Holt inspected the damage on my car, going over everything he found with me later that day. Most of it was foreign to me, but he lamed it down so I could understand. Basically, by failing to put oil in, I messed up the engine really bad. It was dry as a bone. He told me it must’ve had a leak and the oil drained out over the past few weeks.
“How long to fix it?” I ask.
“It could take me some time since I’d have to rebuild the motor.” I release a frustrated grunt. “However, I called the guy who sold me the truck. He owns a car graveyard of sorts. It just so happens he has an engine for a Nova. He’s going to give it to me for free. All I have to do is drive there and remove it from the hunk of junk it’s currently rotting away in.”
“Holy cow,” I mumble. “This is too much, Holt.”
“It won’t cost me anything, except time maybe.”
“No, it’s—” I dig the toe of my shoe into the dirt outside the garage. “Whether it’s free or not, it isn’t right to put you through this, especially after everything.”
“I haven’t exactly been warm toward you,” he states. “I was wrong to insult you with my issues comment. I’m—I don’t talk about my past. I’ve never told anyone about my scar, and I never will. But that’s no excuse to attack your weaknesses. Whatever happened between you and your dad is your business.”
“Truce?”
I extend my hand out as a sign of good faith. He wipes some oil away on his jeans and sets his in mine.
“Truce.”
We stand there briefly, our hands linked together. I picture them on me, filthy and rough, stroking the curves of my body.
I step away.
“I need to get back to the house.” I clumsily stagger backwards and stumble on a half-buried rock, luckily, correcting my footing. I’d be mortified to take a nosedive in front of him.
“Okay.”
He chuckles.
“Okay,” I whisper and face forward.
When I’m almost out of earshot, he says, “Can’t wait for that thank you.”
My pace falters, but I continue toward the house, sensing his eyes on my back the whole way.
the quality in which two colors merge
While Holt works on my car over the next week, I pick up the slack around the house to take the load off him. I wash all thirty-two windows, scrub down the porch front to back, tend the garden, sweep, vacuum, scrub floors, polish wood, dust, finish off the laundry piling up, and everything in between the roof and the first floor.
By the time the sun sets the following Saturday, the entire house has been thoroughly cleaned inside and out, and I am equally as filthy. I treat myself to a swim in the lake before dinner, which I have simmering on the stove. I strip out of my rank clothes and jump in, floating around and relaxing my tired bones. It’s energizing and purifying for body and mind.
After I’m done, I wrap myself in a fluffy towel and go back to the house to dress and set dinner out. Once I’ve put on a cotton dress, I enter the kitchen to stir and serve up the roast I made.
“Damn that smells good,” Holt says as he appears through the door and walks over to the sink to wash his oil-stained hands.
“It’s almost finished, too.”
He sits on the counter next to the stove, drying off his clean-ish hands. “Certainly smells that way,” he says, shoveling a spoon into the pot of mashed potatoes and shoving it into his mouth. He hums his approval. “I’ve got something I want to show you.”
He jumps off the counter and tosses the spoon into the sink with a clank, walking back out of the kitchen. I follow him to the front and over to the garage.
“Now, when I pulled this sucker out,” he opens the door, the rusty joints crying in resistance, and gestures for me to take a seat. I slide into the driver’s seat, and he shuts the door for me, leaning in through the window. “I wasn’t sure if it would actually run. The decaying Nova it was rotting away in had no ignition and the wires beneath the steering wheel were torn out, so I wouldn’t know until I installed it. I did. And no luck.”
“Oh,” I whisper, disappointed. I run my fingers over the dashboard. “Poor, old girl.”
“So,” he hands me the key, “I located the problem, replaced a few wires and tubes, and—” I stick it into the ignition and turn, rewarded by the rumble of her engine.
“You fixed her?”
He nods.
Excitedly, I push open the door and jump out, locking my arms around him.
