“Are you going to scowl at your desk all day, or do you think we should get to our next class?” Riley says, standing over me.
I blink at her. “Did the bell ring?”
Riley grins. “Yeah, like, several minutes ago.”
Looking around, I realize overachievers from the next class are already starting to filter into the room.
“What has you so rattled?” Riley asks.
I shake my head, not ready to admit why I’m upset. Riley’s moved on from Harrison, I think. She’s been talking about some guy from one of the other high schools a lot lately. But it still could be a sore spot.
We go through the rest of our morning classes, and, finally, it’s noon. Other schools have off-campus lunches, but we’re stuck here. Riley and I make our way through the line. Soon after we pick a table, Grant slides in next to me, facing the opposite direction so he can lean his back against the table.
“Hey, you,” he says, his mouth tilting in a smirk.
Pushing my earlier agitation aside, I smile back. “Hey to you too.”
“You gonna come to my game tonight?” He tilts his head when I start to decline, and he pins me with raised eyebrows and an expectant look. “No, no—you promised you’d make it to one. Come to tonight’s.”
Basketball…gymnasium…screaming kids and screaming parents…
“Lauren,” he draws my name out, half pleading, half reprimanding me for trying to get out of it.
I purse my lips. “I don’t know…”
With a smile—and without any notice—he leans forward and presses his lips to mine in a soft, short kiss. “Please?”
I stare at him, dumbfounded and disappointed. That was our first kiss. And it was in the school cafeteria, with Riley and Grant’s popular friends watching. With the smell of beef stew and pizza hanging in the air.
But how picky can a girl be? It was a nice kiss. It was.
Not as nice as the Christmas kiss you shared with Harrison…
I shove the thought away and smile brightly. “Yes, of course, I’ll come.”
Grant’s face lights up, making me feel as low as a slug. “Really?”
I nod, trying to look excited.
He turns in the seat, wraps his arm around my shoulders and snatches unwanted food from my tray. And that’s the way we stay until the bell rings.
***
“Are you and Grant officially dating now?” Riley asks as she fluffs her ponytail.
I watch her in the mirror’s reflection as she primps in the school bathroom closest to the gym. “I don’t know. I don’t think so—he’s never said. Maybe?”
She rolls her eyes. “Do the two of you even talk?”
Grant and I carry on pleasant, shallow conversation about the things we have in common. So, no…we don’t talk that much. We just walk next to each other in the halls. He’s so popular, there’s always someone wanting his attention anyway.
“Yes,” I say, rolling my eyes.
She turns toward me, flips her ponytail over her shoulder, and poses. “How do I look?”
I run my eyes over her skirt, matching top, and white sneakers. “Cheer-ful”
Riley grins. “That was lame.”
Giving her a bored look, I say, “That’s the best I can do right now.”
She grabs my shoulders and pushes me through the door. “Games are fun! Just look at all these happy people!”
“You can turn it down a little.” I give her a wry look over my shoulder as she steers me through the thin crowd. “Shouldn’t you save that pep for the game?”
“I have an everlasting supply.” To prove her point, she hops as she continues to herd me into the gymnasium.
If she were anyone but a cheerleader, people would look at her like she was crazy. But she’s wearing the skirt, so everyone beams at her enthusiasm.
Trusting I’m following, Riley bounds up the bleachers, finding me what she deems to be the “perfect” spot. I follow, trying to look happy just in case Grant looks my way. He’s already here, standing with his team, and they and the other team are doing sporty pre-game things.
“Here you go!” Riley says after she ushers me past parents and siblings and giggling underclassmen. “This is a good spot.”
I’m in the second row of the bleachers, right in the middle.
“Thanks.” I scrunch my nose at the scarred wooden bench.
Riley rolls her eyes but gives me a real smile that’s tinged with a little hurt. “It won’t be that bad. I promise.”
I nod, trying for her sake to work up some enthusiasm. Riley loves this stuff. I can get through an hour for her sake.
It is only an hour, right? I only have to stand here by myself, looking awkward and feeling out of place, for one hour?
“It would be better if we were, you know, hanging out together,” I admit.
“Don’t you start that!” Riley sets her hands on her hips. “I tried to get you to try out for cheer—”
“That is so not what I meant.” Laughing, I shake my head and wave her off. “Go. Cheer. Be adored.”
Out of nowhere, she hugs me. “Thank you for coming to my game, Lauren.”
Then she bounds off, leaving me feeling like the worst friend in the world. She’s so excited I’m here. Why haven’t I done this for her before? She’s my best friend. So what if the gym smells like sanitizer and sweat? (And it does. It really, really does.) I should have done this before now.
I stand here, arms crossed, with a big smile plastered on my face, waiting for the game to start. I hope it will be soon.
The band plays the last of their pep song, and the National Anthem begins. At least I know what to do during this part.
