by J. L. Weil
Leaning comfortably against the wall was an unfamiliar face, and in my rush, I smacked into him. Literally. The front of my face connected with the solid front of his chest, hands clutching on the muscle of his biceps. In an impossibly quick gut-reaction, he caught me in his arms. We wavered a tad, but he managed to keep us upright, instead of mortifying me further and tumbling to the grass.
Damn. What else can happen today?
I forced my glance upward from the black cotton tee that conformed to his chest, ready to apologize for my clumsiness. His hands tingled on my arms, still holding me. It should have been too intimate for comfort, but I found the opposite to be true. A sense of safety came over me, probably because he had just saved me from falling all over him.
My hands released their grip and flattened on his chest. His heart quickened under my fingers. The scent of him drifted to my senses, smelling of the woods, wild and untamed. The apology on my lips got stuck in the back of my throat, and in that blinding moment, I tripped into a set of sapphire eyes. My own heart picked up speed, thumping wildly in my chest—uncontainable, like stallions roaming the plains. Nothing like the trepidation I felt previously. This was racing excitement.
He raised a perfectly arched brow, accented with a studded bar. His eyes sparkled with amusement, assumingly at my gaping stare. I, on the other hand, was unaware I’d stood stunned, feet planted, with no attempt to move from his arms. In retrospect, I could only hope he didn’t find me as stupid as I later felt.
My gaze wandered from his eyes, down the planes of his cheeks, to lips donned with yet another piercing. This one was a hoop in the center of his lower lip. Those silver-studded lips upturned into a lazy smirk. I was fascinated by the curl of his mouth. An intense string of butterflies flew in my stomach. They felt more like fireflies, due to the warmth that swirled with the exhilaration. I wondered if there were any more parts of him that were pierced.
Then his mouth lowered the tiniest fraction closer to mine, and I stopped thinking at all. The breath I held caught in what I never would have imagined—anticipation. I actually wanted this strange guy to press his lips to mine. Right now, it was all I wanted—his kiss. The gentle tendril of his breath fanned my senses, making me dizzy with the scent of him. My mind must have taken a complete detour between eighth and ninth period.
A gentle stroke of his thumb on my bare arm sent a shudder down my spine, knocking me out of my spellbound gape. I jerked out of his embrace, immediately missing the contact. What was wrong with me? I don’t encourage strange guys to kiss me, really any guy, for that matter.
“What are you doing?” I demanded, sounding harsher than intended.
He arched his pierced brow again mockingly. “Looks like I’m not the only one ditching last period.”
His voice was an extension of his look. Dark. Sexy. Edgy. Mysterious. And dangerous.
Not precisely the kind of guy you’d want to meet alone in an alley, or behind the schoolyard, for that matter.
He was dressed from head to toe in black: dark denim jeans, with a T-shirt, combat boots, and a thick leather band around his wrist. This guy wasn’t shy about jewelry. He had a James Dean quality, a Rebel Without a Cause ambiance.
Now that I wasn’t so enamored by his eyes, I could appreciate the whole package. His hair was layered around his face with flirtatious slashing strands, also black as sin. He was a mouth full of eye candy. Yummy and delicious.
“I—I don’t normally ditch,” I stammered, running a frustrated hand through my tangled hair.
The look he gave said he found me entertaining, but didn’t buy into the whole “not ditching” thing. He shrugged his shoulders. “Well, that’s a damn shame.”
My eyes narrowed, and I slung the bag that had slipped back over my shoulder. “I’ve never seen you before. Are you a new student?”
His eyes caught mine again, and they seemed to laugh. “Umm, yeah—it’s my first day.”
“You ditched on your first day?” My voice sounded as perplexed as the idea was to me.
“Sure. It seems worth it, now.” His voice held sex appeal. Husky and dark. “I’m Gavin,” he introduced, shoving both hands in his pockets now that he wasn’t holding onto me.
“Brianna,” I replied. The last warning bell sounded, reminding me I shouldn’t be loitering. “I should go,” I mumbled hastily.
