Eye of the Beholder (Stone Springs Book 1)

by Gracie Ruth Mitchell

  I only spare Mr. Alexander a brief glance; I look at Cohen instead. He’s stiffened where he sits, and his eyes are trained on his father. Then I watch as Mr. Alexander’s gaze searches the crowd.

  When he finds Cohen, he smiles. And in that moment, with that smile, he looks even happier than he did in the wedding announcement.

  I forego the fact that apparently Cohen and I don’t have a hand-holding relationship, and I take his hand in mine and lace our fingers together. I give a start when Cohen squeezes my hand, his fingers tightening around mine, but I don’t tell him to loosen his grip. I don’t care. I just need him to know that I’m here. I tuck my left hand into the crook of his left elbow and give it a quick squeeze.

  He glances at me, and I’m somehow not surprised to see his eyes looking over bright. I’ll never say anything about it. I just smile encouragingly.

  The ceremony is short and sweet—the way all ceremonies should be, especially if food is being served after. Mr. Alexander and his bride exchange vows that may or may not make me a little bright-eyed myself. All I can think about through the whole thing is the wedding I might have someday.

  And how my groom isn’t faceless anymore. He’s tall and muscular and sweet. He works hard to achieve his goals. He believes in me. He makes me laugh.

  Oh, and he was apparently miserable after we kissed.

  Right.

  …Right?

  I sigh. Thinking about my someday wedding was a lot less painful when I was just trying to decide what my bouquet would look like. And thinking about marrying Cohen is ridiculous, anyway. I mean, yeah, I’ve known him forever. But I’ve only gotten to know him well this past school year. I always told myself that I would date a man for a year before getting engaged. So clearly the whole wedding atmosphere is getting inside my head. It’s just…I can see him being that person. Not tomorrow, but someday.

  I look back to Cohen, because I guess I’m an idiot by this point in the wedding. I can see what features he’s inherited from his father. They have the same smile—even though Cohen’s is slightly askew—one that makes their eyes crinkle around the corners. They have the same chin, too. Personally I think it looks better on Cohen, but I might be a little biased.

  I can still feel the ghost of Cohen’s fingers touching my lips, and my own hand itches to touch his, too. I don’t, though. I just watch him. His jaw is more relaxed now. I wouldn’t say he looks happy, but he doesn’t look angry, either, or even upset. Just…calm. Peaceful.

  And I smile to myself. Because that’s what I want for him. Peace.

  32

  Cohen

  This is the first wedding I’ve ever been to. I didn’t really think about that until I got here. I’ve seen weddings in movies and stuff—even if I usually try to avoid movies with weddings, because I’m not much of a chick flick person. But I’ve never actually been to one. It’s nice. I would never admit that to anyone.

  Well, Mina. Maybe.

  But it’s true. It’s nice. There’s something about being in this church that feels good. It’s peaceful here—peaceful in a way I’d forgotten.

  I also didn’t think about how it would feel to sit next to Mina and listen to two people—clearly very in love—promising to cherish each other forever.

  I love her. I love Mina.

  I don’t know when or how that happened, but it did. I don’t know the first thing about love. But I do know that when this preacher is done marrying my father to Linda, I want to go up there with Mina so that I can promise her the same things my father is promising Linda. To have and to hold. To make her chicken noodle soup when she’s sick. To remind her every day how incredible she is.

  But I can’t promise her any of that. All I can promise her—even if it’s not out loud—is to be happy for her Operation Jack ends up being successful. I’m not giving up. But if she’s happy with someone who isn’t me…how can I begrudge her that? How can I begrudge her happiness?

  I push that out of my mind, because it’s not something I want to focus on right now. Or ever, preferably.

  After my dad kisses his new bride, his eyes swing to mine, making me jump in my seat. He gives a jerk of his head, his eyebrows raised, and I can tell that he’s asking if I’m staying for the reception. I swallow and nod, then avert my gaze. I look over at Mina instead. I’m surprised to see her smiling at me. She looks somehow happy and sad at the same time.