Just as we’re getting to “rocket’s red glare,” a family filters into the row in front of me. They all find their spots, and the dad ends up smack dab in my line of sight. There’s a group of juniors to my right and a family to my left. There’s nowhere for me to go unless I want to get very cozy with someone I don’t know.
And I don’t.
The song ends, the crowds settle, and just as the game is about to begin, the man puts his huge Stetson back on. All I can see is cowboy hat.
I lean to the side, trying to peer around him. Grant, who apparently lost me in the crowd, spots me. Relief washes over his face. He must have thought I left. I give him a small wave, which he returns with a wink, and the girls to my right all swoon, obviously thinking the gesture was for them.
The game finally starts, and I lean to the side, trying to watch the game.
The boys run to the right. Then they run to the left. Someone shoots the ball; it misses, and the crowd groans. Off they go the right again…and so on. The monotony is broken up by the sporadic goal. Goal? That doesn’t sound right. Maybe it’s just called a basket or a point. But are there multiple points per basket? I’m not sure.
It wouldn’t be so bad if I could just see. The game pauses as something is disputed. Riley waves at me from her spot in front of the bleachers. She gives me a questioning thumbs up sign, and I return it, feeling about five years old as I do.
I check my phone as the official speaks with the visiting team’s coach. A missed text shows on my screen. I click on it, grateful I have something to do while I wait for the game to resume.
Then I see who it’s from, and my stomach flutters—which it really shouldn’t do.
Which drawer does your mom keep the ice cream scoop in?
The buzzer goes off, and the game begins again. I hurry with my reply to Harrison. Drawer underneath the microwave.
I tuck my phone into my pocket and scan the players for Grant, but he’s not playing right now. I frown and try to find him on the bottom row of the bleachers where the rest of the team sits. Another text comes in.
I can’t find a saucepan, I read.
Since Grant’s not out anyway, I give up on watching the game for the moment.
Why do you need a saucepan for ice cream? I write.
Almost immediat
ely, he writes back, For hot fudge sauce.
The image of him and his ultra-smart, supermodel date hanging out in my kitchen, laughing while they make sundaes to take back to the guest house, makes me slightly queasy. I tell him where the pots are, and then I resolve to ignore any other texts.
From my lap, my phone vibrates.
I glance at it and then look away. I hold out for five whole seconds before I pick it back up.
Where are you?
You shouldn’t text on a date, I inform him. It’s rude.
He writes back, For your information, Miss Manners, my date is over.
Over? It’s not even eight.
Seriously, where are you? Your parents aren’t home, and Mom’s recipe makes too much for just me.
He doesn’t mean anything by it. He’s just being nice. With him living in the guest house, we’re practically neighbors, so he’s being…neighborly.
Basketball game, I write.
Basketball game??? Since when are you a sports enthusiast?
Before I can reply, another text comes in, and, this time, it’s a picture of a carton of my favorite Rocky Road ice cream.
I bite the inside of my cheek, refusing to acknowledge the warm feeling that’s settled into my chest. Ignoring the picture, I answer his previous question. Since Grant plays basketball.
Several minutes go by, and my phone is silent. I’m relieved and maybe a little disappointed. I jump when it vibrates again.
Are you two actually dating now?
I read the text several times, unsure how to respond, and, frankly, tired of everyone asking. Finally, I decide to go with the truth. I don’t know.
The crowd jumps up around me, all of them cheering and whistling. The girl beside me screeches so loudly, my ears ring. I cringe away from her.
How can’t you know if you’re dating someone? Harrison asks.
We haven’t talked about it.
He answers, But you’re suffering through a game for him?
I frown. I thought you liked sports.
Immediately, he writes back, Sure, but you don’t.
What’s your point?
Harrison answers, Before he expects you to act like a girlfriend, he should make it clear that you are one.
I frown at my phone, growing irritated. Is he jealous? If he is, what right does he have to be? Good grief, he had a date of his own tonight.
I’m just doing the high school thing—which includes going to school games, I write. Like I’m supposed to be doing.
Silence. Long amounts of painful silence.
When the phone vibrates, I’m almost scared to look at what he wrote.
That’s exactly what you should be doing. Have fun.
His text is followed by a no-hard-feelings, we’re-still-friends smiley. I stare at it, trying to dissect his words, his meaning. Irked, I thrust my phone into my purse and refuse to look at it the rest of the night.
The game finally ends after an hour-and-a-half, and I make my way through the crowd to find Riley. Grant and a few of the other players have already joined the cheerleaders, and Grant waves to me as I make my way toward him. He breaks from the group to meet me, and, to my surprise, he pulls me into his arms and kisses me.
I blink at him, startled, and then match his smile with my own. That’s the second time today. It’s got to mean something. Are we dating, and I just don’t know it?
“I’m glad you came,” he says.
