Butterflies Don't Lie

by B. R. Myers

  Driving to Luke’s house without going off the road was the most difficult thing I’ve ever done. I can drive a stick, and yeah, when he put the top down, it was impressive. And driving a Mercedes E-Class Cabriolet was a nice change from Mom’s hatchback, but all I wanted to do was pull over and attack him.

  I kept sneaking sideways glances. Luke had undone his tie and the first few buttons of his shirt. His arm was over the back of the seat, his fingers inches away from my shoulder. I remembered the first time I’d seen him in the kitchen.

  I had chosen C.

  My hands clenched and unclenched the wheel as I thought about our first kiss.

  We were the only car in the driveway. “Dad and Monica are heading straight to the airport,” he told me. This was the first time I’d heard him mention his new stepmom’s name. Maybe we were both getting better at this “no one is to blame” philosophy.

  I tried to read his face. Was he just doing this because he felt sorry for this loser who didn’t know how to swim? Was he doing Mom a favour? Or was he genuinely just a guy who did nice things for people?

  I walked through the house, my blush growing hotter.

  Oh, here’s where I threw up.

  Oh, and here’s where I insulted you and your dad.

  Oh, and here’s the library where I cursed the picture of you and your dad.

  Luke didn’t mention any of that, though. He showed me a bathroom where I could change, then he disappeared down the hallway.

  I slipped on my black two-piece, then wrapped my towel around my shoulders. Luke was already by the pool. He sat on the side by the steps.

  Sweet and sour bacon turds!

  He had a life jacket out. Clearly this was a lesson, and not a chance to see me in my super-cool Snoopy beach towel.

  I sat down beside him, my eyes skimming his scar.

  “No one is to blame.”

  He stared across the pool. We lightly kicked our feet back and forth. The sun was hot on the top of my head.

  There were no distractions. We were alone. Now was my chance.

  I’d chickened out last night, but I’d learned that keeping secrets only makes things worse. Luke probably already knew, but since I owed his dad a personal apology when he returned from his honeymoon, I thought I should start by first confessing to Mr. Mulder, junior.

  I took a few quick breaths, then held the last one. “I’m the one who let Blaine and his friends into the bar,” I said quickly.

  “I know.”

  “Oh. I wondered if your dad might have said something—”

  “Blaine told me after the sailing trip last night.” Luke stared across the pool’s surface and over the tips of the spruce trees. The water on the harbour far below us glistened in the sun.

  I dropped my chin. The scar on my knee was a faint white line. “I didn’t think such a mess would happen,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

  “You already apologized, remember? In the hallway before the rehearsal brunch.”

  And after our first and probably last kiss, I thought.

  “Although I was clueless about what you were saying,” he added. He didn’t need to remind me that he’d been about to ask me on a date.

  The butterflies started to swirl at the unexpected memory.

  “Oh,” I replied. This was followed with several beats of torturous silence, then I brilliantly added, “Right.”

  We stayed quiet. Luke scooped up a handful of water and let it trickle out. The only noise was the gentle motion of the water.

  “I heard your speech,” I finally said.

  He tilted his face, squinting at me. “Yeah?”

  “It was good.” I splashed my feet a few times. “Really good.”

  “Thanks. I was nervous. I think I read once that people fear public speaking more than shark attacks.”

  “I don’t know of anyone who ended up on Real Life in the ER because of public speaking, though.” I laughed a little too long at my own joke. This was followed by more silence. So far, I was totally acing the swimming lesson.

  He hopped into the water. It came up to his waist, and I had to pull my eyes away from his torso. He took a step closer, putting his hands on either side of my thighs. He looked up at me. “I have something to confess,” he said.

  “Really?” My pulse picked up. The butterflies began to circle my stomach. They liked the slight tease to his voice.

  “I don’t have any badges to hand out,” he told me. “Do you still want swimming lessons?”

  Yes, there was definitely a flirtatious edge to his question.

  The butterflies started doing the cha-cha, but my head made me hesitate. Common sense would argue he was just making it clear that there would be no reward system with these lessons.

  This was Luke, not some made-up crush I’d concocted during math class. He was a real guy with real feelings. And the last thing I wanted was to mess up any chance we might have to be more than swimming buddies and co-workers.

  I decided to ask him one of his favourite questions. “I’m not sure,” I finally answered. “What do you want?” My mouth was dry.

  He gave me a safe answer: “I don’t want to have to jump into the ocean after you every time you fall off my boat.”

  I squirmed under his gaze. “That’s not what I meant.”

  Something in the air between us felt electric. He slipped the towel off my shoulders, then put his hands on my waist, gently pulling me forward.

  “Wait.” I resisted.

  “Nope.” He picked me up, lifting me into the pool. The water crept up past my waist. I kept my elbows out of the pool. “Relax,” he said, now taking hold of my hands.

  “Far enough!” I screeched, trying to dig my heels into the slippery pool bottom. My bathing suit top was still dry. I took some deep breaths, trying to keep calm. “Water,” I sighed. “It’s, like…everywhere.”

  “You weren’t this bad on the boat.”

  “No, I behaved very badly on the boat,” I said, thinking of Blaine.

  He let go of me, then ran a hand over his face. A droplet of water clung to one of his eyelashes. He had one freckle to the side of his Adam’s apple, and when he smiled, he had one dimple. It suddenly occurred to me I had no idea what Luke’s shoulders looked like—he’d never turned his back on me.

  My breathing had calmed. I was in the water and I wasn’t dead. Maybe as long as I was with Luke, everything would be okay.

  “How do you feel?” he asked.

  I could have given him the long answer, about his eyes, and how he always sees me, and how his speech made me cry. Instead, I gave him the short version.

  How do I feel when I’m with Luke?

  “Perfectly safe,” I smiled.