He leaned back casually against the brick wall, one leg propped up behind him. “I’ll be seeing you, Bri.” He shortened my name, as if we were acquainted. His husky voice held promise.
I couldn’t tell if I was flattered or insulted. “Sorry about…running into you,” I muttered and turned toward the parking lot, not waiting for a response. I couldn’t get to my car fast enough.
When I got inside my aging Mustang, I wasn’t sure what to do next or where to go. Everything inside me was muddled. An inability to get a handle on the rattled emotions overcame me. The lingering exhaustion from my anger slowly faded and was now accompanied by a burst of excitement in my chest. All of it was too much. The need to unwind and smooth my frazzled nerves was too great to ignore. The first thing that came to mind was my aunt and her shop, Mystic Floral and Gifts.
My aunt was like no other—she was amazing. Her small floral boutique was located in the heart of downtown Holly Ridge, and it was also my part-time job. The short ride from school had done little for my frayed emotions. I felt as if I had just been bungee jumping, flying from pissed off to shamed—a giant drop. Then to a confused excitement that, if I didn’t know better, resembled attraction. Gavin wasn’t my type, not that I really had a type. I would’ve had to have dated to know what my type was. My inability to find my niche in life was no doubt contributing factors to my confusion.
My aunt’s shop was enchanting and potent. The second I walked, in I was dazzled with the serene smells of lilies, lavender and freesia. She has this impressive window display that captivated people, pulling them in, showing off her flair for the dramatic. Cornflower velvet was draped over stands of various heights, her floral arrangements cascading over like green waterfalls, clusters of rainbow crystals sparkling like magic in the morning sun.
I’d always been at complete ease here, and had a sense of belonging. The atmosphere she created was what I identified with. Otherworldly. Fantasy. An escape from reality.
Right now, I needed all of the above.
Walking into the shop, I noticed my aunt behind the glass counter with a customer. Her long, silky, caramel-colored hair lay softly over her shoulders, such a contrast to my own dark strands. Her smooth and creamy skin looked flawless in the sunbeams from the storefront windows, and her soft mahogany eyes twinkled.
My Aunt Clara was my legal guardian. She and my mom had been twins. Sometimes it was peculiar having my aunt look and sound exactly like my mom. When I was younger, it had been much more difficult.
At age five, I came to live with my aunt. I was orphaned after a drunk driver killed both my parents on New Year’s Eve. Gwynn and Andrew Rafferty had been on their way home from a business event with my dad’s firm, when the tragic accident occurred. I don’t have clear memories of that day, only a snapshot in my head of the way they looked before they left. They were elegantly dressed, and I can still recall the smell of her perfume, like roses, as she hugged me good-bye.
I do remember the empty confusion after the fact. My aunt cried with me through our pain, kissed the salty tears from my eyes, and held onto me at night when I was frightened and alone. She became my rock.
Even now, years later, when I caught the scent of a rose in full bloom, I would ache and wonder what life would have been like. The what-if game… I detested playing those wishing games. The loss of my parents wasn’t something I reflected on often; although, it snuck up on me occasionally and squeezed the place they held in a corner of my heart.
Mostly, I deluded myself into believing I was nothing but an average teenager. After today, my doubts skyrocketed. What I needed was confirmation that I wasn’t an
oddity or needed to be locked up in the loony bin. Maybe I did need therapy, but right now, I wanted my aunt.
Passing by one of the mirrors used on display, I caught a glimpse of my reflection. A loud sigh escaped my lips. How I yearned for the elegant grace and classic beauty of my mother and aunt. In truth, there were none of those traits within me. Instead, I was graced with unmanageable auburn hair and, my skin was dusted with freckles that went over the bridge of my dainty nose. I scrunched it in the reflection just to prove my point.
My aunt said I have a unique look. What did that mean? Did she mean unique as in appealing, or unique as in odd? Probably she was trying to keep my self-esteem from reaching an all-time low. I had a hard time looking at myself and visualizing anything uncommon. Just the same face. The one I’ve seen for the last seventeen years.
