by Inda Herwood
“Great. Sailing is amazing,” I tell her honestly, starting to put some of my things away so I’m not doing it at the dock. “How was breakfast with Dad?”
“It was nice. We went to that restaurant the Lyons’ recommended us. We should all go there together sometime. I’d like to get to know your future in-laws better.” She giggles saying this, knowing it’s going to annoy me. Mission accomplished.
“You’re hilarious. One date and you’ve already got me married off and out of your house.”
“I like to think positively,” she says in response.
While I’m putting my book away, I tell her, “Speaking of ridiculous things, can you let Nana know that when I get home, we’re having a serious talk about boundaries? Because apparently she has none.” After Mom asks what she did this time, I tell her about the horrible driveway incident, to which she laughs for a good minute before saying anything.
“She’s just being protective, but you’re right. I’ll have a talk with her myself about backing off.”
“Thank you,” I say with a relieved sigh, knowing Nana probably wouldn’t have listened to me anyway.
“So, are you two coming home soon? I’m making supper right now. Let Beckham know he’s invited to join, too, if he wants.”
Looking back over my shoulder, seeing him behind the wheel, taking us home, I say, “I think he’s had enough of the Cromwell experience for today. Maybe next time.”
She laughs. “Perhaps you’re right. Don’t want to overwhelm him. I guess I’ll see you soon, then.”
“I should be home in about an hour. Keep a plate warm for me.”
“I always do.”
***
Beckham takes me home after he lands the boat in the slip at the dock, giving me a quick kiss on the porch that I’m positive my Nana sees through the window, because after that, dinner is one big interrogation about what we did on the boat and who all was there. Needless to say, Nana and Dad weren’t thrilled that it ended up being just the two of us after all. Only Mom seemed to be genuinely happy for me.
After dinner, when the sun starts to dip in the sky, I head across the driveway with a mission in mind, hearing my flip-flops slap against the slate porch of the Lyons’ home. Knocking on the door, I wait a minute, hearing a voice on the other side say, “I’m coming, just a second! Ah, shoot, Hawn, why are you always in the wrong place at the wrong time?” before the door swings open, Catcher standing tall, smiling, and breathless on the other side. “Hey, what’s up, Witchy Woman? Didn’t get enough of my brother yet today?” He waggles his brows at me and I chuckle.
“Actually, I’m here to talk to your cousin,” I tell him.
“Really? Does it have anything to do with why she’s been mood swinging her way around the house tonight? Because if so, then why didn’t you get your butt over here sooner?” Taking me by the hand, he brings me into the house and shuts the door behind us. Walking down the hall and into the living area, the first thing I see is Goldie Hawn sitting by the stairs, wagging his tail and looking up at Theo who is currently reading a comic book.
“Hey you two,” I greet them, giving Hawn a scratch behind the ears, making him thump his tail happily. “What are you reading there, Theo?”
He holds up some kind of superhero on the cover, grinning from ear to ear.
“He loves the drawings,” Catcher tells me, crossing his arms over his wide chest and smiling down at his brother.
“Mind if I take a look?” I ask, and he quickly nods his head before handing it over.
It doesn’t take me long to see why a little boy like him would like it. The whole comic is filled with bright colors and popping graphics, making each page seem like an adventure in itself. It reminds me that, “We need to set up another art lesson, don’t we? We can even try to draw something like this for practice.” I point to the powerful cover of a superhero taking on a darkly dressed figure, his bright red outfit the first thing that stands out to the reader.
He smiles again and nods his head while I give him back his book.
“He has therapy tomorrow morning, but then he’ll be free in the afternoon. Would that work?” Catcher asks me, to which I agree. “Alright then. Art lesson tomorrow with Blaire, don’t forget, okay?” Catcher rubs his head, messing up his curls and making them all staticky. Theo gives him an annoyed look while he tries to smooth it back down, but to no avail.
