“So…has Kyle kissed you again?” she asks.
I explained the kiss was only a test, though Savannah said that no matter the excuse, a guy doesn’t kiss a girl he doesn’t like.
“No.” I begin to clean up my mess, which consists of half a dozen oil-soaked paper towels, globs of batter, and the cream that’s supposed to stay inside a Twinkie. “And neither of us have brought it up. It’s like it didn’t happen.”
“No way,” she says. “Are you telling me it’s gone back to the way it was before the kiss? How is that even possible?”
I shrug. “Maybe Kyle wasn’t as into it as I thought.”
“Not a chance. When I walked in the room, that man looked gobsmacked—in a good way.”
I think about it for a few minutes as I finish up. “I think it was his first kiss after Ava,” I say quietly. “Maybe he just needs time to process it.”
“He’s not a computer.”
“You know what I mean.” With a sigh, I admit what I’ve been worrying about all week, “Or maybe he regrets it.”
Savannah doesn’t answer right away, which does nothing to ease my fears.
“But you’re supposed to see him tonight, aren’t you?”
I nod. “He’s picking me up soon. We’re going to try out the new bikes this afternoon, and then we’ll pick up some dinner and head back to the desert to watch the lunar eclipse.”
Savannah tilts her head to the side and gives me a mischievous smile. “He’s taking you out, all alone, under the stars, to watch a lunar eclipse? What are you worried about again?”
“It does sound kind of romantic, doesn’t it?” I say hesitantly.
“Uh, yeah. It does.”
Kyle shows up about thirty minutes later and gets a funny look on his face when he enters the house. He sticks his nose up in the air, sniffing like a hound. “What is that?”
“I’ll tell you what it’s not.” I lead him into the kitchen and gesture toward the sad plate of badly fried snack cakes. “They’re not fried Twinkies. They resemble fried Twinkies…sort of…but they’re not the real deal.”
He crosses the room and picks up the plate. “These look…”
“Atrocious.”
He grins. “I was going to say mostly edible. Have you tried one?”
“No,” I answer. “These were supposed to be a practice batch so I could make you a real one when you got here. It didn’t go well. I have the rest of the Twinkies in the freezer, waiting for the next time my self-esteem is a little too high, and I need to do something that makes me feel incompetent.”
“I’m going to try one.” He nods his head after he says it, determined.
“No, Kyle—yuck. You don’t want to eat these. The oil wasn’t the right temperature, so they’re really greasy, and they’re all falling apart.”
Just to defy me, he picks up the least deformed out of the batch and takes a big bite.
I cover my face with my hands.
“Not bad,” he says after a moment.
Peeking through my fingers, I say, “Really?”
He lets out a laugh. “Not necessarily good either, but not bad.”
I make an offended scoffing noise and swat his arm. Laughing, he grasps hold of me, pulls me close, and wipes cream down my nose.
Savannah chooses this moment to walk into the room, keys jangling in her hand. She smirks at me when I freeze in Kyle’s arms. “I’m going to take off now. You guys enjoy your lunar eclipse.”
“Bye, Savannah,” I say weakly. “Have a good night.”
“You too,” she trills.
The second she’s out the door, I warn Kyle, “If you don’t let me go, I will retaliate.”
He looks down at me, his stormy blue eyes crinkled with amusement . “Is that so? I’m not sure what you think you’re going to do.”
I’m ashamed to admit that simple challenge starts a full-out food fight. If I thought the Twinkies looked bad before, it was nothing compared to the way they look squished in Kyle’s hair. I shriek and run around the counter, using the bar as a shield. He follows, laughing like a mad man.
Eventually, I hold my hands up in the air. “I surrender,” I wheeze, laughing so hard my eyes water.
Kyle pulls me to my feet. “You’re a mess.”
“You’re one to talk.”
He tugs off his T-shirt and heads for the sink. I stare at him, startled by the sudden appearance of skin.
The last time I saw Kyle shirtless, he was about seventeen, and we were at the pool. Thanks to soccer, he wasn’t scrawny back then, but he didn’t look like this.