  But I get it.

  We stand, along with everyone else, and let the crowd carry us to the back door of the church. It’s cold, and the sun is almost completely down. There’s an enormous white tent set up behind the church—the reception tent, I assume. I just hope it’s heated; otherwise we’re not going to be here very long.

  I hear Mina breathe a sigh of relief as we enter the tent, and I do too; it’s heated. The lights are low inside, and there are small tables set up everywhere. There’s some sort of dance floor at the opposite end of the tent. It’s very classy, as Lydia would say.

  I can only assume my dad’s new wife—my stepmother—was responsible for all this. My dad doesn’t have this much style.

  Mina wanders immediately in the direction of the long food table set up along one side of the tent, and I follow her, watching the way the low lights create shadows in her hair.

  We get food in silence, but the silence is comfortable. We find a table and sit down.

  Five minutes later, Mina looks at me. She seems surprised to see me watching her, and I realize I’ve been staring at her. Could I be any creepier?

  But she just smiles and then points at my plate. “You should eat. I know you have trouble eating when you’re nervous, but the éclairs are really good. Try that, at least.”

  I frown. How does she know that about me?

  “Come on,” she coaxes, scooting her chair closer to mine. “Just try it. Pretend for a few minutes that we’re not at your dad’s wedding. You’re very pale. Please eat something.”

  I take a deep breath. “I don’t know what I’m going to say to him.”

  “I know,” Mina says, her voice gentle. “But it will come to you. You don’t even have to say anything if you don’t want to. Do you want to talk to him at all?”

  I swallow. “I don’t know. Do I?”

  It’s absurd that I’m asking her what I want, but I feel like somehow she’ll know.

  She tilts her head as she studies me. Her hair falls over her face, and she tucks it behind her ear. Though the lights are dim, it’s still light enough that I can see her lips quirk. I feel her rest her hand on my knee under the table, and I resist the urge pull her onto my lap and kiss her until we can’t see straight.

  “I think you do,” she says, smiling softly, completely unaware of where my mind is trying to go. “I could be wrong, of course. But I think you’re just nervous.”

  I pick up the éclair she’s been talking about and take a bite. She’s right; it is good. I nod. “All right,” I say when I’ve finished chewing the first bite, raising my voice slightly to make myself heard over the strains of music starting up near the dance floor. “I’ll just tell him congratulations.”

  “I think that’s great,” she says, watching me. She takes her hand off my knee, and I push away my disappointment.

  “Right,” I say. “Congratulations. That’s easy.”

  She nods. “Very easy. Do you want me to come with you, or would you rather I stay here?”

  “Come with me,” I say without having to think about it. “Please come with me.” Then—also without thinking, I might add—I push a wayward strand of hair off of her face, tucking it gently behind her ear. She stills, her eyes intent on mine. I let my fingers trail slowly down her cheek. “You look beautiful tonight,” I find myself saying. My voice breaks as I speak. “Really beautiful.” In every way. Inside and out. I keep that part to myself. But I’m allowed to tell her she looks nice, right?

  She just looks at me, and I can’t interpret the expression she’s wearing. “Thank you,” she says quiet
ly.

  “What’s this?” I say, touching her necklace. The charm is nestled into the hollow of her collarbone.

  “Um,” she says, her wide eyes still locked on mine. “A necklace.”

  My lips twitch, and I embrace the feeling. Somehow I’ve made this conversation more serious than I meant to. “I see that,” I say, letting a smile ease onto my lips. Then I realize that I still haven’t moved my hand; in fact, my fingers are trailing over her collarbone, back and forth. I yank my hand away. No wonder she’s looking at me like I’m crazy.

  She smiles. “Compliments? Touch? Flirting again?”

  I’m so far past flirting, but I can’t say that. I just shrug instead and go along with it. “You said you’ve been flirting with yourself in the mirror. I thought you could use some help.”

  Her smile widens. “So thoughtful. Now are you going to go talk to your dad? Get it over with. Then you can finish your food.”