“Okay, back to our original task. See ya later, bud,” Catcher says, leading us past Theo and Hawn up the stairs, taking us around the corner to Leigha’s door. Right as I go to knock on it, a loud crash sounds, causing both Catcher and I to jump. “Yeah, good luck with that one,” he says, giving me a sympathetic look before he slips back down the hall.
“Gee, thanks a lot,” I call to him.
He waves his hand without looking back. “Yep.”
Men.
Taking a deep breath as I turn back to face the door, I give it two gentle knocks.
“I said I’m not hungry, Catch!” Leigha yells back over another loud crash.
What the heck is she doing in there?
“It’s Blaire,” I tell her, and a moment later the door swings open, revealing Leigha dressed in baby pink silk pajamas, her hair a mess on her head, and a pair of glasses sitting on her nose. I almost don’t recognize her for a second. I’ve never seen her so…well, not perfect before.
“I know, I look like a walking car wreck,” she says when I remain silent for longer than is appropriate, snapping me back to reality.
“I’m sorry, it’s just that you were so upset today, and I thought I’d come by and see if you were okay. Are you?” If her tangled ponytail and half skewed glasses have anything to say about it, I’d go with a resounding no.
With a loud sigh, she says, “Come on in, I don’t want anyone else to hear this, anyway.” Stepping out of the doorway, she lets me inside, closing the door behind us with a loud snap. Motioning to the small sitting area she has next to her window, she takes the pink loveseat for herself while I opt for the white leather chair next to it.
Peering around her room, I notice just how different it looks from the last time I was in here. Her closet doors are opened wide, a trail of clothes falling out of it, some spilling onto her bed. The bed itself isn’t made and most of the pillows are on the floor. It’s like a burglar went through here.
“I’m reorganizing my closet,” she explains, tucking her legs under herself, her gaze on the sliver of ocean view out her open window.
“And why is that?”
“It’s what I do when I’m stressed. You wouldn’t believe how many things I found with the tags still on them and two sizes too small. You’re welcomed to anything in there that might fit you.” Next to the loveseat is a white painted coffee table with a clock and small silver jewelry tray on it, as well as what looks like a tiny pink refrigerator. Opening the door, she grabs a Coke from within, asking me, “Do you want one?”
I shake my head no. “Thanks, but I’m more interested in what has you stress organizing. Does it – does it have to do with Kaito?”
She groans, throwing her head back on the couch, looking up at her vaulted ceiling. “I don’t want to say his name. From here on out he’s just Guy. At least that way I don’t have to picture his face every time I hear it.”
“I don’t get it. What happened between you two? Why did you ditch him this morning? I figured someone as gorgeous as him would be right up your ally.” She’s always complaining about how there are never any hot guys around here that don’t wear sweater vests and loafers. Now here’s this beautiful guy, and she acts like she’d rather drown in the ocean than have to look at him.
“I’m not that shallow, you know. For me, there’s more to a man than just his looks.”
When I stare her down for a good thirty seconds, my expression clearly telling her I don’t believe her, she says, shoulders practically falling, “Fine, so that’s usually my number one priority, but I have my reasons for wanting to keep my distance fr
om him.”
“Then tell me,” I say, feeling my patience slowly evaporating. “What’s so awful about him?”
She takes a sip of her soda, swallowing hard when she says, voice sounding choked, “We had a run-in.”
“A run-in? What kind of run-in?”
A sigh and a shake of the head. “An embarrassing one. That’s all I’m going to tell you. I don’t need more people knowing about what happened than necessary. But ever since, I’ve done everything in my power to not see him again. And then yesterday my aunt asked me to show him around, and I panicked. Then my idiot cousin decides torturing me with Guy’s presence would be a hilarious form of revenge, and I look like a moron in front of him again. This is the story of my life.” She finds a way to dig herself down even deeper into the cushions, nearly falling off the couch and onto the floor.
I shake my head at her, not understanding, “How could you have embarrassed yourself so badly that he’s not even on your dating radar anymore?” That’s the true mind bender here.