He’s still lean, but now his shoulders are broad, and his arms are corded with muscle. His torso tapers down to a narrow waist, and the waistband of his jeans sits low.
Oh my goodness. I was dead wrong. Kyle’s not just handsome—he’s wicked hot.
As I gawk, he spot-cleans the shirt and then bends over and sticks his entire head under the faucet, scrubbing out the cake.
“Can you grab me a towel?” he asks, his hair soaking wet.
“A towel?” I say dumbly.
He angles his head so he can see me. “Yeah…I think you’re familiar with them. Rectangular pieces of fabric you use to dry yourself off.”
I’m supposed to say something snarky back, but my brain has taken a temporary leave of absence.
I leave before he has a chance to ask why I’m being so weird. On the way back from the hall, I fan my face with the towel and remind myself that Shirtless Kyle is the same as Fully Clothed Kyle.
I walk into the kitchen, all nonchalant, and hand him the towel.
“Aren’t you glad I was careful not to get your hair?” He straightens and rubs the towel over his head. “Then you’d be the one standing under the faucet.”
A solitary droplet of water runs down his neck, then over his shoulder. I try not to stare at it as it travels downward; I really do.
I fail.
There’s a light dusting of hair over his chest—that definitely wasn’t there in high school—and he still has a hint of a lingering summer tan, despite the season.
“Very considerate of you,” I say absently.
When Kyle is finished, he tosses the towel on the counter. He chuckles as his eyes wander over me. “You’re a disaster.”
“I’m going to clean up,” I say self-consciously. “I’ll be back.”
“Wait.” He tugs my arm, pulling me back. With his eyes locked on mine, he runs his finger down my arm, collecting cream. “Thank you.”
“For what?” I ask, slightly shaken by the soft touch.
“For frying Twinkies for me.”
“I didn’t actually accomplish it.”
Slowly, Kyle brings his finger to his mouth. “They tasted good to me.”
My lips part with surprise, and I bark out a startled laugh. “Did you just do that? Like, really?”
He grins, looking down. “I did, yeah.”
“Not sanitary,” I tease as I pull away, my heart thrumming like a hummingbird. “Don’t do that again.”
His laughter follows me down the hallway. I disappear into the bathroom and brace my hand against the sink. More than anything, I want to go back out there, leap into Kyle’s arms, and kiss him until we’re both delirious.
But I need to be patient, let things move along naturally. We’re heading in the right direction—I can feel it. Slow and steady.
“You ready?” Kyle asks once I’ve changed my shirt and pulled my hair into a French braid that will fit under my new not-at-all-sexy bike helmet. “I’ve cleaned up in here.”
Oh, believe me, I’m ready.
18
Well, it’s official. I spent fifteen hundred dollars on a bike I will never, ever use again.
Why do people do this for fun? It’s torture, plain and simple.
“How are you doing?” Kyle calls. He’s waiting for me at the top of a hill, taking a long drink from his water bottle.
It’s a warm day for mid-winter, and he’
s stuffed his jacket in his pack. His burnt orange, long-sleeve tee is fitted but not tight, and it skims over the muscles I got a good eyeful of earlier. He looks healthy, strong.
And me? Not so much. I thought I was mostly in shape, but apparently, I have no muscle. Well, I must have some somewhere because they’re screaming at me now, asking me why I’d subject them to this cruel and unusual punishment.
I suck in a gasping breath when I reach the top and nearly topple from my bike when I lower my foot to the ground for balance. My water bottle sticks in its holder, and I almost give up on it.
“You’re doing good, Kaylee,” Kyle says, all optimistic like. I sort of want to punch him.
He’s safe because I can’t swing my arm.
“I hate you,” I say as I finally force my water bottle out of the holder. “So much.”
He laughs. “Seriously, though. It feels great, right?”
“Loathe you.”
“I’m not going to get rid of my Jeep or anything—let’s not be crazy. But, man, this is awesome.”