  I sigh. “I’m going.”

  “Good.” She straightens my tie again, giving it a few tugs. Then she runs her fingers through my hair. “It really just stands up all the time, doesn’t it?”

  “Yep,” I say. “All the time.”

  “That’s not such a bad thing. I love your hair. Well, let’s just…” she says, trailing off and looking intently at my hair. She musses it with her fingers again, sending tingles down my spine. Then her hands slow, moving to the back of my neck. I’m reminded forcefully of our kiss—

  “Whoa,” I all but yelp when I realize what’s happening—she’s flirting with me. I pull back, shaking my head like a dog trying to get water out of its ears. My eyes snap to hers, and I’m not surprised to see her grinning at me. “I fell for that,” I say, starting to smile. “I completely fell for that.”

  “I know,” she says, her grin widening. She leans forward, her elbows propped on the table. “Your jaw was sort of hanging open.” She touches my chin with one finger and then trails it down the length of my jaw and to the hollow just below my ear.

  “Stop,” I say, swatting at her hand and laughing as I pull away again. “I get it.” Inside me, a traitorous little trickle of hope is trying to emerge.

  She’s not acting at all like someone with a boyfriend.

  “See?” she says, shrugging and smiling as she takes a drink. “Practicing worked.”

  “You’ve proved your point.” I shove the rest of my éclair in my mouth, mostly so I don’t say anything stupid. I don’t know how to ask her about Jack; I need to wait, even though I want to just blurt it out. Now’s not the time. When I’m done eating, I look around the tent for my dad. He’s still in the receiving line.

  “Are you ready?” Mina says, following my gaze.

  “I guess,” I say, even though I feel nerves clenching in my stomach.

  “Still want me to come with you?” she says, looking back at me.

  “As long as you’re done flirting,” I say, standing.

  “You started it,” she says.

  “You never told me what the necklace is,” I say as we make our way to the receiving line.

  “Oh,” she says, her hand jumping to the charm. “Right. My parents gave it to me when I turned seventeen. It’s a little flower.”

  We wait in the receiving line until there’s only one person between us and my dad. The nerves in my stomach are multiplying, and I keep fiddling with my tie, even though Mina just straightened it minutes ago.

  “Leave it alone,” she whispers, pulling my hand away. She intertwines her fingers with mine. “It will be fine.” Her hand is like fire in mine.

  I look at her, and I see her swallow nervously as she looks at our hands.

  “Sorry,” she says, pulling her hand away.

  I’m about to tell her that it’s okay, that I like holding her hand, when suddenly the person in front of us moves forward.

  And there my dad is, and here I am, standing in front of him.

  I was right to give up rehearsing conversations; suddenly my mind is blank. I just stare at him.

  Mina clearly picks up on my loss of brain function, because she quickly fills the awkward silence. “Congratulations, Mr. Alexander.” Her voice is warm, sincere. “The ceremony was beautiful. I’m so happy for you.”

  My dad looks surprised to see her, but he smiles at her, shaking her hand. “Thank you, Mina. It’s good to see you.”

  “You, too. I’m glad I was able to come with Cohen.”

  Then, to my utter surprise, she wraps one arm around my waist. I have no idea what she means by it, but it does reunite me with my brain.

  “Hi,” I say to my dad. My voice cracks as I say, “Congratulations.”

  My dad just looks at me, his face cautious. “Thank you,” he says softly. He holds his hand out tentatively.

  I stare at it for a second. Our hands look alike. I never noticed it before, but they do. We both have very square fingernails and prominent knuckles.

  I take a deep breath. Then I shake his hand.

  A firm, manly handshake—except he doesn’t let go. Instead he steps toward me and puts his arms around me.

  I freeze for a second before returning his hug. I feel his shoulders shake, and I realize with incredulity that he’s crying.

  My father, the apparently happily married grown man, is crying into my shoulder.

  And it hits me all at once. He’s my dad, and I love him, and I choose to forgive him.