Rubbing her forehead, she says, “It’s not just that stopping me. He’s also super quiet, and that just freaks me out, you know? I’m a motormouth and I’d just be the one talking all the time, which I’m sure would annoy him. Plus, he’s always so serious, and that’s not my type. I like guys who can make me laugh and have a good time. And,” she says, catching a second wind of breath, “according to Catcher, he’s really into photography and says he doesn’t have time for girls. Though I think my cousin said that just to keep me away from him. But that was before the moment.”
“The moment?” I ask. She said those last two words like they held great meaning – a poignant event in history. At least in her history.
“Yes, the moment. It was so bad I can’t even call it something normal like an incident or an accident. It was the moment, and I’m never going to live it down for the rest of my life.” She goes back to burying her head in the cushions, making moaning sounds every so often.
“I don’t know how I can help you get over this if you don’t tell me what happened. For all you know, it might not be as bad as you think it is.”
Her head pops up again, reminding me of an angry gopher. “It was hands down the most humiliating moment of my life, and the hottest guy to grace this beach in who knows how long was there to witness it. Can you imagine Beckham seeing you in your most embarrassing moment? Would you be able to get over it just like that?”
My mind instantly takes me back to the memory of Rochelle and me in the hall when she had cornered me, making a scene in front of the whole school. If Beckham had been there to see it, it only would have made it a thousand times worse. Leaning back in my seat, deciding to have that soda after all, I say, “Touché,” while I take it out of the fridge, popping the top and taking a long sip. And here I thought that nothing could spoil my beautiful day with Beck.
“So,” I say eventually, when the sun has officially dipped below the horizon and we’ve both sufficiently licked our wounds, “you think he’s hot, huh?” Taking a cue from Catcher, I waggle my brows at her, and she rightfully throws a pillow at me.
Grinning, she says, “Yes, but that doesn’t matter now.”
I nod. “Because of the moment.”
A sad look passes over her eyes, her hands holding one of her mohair pillows to her chest for comfort. “Because of the moment.”
“Why don’t you both just talk it out and get over it? He didn’t seem upset when you showed up today, meaning he must not take the incident – I mean the moment – as seriously as you do.”
An instant nod of disagreement. “No, I – I can’t just…we can’t – ugh!” she hisses when she can’t find the words. “I kind of have to see him again anyway, but I really, really don’t want to. And even if I did, the last thing I’m going to do is bring it up and hash it out.”
Wait, what? “What do you mean you kind of have to see him again? Because he’s friends with your cousins?”
She waves her hand in the air, dismissing it. “No, though my aunt would tell me that’s a good enough reason on its own. It’s because I have to return something to him. But I’m too embarrassed to ask Catcher to do it for me, and I know Beckham wouldn’t do it either if I asked. So that means I have to suck it up and do it myself.”
“What do you have to return to him?”
Rather than explaining in words, she stands up and walks across the room to her dresser, picking up a perfectly folded T-shirt and bringing it over for me to see. It’s a black cotton shirt with some kind of band logo written on the front, the size clearly that of a man’s. I can tell she cleaned it because it smells exactly like her room. Holding it in my hands, I look up at her, asking, “How did you get his shirt?” This non-story story only seems to be getting weirder by the minute.
“It’s a part of the moment. But now I have to give it back to him, and I’m too chicken to do it. I was thinking I could just ship it to him instead.”
I do my best not to laugh when I mention, “Didn’t Beck say he lives just down the road? Wouldn’t that look kind of…ridiculous?”
She rolls her eyes. “Of course it would. And so would having one of the boys return it for me. But I’m running out of options here,” she says, sounding almost desperate, further making me wonder what happened between them that was so cataclysmic. This is Leigha Lyons we’re talking about, a girl that can walk through a house party in nothing but a bikini and have utter confidence. A girl who can manage to survive in a household full of men. The girl who rides a freaking motorcycle for crying out loud. What could have possibly happened to make all of her female moxie disappear?