“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” I squeal, thrilled my baby is still alive and kicking, and all because of him. He doesn’t hug me back at first, but then he eases, and his arms slither about my back.
“You’re welcome.”
I pull away.
“You have to let me do something for you. I can’t accept this without paying you in some way.”
His focus flickers to my lips.
“Let me get back to you on that one, yeah?”
The following afternoon, once I’ve finished with work, I invite Taylor to come over and take advantage of the perfect weather. We lie out towels on the grass near the lakeshore, slather ourselves in sunblock, and soak up some UV, the serene sound of the water our soundtrack.
“We’re still on for tonight, right?” she asks, mindlessly flipping through her magazine while she browns her back.
“Still on for what?”
“The fair,” she reminds me.
I completely forgot. The Summer Solstice Festival is tonight. We drink beer (second year legally), eat fried food, ride rides until we puke, and dance until our feet throb. It’s a yearly ritual and huge deal in our town.
I was going to see if Holt wanted to hang tonight. It would mean a lot to my mom since she asked me to befriend him. After he was nice enough to fix my car, the least I could do is extend a friendly hand. But these plans are unbreakable. Maybe I’ll kill two birds with one stone and invite him along.
“Can’t wait.”
“Aidan seems excited about it.”
“He’s going, too?”
She closes her magazine, giving me her full attention. “You want him to come, don’t you?”
“Yeah, of course. I wasn’t sure is all.”
“Is everything okay between you two?”
“Sure. We’re only spending time together as friends, but it’s been fun.” I lift my glasses off my face, pushing them back into my hair. “I was considering asking Holt to join us tonight.”
“Why don’t you?”
“Eh, he’s not exactly sociable when you first meet him. And I’m not positive I should invite him to tag along if Aidan will be there. I wouldn’t want Holt to feel like a third wheel.”
“He won’t. We’re going as a big group. It’ll be fun.”
“Nah, he probably wouldn’t want to go anyway.” I shrug.
“Maybe,” she says, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
“Come on.” I rise to my feet. “Let’s go inside.”
We collect our stuff and go into the house. As we make a beeline for my room, the clanking of metal on metal in the kitchen demands my attention. I catch a glimpse of torn jeans and worn boots sticking out from underneath the sink before entering my room.
“The festival should be cool,” she comments, unfastening her bikini top on the way into the bathroom. “Aidan can’t wait to see you.”
The clanging ceases.
“Um, me also—” It’s weird talking about Aidan within earshot of Holt.
“Do you think he’ll kiss you tonight?”
Even though she can’t see me, I shrug. “Maybe.”
A loud clank from under the sink disrupts the silence and my spine tightens.
“We’ll get you lookin’ so damn fine, he won’t be able to keep his lips off you,” Tay says, her voice bouncing off the tile of the bathroom. “I know the perfect outfit. It’ll leave little to the imagination.”
Five more aggressive clangs on a pipe ring out, reverberating up my back, followed by a joltin
g metallic clash of a heavy tool being thrown into a toolbox. Holt strides out of the kitchen, his posture rigid.
Shit.
I’m tossing female provisions into my brown fringe bag, Taylor painting on her face in the bathroom mirror, when a knock on my door causes us pause. She aims a smirk at me through the reflection.
“What the heck are you smiling about?”
She shrugs her shoulders, an expression on her face that says, “You’ll see.”
I straighten out my dress, comb my fingers through my blow-dried strands, and run my tongue over my front teeth to clean away any lipstick residue. Opening up, I’m not surprised Holt’s on the other side or by how effortlessly cool he looks dressed in jeans and a gray t-shirt, his hair sleeked into a wavy pompadour.
“Yes?”
“When do we leave?” He leans his shoulder into the doorframe.
Trying not to let the excited flutter in my stomach show, I remark, “Oh, I hadn’t realized you were coming with us.”
He tilts into my ear, his winter fresh breath blowing into my hair and down my neck, contrasted against the warmth of the evening air.
