

  “Good idea,” the photographer said, switching lenses. “I need a kissing shot.”

  I froze in Luke’s arms. Chloe shrugged cutely, then resumed helping set the table. My heart was in my throat. I couldn’t breathe.

  “What do you want more than anything in the world…right now?”

  The photographer aimed her camera at us again.

  I couldn’t feel my knees, and I’m pretty sure my teeth looked stupid. “Maybe in front of the fireplace would be bet—” My last word got caught inside Luke’s mouth.

  Before I could even register the pressure of his lips on mine, or even start to kiss him back, he was leaning away, already done.

  “Great,” the photographer said. “That’s all I need.”

  I was still in Luke’s arms. Speak for yourself, I thought.

  “I was holding back,” he said, slightly amused.

  “Clearly.”

  Talk about always leave them wanting more. The faint taste of his mint toothpaste was still on my lips.

  What a tease!

  I stepped out of the embrace. I hadn’t realized I’d been up on my tiptoes. My skin suddenly felt cool where he’d been touching me. I knew I was blushing like an idiot.

  I turned away, afraid I was going to spontaneously combust. Luke matched my stride through the hallway. We were forced to stop in the foyer; a table was being rolled by with the beautiful wedding cake on it. Mr. Deveau leaped around us like a gazelle on Skittles and Red Bull.

  Luke ran a hand over his new hair. I wondered what it felt like. Julia hustled by us on her way to the holding bar. She shot me a look out of the corner of her eye. A brand new, horrible idea came over me. What if Julia had told Luke about me letting Blaine in?

  He must be waiting for me to confess.

  The knot in my stomach grew. I knew I had to tell him, I knew it was the right thing to do.

  I focused on the little polo player on his shirt, trying to build up my courage. “I have to change into my uniform,” I said, totally chickening out.

  “Not yet, Kels.” He reached into his back pocket and handed me an envelope. “I believe this belongs to you.”

  I opened the clean envelope. My stinky paycheque smiled back at me.

  “I found it after you left.” He dropped his head and looked at the floor.

  I felt the rush of a blush as I remembered the scene from last night with his dad. I lovingly tucked the envelope into my Kipling bag. “Thanks,” I said.

  He lifted his eyes and smiled back. There was a silent moment and I began to wonder what was going to come out of his mouth next. Clearly he wasn’t in a hurry to leave me. He reached up and touched one of the flowers from the huge bouquet, already drooping in the heat. “I wish I was working,” he said. “But it’s a family rehearsal brunch so I kind of have to attend.”

  “Right,” I said slowly, deciding to pretend I’d known who he was all along.

  Play dumb. I love a safe option. Nothing bad can happen if I just stay quiet.

  He tapped the baseboard with his Docksides. I guess smelly Converse wasn’t the proper footwear for today. “So,” he began, “um…about last night—”

  Oh God! That was it. He knew. I had to confess.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, quickly. “Look, it was totally stupid, but I had a good reason—not that it seems good now. But I never would have let those guys in if I
knew what could happen. Please don’t hate me for messing up your dad’s wedding plans.”

  “Messing up what?”

  A big gong sounded inside my head. He truly had no idea what I was talking about.

  He leaned in with a half smile on his face. “I was talking about asking you out.”

  “What?” I felt my back press up against the wall. My knees had turned to water. “Asking me out?” The mix of relief and surprise on my face made him smile even wider.

  “I don’t hate you.” He took a step closer. “I mean, it’s hard to be angry with the girl who scribbles your name all over her magazine.”

  “Magazine?” I’d become Chet, the human repeater.

  The toes of his Docksides lined up with my holey Toms. He smelled nice today, salty and fresh, just like the ocean. “That’s right, Mrs. Mulder,” he whispered. “Although if you want to keep your name, that’s cool with me.”

  The magazine.

  That weird little valve over my throat opened and closed a few times. My brain couldn’t decide if I should breathe or throw up. I had no idea what my body would do next.

  The colour was high in his cheeks. “Don’t be embarrassed. You’re kind of goofy and adorable. I like that.”

  “Thanks.” I loved that he found my goofiness attractive. I loved that even though he’d seen me at my worst, he still wanted to date me. I loved how he never looked away when we talked. What I wanted more than anything in the world at that moment was to go up on tiptoe and kiss him again and again, until I got breathless and dizzy. I wanted Luke. And amazingly enough, he wanted me.

  The easy thing would have been to pretend that I had been thinking of Luke when I’d scribbled all over that magazine. We could fall into each other’s arms and maybe find a dark corner of the restaurant to pick up where we’d left our kiss. The memory of his lips against mine had made me light-headed.

  “Luke,” I began, then I paused. Something was missing, or rather something had changed. I knew what it was immediately. The butterflies were barely fluttering. Another sensation had overwhelmed my senses. A stone had lodged itself inside my heart, creating an ache that was heavier than any longing I’d ever had for Blaine.