Ordinary.
I’d admit I did have an odd feature. One I guessed you could call novel—my eyes. They are a true violet, like an amethyst.
I trailed a finger along the shelves, as I strolled through the shop, trying to distract my mind. Nothing worked.
Mystic Floral was my aunt’s heart and soul. She was divorced, and the store had become her saving grace. Being the owner did take up an extensive amount of her time. She often felt guilty that I spent much of my time alone and taking care of myself. When I was younger, I would spend my afternoons in the shop until closing. This place had been as much of home as the house on Mulberry.
I admired my aunt’s gift with plants, and her artistic ability to make something beautiful. It was in this place I could breathe. The smells were so alive and aromatic, the environment spellbinding. I traced my nail along some of the new colored decorative bottles she had arranged, glistening against crystal stones.
“Brianna.” Her voice was like a warm hearth, filled with security. I turned to face her. “You’re early, is everything okay?” She checked the time on her wrist.
Swallowing hard, I didn’t know whether to cry, laugh, or hug her. Instead, I lied, something I don’t do very well. “I got sick before last period.” I kept my eyes averted to the tiled floor, silently praying she wouldn’t see through my ruse.
She pursed her lips, looking concerned. “Why don’t you go home and take the night off? You look a little… peaked.” Her caring suggestion only made me feel guiltier than I thought possible.
“It’s not as bad now,” I assured. “Would it be all right if I stayed?” I asked hesitantly. I really wanted her company, the calm reassurance of love.
“Yeah, honey, if that’s what you want.” She totally didn’t buy my flimsy excuse, but she wouldn’t hound me until I was ready to talk.
I nodded my head.
“Why don’t you help me set out some of these arrangements I just finished,” she encouraged, knowing I needed a distraction to help ease my mind.
An hour into my shift, I headed to the back room in hopes of occupying my thoughts with homework. Mister Dark and Dangerous seemed to find a way to slither into my head. Something told me I hadn’t seen the last of Gavin. He was going to shake things up in Holly Ridge.
Chapter 3
The shop had a bell on the door that chimed at the arrival of a customer.
I found my aunt sitting at her work table, crafting a display with flowers. She cut the ends on their long stems. “Feeling any better?” Concern fed her tone.
I took a seat beside her, picking up the discarded stems. “Some.”
“Good. You want to talk about it?” She could tell that something was bothering me. I sucked at hiding my emotions. And lying.
I sighed. “I just had a horrible day.” Horrific was more like it. “I had a headache that wouldn’t quit. Then a girl at school was bullying Austin and—” I paused, not sure how to tell her.
“Did you say something to this girl?” She clipped another stem from a pretty, blush-colored flower.
“I kind of grabbed her arm. Hard.” Admitting what I done was tougher than I expected, and I kept my eyes locked onto the grain of the table.
She put the flower down and eyed me. “Did it go further than that?” she asked, obviously wondering if we’d exchanged blows in the halls. The whole hair-pulling and nail-scratching deal or if she was going to be getting a call from the principal.
I shook my head, lifting my gaze. “I left school right after and came here. I wanted to punish her for all the crap she’s been giving Austin, but I didn’t want to physically hurt her.” Well, if I was being honest with myself, at the time, it was exactly what I wanted to do. I brushed a strand of stray hair behind by ear.
She eyed me with worry. “I know it’s challenging, dealing with those who have no care for others feelings. You did nothing wrong by defending your friend.”
Then why did I have so much guilt? She was trying to calm my inner turmoil, but I wasn’t sure there was anything she could say that would absolve it from me.
“I know that in my head, but it’s my conscience that doesn’t agree. I feel like I lost myself somewhere during the day. Like my control just snapped,” I begrudgingly admitted and slumped in my seat.
“What happened may be uncharacteristic for you, but everyone has a breaking point. Maybe you found yours.” She gathered the fresh cut flowers and began slipping them into a crystal vase.
“Yeah, I guess.” I was unconvinced.
Pushing the abundantly-filled vase aside, she faced me. “You have always had a soft heart. It’s something to be proud of.”