“You’re a terrible liar.” His lips bend into a smirk, the microscopic hairs on my ear tingle and stand on end. “Don’t play games, Evie. It isn’t attractive. Quit the shit, and ask what you want to ask.”
Tay’s intent of Holt overhearing our conversation about tonight paid off. She knew I wouldn’t invite him myself. Though, why he’d want to go after he found out Aidan’s coming is beyond me. He can’t stand the guy.
“Would you like to come to the fair with us?”
“Okay,” he says, playing up his couldn’t-care-less vibe. “But let’s get one thing straight, I’m with you, no one else.”
He walks away while I stew in his words.
I glimpse back over my shoulder at Taylor watching me from the mirror, with a pleased twitch of her pink gloss-covered lips. It annoys me instantly.
“Told you so.”
“This isn’t going to go well,” I note.
“Aren’t you the little optimist.”
“I’m in an optimistic mood,” I say wryly, shrugging.
“Can’t you pretend for me?”
“This isn’t going to go well,” I repeat with a sugar-coated, overtly sarcastic tone, giving her a double thumbs up and a big dumb smile.
“That’s the spirit!” She pumps her fist into the air, chuckling to herself.
Holt insisted on driving his own truck despite the room in Aidan’s SUV. I was relieved to not have to spend the fifteen minutes in close quarters with the two of them.
By the time we arrive, the sun’s gone to bed and the enchanting carnival lights up the dark field. After a short deliberation about where we start, we decide on beer and eats, the fattiest fried fair fare we can find. We’re standing in line for deep-fried Twinkies, when an unwelcomed voice comes from the moving crowd. Makayla flounces toward our group, her jeans tight, her top even tighter, emphasizing her buxom breasts (there’s no other word to describe them) and her sights blatantly on Holt. It makes the other guys standing with us none too happy. I glimpse back at his face. Strangely, he doesn’t appear pleased with her attention on him either.
Curiouser and curiouser.
“Look who decided to show,” she says with an overly pleased tone.
“Yup,” Taylor responds, “you got me.”
We giggle.
Kayla narrows her eyes at us then places her focus on Holt again. “Haven’t seen you in the store in a while,” she comments, stepping into him and resting her hoof on the lapel of his jacket.
“I’ve been busy,” he answers, firing an uncomfortable side-glance at me.
“Why don’t we go somewhere and—catch up?” She emphasizes ‘catch up’ as if it means something altogether different. I’d rather not wonder what that something is.
“Um,” Holt notices Aidan’s arm made its way around my shoulders. He’s blissfully unaware of Holt’s murderous eyes on him, skimming the lit menu of heart-clogging goodies overhead, “sure.”
He snags Kayla’s hand in his and skulks away with her in tow, vanishing into the mass of carnival-goers, balloons, and lights. My stomach ties into a slipknot. I’m certainly happy to see her go—just not with him.
We get on the rides, bumper cars, Tilt-A-Whirl, and the spinning cups. Not the brightest idea after we’ve loaded ourselves with greasy food and cheap beer, but we’re acting brave.
We don’t run into Holt after his departure, which makes me unwillingly wonder where he and Makayla could’ve vanished and what they’re doing there. I do my best not to let it nag at me. Being in a group of people helps.
When I’m positive Holt left the carnival altogether, “Come with me,” his hair-raising voice rumbles in my ear.
He culls me from the rest of the herd, weaving through people until we’re out of view. From his stiffened posture, I sense this isn’t going to end well. I yank my wrist from the callous warmth of his grip when I realize he’s pulling me toward the parking lot.
“What is your problem, jerk?” I rub my wrist. It doesn’t hurt, but I’m anxious, and it’s oddly soothing.
“Why did you invite me here?” he asks, his voice clipped.