“I want to push you down this hill.”
“What do you think?” he goes on, completely ignoring me. “Should we add this to our hiking rotation? Maybe try to fit a bike ride in at least once a week?”
Sometimes, he’s like talking to a rock.
“Yeah,” I find myself saying because he’s Kyle, and I’ll do anything for him. “Okay.”
He grins. “Really?”
“If we must.”
At least it’s pretty out here. The air is crisp and fresh, and the canyon is so quiet. The sun is low in the sky, creating that golden hour before everything goes gray.
Kyle eyes me, looking like it’s just dawning on him that I’m close to death. “If you can make it back to the Jeep, I’ll break out that coffee.”
“What if I can’t make it to the Jeep?”
“Then I guess you’ll spend the night out here.”
“And they say chivalry is dead,” I answer, making him laugh.
By some miracle, I do manage to make it back, though my legs feel like gelatin when we get there.
I stagger off my bike, half dismounting, half falling with flair. Once I’m safely on the ground, I pull off my fingerless riding gloves and unbuckle my helmet. I’m sure my hair is flat and sweaty, but I don’t even care. I’m just glad we’re done.
The sun has slipped below the horizon, and I grow chilly as soon as we stop moving. I rub my arms to keep warm and open the back door, looking for my pullover. “Where’s this coffee you promised me?” I ask, but then I stop because I just now notice the small cooler Kyle tucked behind my seat. “What’s this?”
Kyle finishes with the bikes and comes to my side. “I packed a picnic so we don’t have to go all the way back to town. That way we can drive out a little farther, see if we can find a good spot.”
I press my lips together, refusing to beam at him like a besotted fool, and nod like it’s no big thing. It is a big thing, though. It’s a huge thing.
He produces a large thermos and a travel mug and says, “There’s the creamer you like in there too.”
I’m not sure how I manage to doctor my coffee when I’m walking on the clouds, but somehow, I end up in the passenger seat of the Jeep, coffee in hand, tapping my foot as an outlet for all this newfound energy. Who knew I had any left after that ride?
We bump along the road, and I have to hold up my cup to keep it from spilling. We startle a bird of prey—something large—but I can’t tell what because we’re in the in-between twilight hours. It flies off on silent wings, a dark silhouette in the growing night.
I’ve been four-wheeling with Kyle before, but never after dark.
“We won’t take anything too rough,” he promises. “It wouldn’t be safe this time of night.” As if he thinks I’m worried, he adds, “I told Daniel where we’re going. If I don’t call him by twelve, he’s supposed to come find us.”
I smile. “He wouldn’t mind going out for a rescue mission at midnight?”
Kyle laughs. “Are you serious? It would make his month. He’d give me grief for the rest of my life.”
We drive along the road, climbing over just a few rocks and rutted sections. As Kyle promised, it’s a fairly tame adventure. Kyle parks when we reach the top of a hill. It’s dark now, with just a hint of light in the west. The moon peeks over the distant ridge, full and bright.
“Where are the chairs?” I open the back and press a knee into the seat as I peer into the cargo area. Kyle has already pulled out a battery-operated lantern, and the dim light shines from the left of the Jeep, in a semi-flat area where I believe he plans to set up.
“I brought a tarp,” he answers from the back.
“A…tarp?”
He comes up behind me and sets his hands onto my shoulders. “It’s a picnic,” he says, his words rustling my hair.
“Yep, that still doesn’t make sense.”
Chuckling, he moves me out of the way and leans in himself. He hands me the pile of warm blankets I brought, plus one of his own. Then he pulls out the tarp.
“Come on,” he says, nodding as he walks around the Jeep.
I watch as he unfolds the tarp on the ground. When he’s finished, he asks, “Hand me the big blanket I brought, will you?”
And now it makes sense.
He carefully lays the blanket over the tarp, picnic style. Granted, picnics usually take place when it’s warm outside. And in the daylight. But whatever.
“Have a seat,” he says. “I’ll grab the rest.