  Because he’s trying. He’s trying to be a good father. He is a good father. I don’t pretend to understand what happened between him and my mom. But whatever went wrong, he still loves me, and he’s still trying to be a good dad. It was okay for me to be upset.

  But I think it’s okay to forgive him, too.

  I tighten my arms around him for a second, trying to tell him what I don’t know how to verbalize.

  Then he releases me, stepping back slightly, his hands on my shoulders. “Thank you for coming,” he says, his voice cracking.

  All I can do is nod. I reach one hand behind me, feeling blindly for Mina, and her small hand finds mine. I feel better—more stable, more secure—with her next to me.

  I pull on her hand gently, and she steps forward to my side. She smiles at my dad’s wife, who has stepped back just like Mina did, giving my dad and I privacy.

  “I’m Mina,” she says to my new stepmother. “Your dress is beautiful, and you look lovely.”

  I listen in amused amazement as Mina converses effortlessly with a woman she’s never met before. Her presence and distraction give me a minute to collect myself, to will my heartrate back to a reasonable pace. When I finally feel like I can jump into the conversation, I introduce myself to Linda. I have to admit that she’s as kind as my father could hope, and she seems genuinely thrilled to meet me. What’s more, she and my dad are clearly crazy about each other; it’s in the way they look at each other.

  I’m going to try to wish them well.

  When Mina and I finally move away and let the next person in line speak with my dad and Linda, I let out a deep breath. It’s done; I did it.

  We weave around the tables, my hand resting lightly on Mina’s back as she walks in front of me. We find our table and sit again, and Mina smiles at me.

  “I’m proud of you,” she says. “You did a difficult thing.” She pauses, looking around. Then she looks back at me. “Do you want food now?”

  “No,” I say, eyeing her. I look at her smile, at the look in her eyes—like she really is proud of me—at the way the dimmed lights softly illuminate her hair. “I want to dance with you.”

  33

  Mina

  “Oh,” I say, surprised. I blush. I’m not sure if he can see it with how low the lights are. I hope not. I swallow. “Is dancing something we do?”

  Cohen shrugs. “Only if you want.” His voice is maybe a little too casual, and my heart rate picks up.

  Yes, please. I do want to dance with him. So badly.

  I have to admit to tearing up when he and his dad hugged.
I’m just so proud of him. He didn’t say as much, but I could see in the way they hugged that the tension between them is dissipating. Letting something like that go requires maturity. I’m just…really proud of him. For coming to the wedding, for his ACT—for everything.

  Cohen in a suit, by the way, is a sight worth seeing. It’s a grayish-blue color, and it fits him immaculately, highlighting the broadness of his shoulders. I didn’t realize I found that attractive, but apparently I do.

  And I’m not the only one feeling these things. I know I’m not. Because when he told me I was beautiful earlier, he was 100 percent sincere.

  I study him for a second. As badly as I want to dance with him, is it a good idea? Is it just going to make my feelings worse? I don’t know how much closeness my poor heart can take.

  Cohen apparently can see that I’m reluctant, because he says, “You do owe me for making me come with you into the asylum at Halloween.” He hesitates and then smiles. “I’m cashing it in now. Consider this your debt repaid.”

  I can’t help it; I give in when I see the way he’s looking at me. I smile. “Okay. Let’s dance.”

  He smiles back and stands, holding out his hand to me. I take it and follow him silently to the dance floor. There are maybe a dozen couples already there, which makes it less awkward. The music is slow and smooth. Perfect for dancing.

  We step onto the dance floor, and without hesitating he slides his hands around my waist. The pressure of his arms is warm and comforting. I slip my arms over his shoulders and loosely around his neck. We move closer together at the same time and bump into each other. We could step further apart, but we don’t. I’m not mad.

  But being this close to him is both heaven and hell.

  He smells like his cologne, and his arms around me are reminiscent of the night we kissed. My arms fit around his neck perfectly.

  But it’s his eyes that make my breath hitch in my chest. Because he’s looking at me like he cares about me. Like he has feelings for me.