“Technically, you invited yourself. But I thought you needed a night out with actual people. You’re always spending time with Max or working or—”
“If I want friends, Evie, I don’t need you to setup playdates with other kids. Especially when I’m forced to watch you—” He stops himself.
“No, apparently you don’t,” I comment, my tone clearly referring to Makayla. “Where is the town bicycle, anyway? Done with your ride already?”
“Are you coming home with me or not?” He disregards my remark.
Home?
With me?
Us?
Together?
The idea is seductive, comfy clothes and vegging out on the couch with Holt. My will to be upset with him crumbles, but I’d never ditch my friends.
“I can’t leave.” I point back in the general direction of Tay and Aid.
“Fine.”
He turns and walks out of the carnival grounds.
I hate watching the space between us grow.
I hate hating it even more.
When Aidan drops me off, I’m passed out with my head on his shoulder. I wipe drool from my face with the back of my hand and apologize profusely. He insists it’s nothing, as only a gentlemen would, to save his date from humiliation. He helps me out of his truck, his large hands secured about my waist, and sets me on the ground, assisting me to the porch. Once I wake up more, I’m able to stand without his aid. I riffle through my purse for my keys and uncover them hiding at the bottom corner, buried under knickknacks, crap, and gum wrappers. Excited, I hold them up like a trophy. Like a klutz, I drop them.
“I got ‘em.” He bends down to pick them up for me. He extends out his hand to place them into my upright palm, his fingers grazing it tenderly.
“Thanks for a great night, Evie.”
“Thank you, Aidan.”
My face tilts up, bringing my lips closer to his. He takes a step toward me and slides his hand around my back, his fingers gripping my jacket. Our bodies press together.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Holt’s voice approaches from the garden.
We break apart.
“As a matter of fact,” Aidan’s lips set in a straight line, “you are.”
“That’s a damn shame, isn’t it?” Holt replies, a self-satisfied mien on his face. “Here I come along ruining your night. How terribly inconsiderate of me.”
I wait for him to pass, but he doesn’t move from the top step.
“You’ll want to be getting inside, then,” I suggest.
“I’m perfectly happy right here.”
After an eye-avoiding moment of Holt silently judging us, Aidan leans in to kiss me on the top of my head.
“I’ll see you soon.” H
e brushes past Holt. He has to twist his shoulder to keep from colliding with him. He laughs insolently until he sees my anger and attempts to hold back his elation.
“You know, you really can be a—”
“A charming, witty, devastatingly handsome devil?”
“An asshole.”
“Ah, yeah. That, too.”
I slide the key into the lock and revolve until the grinding click of release. I push on the door, but it doesn’t give. It’s been a humid night, the threat of rain thickening the air, causing the wood to swell. With a decent ram of my shoulder, it yields. I step inside and shut it in his face, stomping down the hall toward my room. It opens and closes behind me. He didn’t get the hint that the conversation is over.
“I guess this means we aren’t cuddling, then?”
I slam my bedroom door and slump against it, listening to his laughter die off with each stair he ascends over my head.
paint sheer enough for light to pass through but not reveal all form, line, and color
Jarred from a nightmare, I shoot up when claps of thunder and lightning interrupt the silenced dark of my room. Traces of my dream loiter, sadness, bewilderment, and loneliness. My mom’s bed seems awfully inviting. Fat chance. She’ll think I can’t take care of myself and try to convince me to stay in Aurora.
There’s one other option, the last option I want to depend on right now. Holt. As this ludicrous consideration takes a pit stop in my head, a window-rattler makes my mind up for me.
I jump out of bed and sneak out of my room to the second floor, avoiding the creaky areas of the worn wood floors. At the end of the hall, I hesitate and pace the width of the corridor at his door. What if he’s asleep? What if he’s still angry with me?
My knuckles scarcely scrape the hard wood surface, drowned out by the storm battering the house. I lose my nerve and one-eighty it. His voice pierces through the door, “It’s open,” summoning me inside.
Secondary Colors Page 6