  “And we both know you like the safe option,” he replied. His hands lightly squeezed my waist. He stepped closer, closing the space between us. Our bodies were touching all the way to our feet. I wondered if he could feel my heart thumping madly against his chest. He stared back, content to let me make the next move.

  I reached up and linked my fingers behind his neck. “When you were giving your speech,” I started, “did you see me spying on you through the kitchen door?”

  Luke stayed quiet. A smile played on his lips, then he leaned down and kissed me. And when I closed my eyes and kissed him back, I felt the rush of a thousand butterflies taking off at once, filling the sky above us.

  EPILOGUE

  That night before bed I opened up my laptop and grinned the biggest, goofiest smile at Francine’s spreadsheet. I’m amazed at her genius. I hadn’t noticed before, but Blaine’s name wasn’t in the last box; it only read, “Have a simply amazing, neurotransmitter-firing, stomach-full-of-butterflies kiss.”

  I closed my eyes, replaying that afternoon with Luke in the pool. When he kissed me, I melted into his arms. There’
s something about kissing a boy when you’re both in your bathing suits, pressed up against each other. The skin-to-skin feeling sends a cascade of tingles all the way down.

  But Luke was determined to fulfill his obligation as my instructor, and by the time we had to go for supper at my house that night, I could tread water. Luke was a great teacher, and we both discovered that I was more motivated to learn when rewarded with kisses rather than stickers.

  It’s been three weeks since that first lesson, and my life has improved in so many ways. Working in the kitchen turned out to be the best thing ever. Since Loretta is still off with a sprained foot, Luke has taken over her post with salads and desserts. He actually has a knack for that kind of thing, and Clyde is more than happy to taste-test any of Luke’s new dressing recipes.

  I’m the dishwasher, and I get to give Luke googly eyes all day. I never tire of seeing him. He spends a lot of time at my house, making marinade for Dad’s BBQ, and of course hanging out with Chet. I’m not jealous, though; I still get to have my private lessons in his pool. Although, since I’m such a quick learner, we do more making out than actual swimming.

  When Luke’s mom returned from her spa retreat, he went to the city to spend the weekend with her. I’m joining him next time.

  Francine called me after Tanner visited her. She cried when I told her everything that had happened. She said it was all her fault and that I never should have taken her stupid spreadsheet seriously.

  I reassured her that stuff happens, and that no one was to blame. She also confided that Tanner had told her about the party and flirting with Brooke. She was pretty cool about it and asked him point blank if he wanted to still be her boyfriend.

  Francine’s voice lost its matter-of-fact tone when she spilled that he’d told her the L-word. Yup, Tanner was all lovey-dovey for my Fran-man. And she told me they made out like crazy.

  Then we talked for another hour about how awesome our boyfriends were at kissing, and how the fireworks in your heart and stomach go on and on until you think you’re going to explode.

  My favourite part about working at the Queen’s Galley is the end of my shift. I wear my bathing suit under my shorts all the time now. Luke and I lock up, and then run down the green slope to the wharf.

  I jump off the edge, and when I surface he’s always there with his arms open wide, ready to take me around the waist. Luke makes this deep moan when my finger traces his scar. It’s very sexy. Then we kiss until we both get dizzy from all the heavy breathing.

  We found out that when you make out in the water, one of you needs to be touching bottom or at least holding on to something. Like Ronnie told me, some things are more fun when you discover them on your own.

  Then we float on our backs, looking up at the stars. Luke points out the constellations sailors would use to find their way home; something tangible that would point them in the right direction.

  Nothing is ever planned the way you expect it to turn out—Chet’s extra chromosome, Dad losing his job, Tanner’s parent’s divorce, and yeah, me and Luke finding each other. I guess Jesse’s grandma was right: when I stopped chasing the thing I thought I wanted, the thing I really needed caught up with me.

  When you’re too busy enjoying the present to wonder if you’re following the right plan for the future.

  I’m not sure what will happen when the summer ends and Luke goes back to the city. For now, though, I’m content and safe watching the stars twinkle down on us, satisfied that I’m exactly where I should be.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Butterflies Don’t Lie is loosely inspired by my summer job experiences at The Captain’s House in my hometown of Chester, Nova Scotia. It was originally written as a featured novella for Wattpad. I have to first thank Pamela Odina and her wonderful staff for giving me the opportunity to share Kelsey’s story on such a far-reaching platform.

  Writing is a solitary venture and I’ve been lucky enough to find kindred spirits along the way. Many thanks to fellow writers and critique partners Jen Swann Downey and Ann Marie Walker. Navigating the publishing corn maze has been much more enjoyable with you both.

  I’m grateful for my dearest friends and beta readers extraordinaire, Barbara MacDougall, Tricia Dauphinee Bishop, and Shannon Macgillivray. Thank you for reading my books from the very beginning, helping with edits, and for talking about the characters like they were real people. You’re better than a gingerbread latte with extra whipped.

  This book wouldn’t exist without Penelope Jackson, superstar editor and angel in disguise. Your keen eye and passion for this story created some of its best moments, and were essential in helping it evolve into a novel.

  A gigantic slice of gratitude goes to Patrick Murphy and his team at Nimbus Publishing, especially Whitney Moran, who took this project under her wing and gave it the last bit of spit and polish, turning it into the shiny version it has become. I’m more than thrilled to have Butterflies Don’t Lie in your care.

  Thank you to my parents, Eric and Ethel Bishop, for creating a loving home where a good sense of humour was held in high regard. A nod also goes to my siblings, Brad Bishop and Cynthia Flack. Growing up with you two was never dull. Thanks for giving me so much material for future books.

  And finally, I’m most thankful to my husband, Ken Myers, and our children, Ruth and Adam. Nothing I ever put on paper will compare to real life with you. Thank you.