Feeling the need to remind her of that killer confidence, and knowing she would do the same for me if the roles were reversed, I stand up, holding the shirt out to her to take. “You’re forgetting that you’re a Lyons, Leigha. You don’t cower when something difficult is put in your way. You face it like a woman and you get it done. Which means you’re going to go over to this guy’s house, give him this shirt back with your head held high, and forget about what happened between you two and move on. But if you still think you need moral support, then I’ll come with you, no questions asked.”
Looking at me like she couldn’t be more surprised by the words that just came out of my mouth, she slowly loses her deer in the headlights look and stands with me, saying, “You’re right. I didn’t do anything wrong; it was just a bad moment. Why should I be embarrassed about seeing him again?” Taking the shirt from my hands, she balls it up in her own. “I’ll take it to him tomorrow. That way I can be done with it and not have to think about it anymore.”
“Do you want me to come?” I ask, feeling my own adrenaline pumping, all psyched up on female empowerment.
“No, I’ve got this.” Giving me an appreciative, yet somehow meek, smile, she says, “Thank you. I didn’t realize how much I needed that.”
“I’ll be your hype woman any time. Just give me a call,” I offer with a smile, bumping her with my shoulder.
A knock on the door startles us, breaking the moment. It’s quickly followed by Beck’s voice asking, “Leigha? Catcher said Blaire came up here. Did you kidnap my girlfriend? Blaire, if you’re in there, knock three times so I know you’re still alive.”
A pleasant shock runs through me at hearing him call me his girlfriend for the first time, an unavoidable smile curving my lips.
Leigha gives me a cocky grin, not missing a thing. “Girlfriend, huh? You work fast.”
“Shut up,” I say, still wearing that stupid smile.
“I don’t like this. I don’t hear anything in there. Kahlo, I’m going to knock the door down if you don’t – oh, hi,” he says rather sheepishly after I open the door, Leigha and I both staring at him with our arms crossed.
“Did you need something?” Leigha asks him, her fierce glare reminding me of the Leigha on the dock today, the one that wanted to throw Beck in the ocean until no more bubbles came up. Looks like they haven’t made up quite y
et.
“Yep, this,” he says, right before he grabs my arm and brings me out into the hallway, smothering me in a hug. “That’ll be all, thanks.” He shuts Leigha’s door on her with his foot, looking down at me with a big goofy smile. “Hi.”
“You already said that,” I remind him, hiding my own grin. “You also called me your girlfriend.”
He licks his lips, staring down at my own, making me want to do the same. “I did. Does that bother you?”
“I would have been more upset if you hadn’t. I was hoping you didn’t just go around making out with your friends.” He looks cute with his hair all messy, wearing his white T-shirt and blue plaid pajama pants, as if he just woke up from a nap. It makes me want to rest my head against his chest and join him. Our day together made me surprisingly tired.
“Good, because I wasn’t going to take it back anyway. And also, what were you and my cousin talking about? She usually kills when she’s this upset, thus why no one has gone in there all day.” He looks back at her closed door like it scares him. I snicker.
“I was just making sure she was okay after the dock disaster this morning,” I say, giving him a meaningful look when I add, “Maybe an apology from you is in order.”
He bites his lip, resting his forehead against mine, his hands resting at the base of my spine. I’m wrapped in all his warmth, and I don’t miss my chance to soak it up. “I know. It wasn’t a nice thing to do. If I had known she’d freak out like she did, I wouldn’t have done it.”
“Good to know,” I say sleepily, letting my eyes close.
I feel his lips kiss the side of my forehead. “You’re tired, I should get you home. But first, can I make plans with you tomorrow? I’m free all afternoon.”
“Can’t, I have a date,” I mumble, moving my head to his chest, using it as a sort of pillow.
I feel him still beneath me, his every muscle locking up. My lips smirk against his shirt.
“Please tell me I heard you wrong. Because if not, then we’re having the we-are-very-very-very-exclusive talk.”
I laugh again, feeling him hold me tighter. “My date is with your baby brother. I promised him another art lesson tomorrow. But you’re free to join us if you want.”