I do as he asks and wrap one of the blankets over my shoulders. The desert is quiet—so still, so silent. It might be a little spooky in the dark, but I’m too hyped up on happiness to worry about that now.
A few moments later, Kyle returns with the cooler. He sits next to me. “It’s nothing fancy,” he warns. “I had the cafe make us a couple sandwiches—and I got you one of those huge chocolate chip cookies you like. Do you want something other than coffee to drink?”
I shake my head, accepting the food as he gives it to me. He keeps talking and talking…and I realize he’s nervous.
“Kyle?” I ask him, interrupting him when it seems he might need a breath or two. “I have to ask you something.”
“Okay.”
I look down at my sandwich, avoiding his eyes. “Is this a date?” Then I lose my nerve and add, “What I mean is, are you practicing on me?”
He doesn’t answer right away, and I can feel he’s waiting for me to look up. When I finally meet his eyes, he says, “Yes, this is a date. No, I’m not practicing.”
I don’t know how to answer.
“Is that all right?” he asks quietly.
Afraid to sound too eager, I nod. Then I take a bite of my sandwich, filling my mouth so I don’t have to talk.
We eat quietly, neither of us sure what to say. This is new, and even though it’s a whole lot of wonderful, it’s a little weird. Unlike most first dates, I can’t ask him about his family or his job. I already know all that. I can’t ask him what hobbies he has, or what he likes to do for fun.
Everything that usually makes it easy between us suddenly becomes difficult once “date” is pinned on as a title.
“This is crazy,” Kyle says with a laugh after we’ve finished and are staring at the sky, waiting for the eclipse to start.
He startles me so much I jump.
Kyle continues, “This is no different than any of our other outings, except I might kiss you at the end.”
I freeze with my coffee halfway to my lips. “You’re going to kiss me?”
He laughs again, though this time the sound is quieter, a little deeper. “I can’t say—someone once told me a girl doesn’t want to be asked permission.”
“Maybe you should practice,” I say lightly, my eyes locked on his. “So you don’t mess it up if you decide to go for it.”
I hold my breath, wondering if it was too forward. Just when I think I should laugh it off, pretend I
was only joking, Kyle shoves aside the cooler and closes the distance between us. I push what’s left of my coffee out of the way, absently hoping it doesn’t spill.
Then Kyle’s hand is in my hair, his thumb running along my jaw, and I don’t care. Let it spill.
My blanket falls off my shoulders as I move forward, and the cool night air circles around us as we both stand on our knees, a mere breath apart. Even like this, he’s far taller than me.
He hesitates just as I’m closing my eyes. “Kaylee, this is a big step. Maybe we should discuss—.”
“We’ll figure it out later,” I promise, tugging his shoulder like an impatient child, silently begging him to stop thinking.
“Kaylee…”
Beyond disappointed because he’s not kissing me, I open my eyes. He lowers his head, his hand still in my hair, looking worried.
It’s not exactly the way I’d hoped the moment would go.
I wait for him, reining in my disappointment, giving him emotional, if not literal, space.
“I don’t want to lose you,” he says on a sigh, finally looking back up. “Ever. Kaylee, it would kill me.”
“How are you going to lose me if we’re attached at the lips?” I ask. “It’s not like I can wander away without you noticing.”
He lets out a soft laugh, and his hand moves in my hair, his fingers brushing against my skin. It feels so good I want to let my head fall back, revel in his touch, but now is not the time.
“You know what I mean,” he says, and then softer, he adds, “What if this doesn’t work?”
“What is this?” I demand, losing a tiny bit of my patience.
“I don’t know.” He sounds tired. After another moment, he says, “I have something I should tell you.”
I give him half a shrug, asking him to get on with it so we can move on to more pleasant things.
“Heath told me.”
My blood goes as cold as the night. “He told you what?”
“How you feel about us. About…me.”
I knew it.
“Kyle…” I begin, unsure what to say, mortified down to my very core. “Listen, I—”
27 Ways to Mend His Broken Heart Page 9