Her words recalled a memory of me at nine, caring for a baby bunny lost from its family. I took it in, swaddled it in blankets, and fed it baby formula with an eyedropper. For weeks, I doted on this tiny bunny, afraid he wasn’t going to be strong enough on his own, willing with all my might that he would survive. He did. The day I released him back into the trees bordering my yard was a mixture of gratified happiness and an achy sorrow, but I knew he was going to thrive.
“You’re right.” I attempted a half-smile for her sake. Propping my elbows on the table, I placed my chin in my hands and exhaled. “Now all I have to do is deal with the gossip tomorrow.”
“You’re stronger than you can imagine,” she said, engulfing me in hug filled with unconditional love. Her hair brushed against my cheek and smelled of lilacs.
I leaned my head on her shoulder and took a second to appreciate what she meant to me.
By the time my shift ended at the shop, I was physically spent. I pulled into our driveway, and my eyes roamed over the house of all my childhood memories. The two-story pearly white colonial trimmed in black. A veranda swept off both sides of the house. In the center was a massive cobblestone fireplace. Here and there the stone was accented throughout. My aunt, of course, landscaped the yard, and it looked like something out of Better Homes and Gardens.
My favorite part of the house had always been the large pear tree sitting off the garage. I loved when the tree blossomed in the spring, stuffing its branches with the white flowers. The waxy petals ended up blanketing the yard in a cloud.
My aunt inherited the house from my Grandma when she declared there was too much unused space for just her. Gran wanted something low-key and less work, a maintenance-free townhome. The house had been a part of our family for generations. It was very old, but well kept.
I walked inside and headed to the kitchen. The house was quiet and creaked in certain spots underfoot. There were leftovers from last night I planned on having for dinner, but my stomach was unsettled from the day’s events. I went for the caffeine instead. Grabbing a can of soda from the fridge, I headed upstairs to my room.
Moving out of habit, I changed my clothes and discarded the old ones in the hamper. By nature, I was tidy, and liked things in order. I went to the window and cracked it, letting the twilight breeze into my room, cooling the humidity. I pulled back the covers, fluffed my pillow and climbed into bed.
That night I found the restlessness had returned, and I was unable to sleep, in spite of being exhausted. My mind raced with
images, darting from Rianne to Gavin and back to Rianne. What had happened to me today? I didn’t even recognize myself.
Fighting.
Ditching class.
Engaging with a troublemaker.
Wanting to kiss the troublemaker.
I covered my face with my hands, mortified at just the thought of how I’d acted. I was a basket case.
Snippets of Rianne’s cherry rash on her arm, and the terror and accusation in her face, kept me up. My mind over exaggerated the incident. There had to be a rational explanation for what I’d done, and more importantly, how. So I grabbed her arm, but tight enough to leave marks like that? It was the only plausible solution my mind could come up with, and nowhere near made me feel better.
In the late hours of the night, my body succumbed to the rest it sought. My dreams however, were anything but peaceful.
The dream was one I had many times before. Maybe not the same dream per se, but always of him. The blond-haired boy with emerald eyes that beckoned me.
Lukas Devine.
He was as divine as his name indicated. With his boy-next- door, clean-cut looks and athletic built, Lukas had a charming smile. The random dreams of him have existed for as long as I can remember. They’d become such a part of my sleep that I welcomed his arrival.
The fact that I converse with a hot guy in my dreams was another sad aspect of my so-called life.
He had been the most exciting part—pitiful I know—until my run-in with Gavin. I chalked it up to being the stuff dreams were made of. Perhaps that feeling only existed in the fantasy my mind created. Other than this made-up guy of my dreams, no one had come close to making me feel the heat rushed exhilaration I’d experienced with Gavin.
The dreams started when I was very young, five or six. He always appeared to me at the same age I was. We sort of grew up together. He’d been a friend, confidante, and playmate. Lately, the pull of attraction seemed to heighten each time I dreamed of him. And because it was a dream, I could be everything I wasn’t in real life.