“Me too.”
Riley bounds over. “Did you see the basket that Grant made? It was amazing!”
I missed it. I have no idea what she’s talking about.
Smiling, I do the only thing I can think of. I stand on my tip-toes, press another kiss to Grant’s lips, and then say, “Good job.”
A sweet grin stretches across his face, and he looks so happy, my heart melts a little bit. My conversation with Harrison shoved aside, I happily settle next to Grant as he wraps an arm around my shoulders.
We go out for pizza with the team after the game, and it’s after ten by the time I get home. For once, I beat my parents. Mom called earlier and said they were going to a movie and wouldn’t be back until late.
Not ready for bed, I wander into the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea. My eyes instantly go to a bowl and spoon. There’s a note with them.
You missed some seriously awesome hot fudge, but I might have left some in the fridge for you.
My stomach clenches, and warmth spreads from my chest to my toes. Then I scrunch the note in my hands and toss it in the trash. I’m not supposed to feel this way about Harrison.
I turn on my heel to leave the kitchen, but then I stop. There’s no reason to waste perfectly good hot fudge sauce. Feeling like I’m somehow betraying Grant, I make myself a sundae.
And it’s good—too good. Too decadent, too rich. Exactly what I want, but exactly what I shouldn’t have right now. Dumping it in the sink, I watch the ice cream melt and swirl down the drain.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
February 13th
“After the wax has solidified, you can remelt what remains in the pot and pour it onto the top of the candle to cover any sunken areas.” I demonstrate, being careful not to spill the wax on my mother’s countertop. “Give it a day or two to cure, and then it’s ready to burn.”
I finish up the video and then start the task of cleaning up my mess. I run hot water into the pouring pot, and the soy wax begins to melt away. Already, I can tell it’s going to clean up much easier than the paraffin that I tried for my first candle tutorial.
I’m carefully packing up my fragrance oils when Harrison wanders in from the back. He sniffs the air and then tilts his head. “What is that?”
“I call it Enchanted Apple.”
He spots the candle and then starts to pick it up.
“No!” I lunge for his hand and then laugh at his startled expression. “You don’t want to move it too much in the first twelve hours.”
His eyebrows rise. “You made this?”
I nod. “Just now.”
“There’s no glitter involved.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t know for sure, but it seems that adding glitter to something you burn might be a really bad idea.”
He sits at the counter and crosses his arms on the table. “You could have used spray adhesive on the glass container and given the outside a good dousing.”
Slowly I raise my eyes, meeting his.
A teasing smile lifts the side of his mouth. “It was a joke.”
“It’s a good idea.”
“You don’t have to add sparkles to everything you touch. You’re not a fairy.”
I’m intrigued, my mind already working. I choose to ignore the last bit. “You could use stencils…add designs! I’ll let this sit until tomorrow, and then I’ll embellish it.”
Harrison just rolls his eyes, swivels the stool, and goes to raid the fridge.
“I found a place to rent,” he says all nonchalant-like.
Like it’s no big deal that I’ll soon have my space back. Like it’s no big deal that he’ll no longer be a few dozen feet away…no longer be here, rummaging in the fridge, bugging me about my glitter addiction.
I swallow, glad his back is toward me. “Yeah?”
“I had to talk the landlord into letting me pay him.”
That’s odd.
Wrinkling my nose, I lean on the counter. “You had to do what?”
Harrison closes the fridge after he finds the cheesecake Mom made last night. After living here for several months, he’s right at home in the kitchen. He retrieves a plate from the cupboard while I get the spoons.
He leans against the counter opposite me, cuts a large slice, and slides it on the plate. “My new landlord wanted to let me stay for free.”
I offer him a spoon and then dig in with my own. He doesn’t object to me stealing part of his dessert. Not that it would have mattered; I would have done it anyway.
“He sounds a little loony,” I say
as I go for another bite.
Harrison chuckles. “I’ll let your dad know how you feel about him.”
I pause, a bite halfway to my mouth. “What?”
He settles against the counter, leaning toward me. “Is it okay with you?”
“Is what okay?”
“If I stay here, start paying your parents rent. I know the guest house was kind of your area, so I wanted to make sure you are all right with it.”
How do I feel about Harrison staying?
“You’ve already defiled it with your guy junk anyway.” I take another bite, this time savoring it slowly, trying to look like I couldn’t care less. “You might as well stay now.”
When I do look up, his eyes are on me. It’s a questioning look, a look that makes my insides do somersaults.
A look that he simply should not be giving me.
His gaze finally drops to the nearly empty plate between us. “Shouldn’t you have plans for tomorrow?”
My breath catches. Tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day.
“Um…”
“You said you were going to glitter that candle.” He nods to it. “But shouldn’t you be going out with Grant?”
Oh, right.
Grant’s taking me out to dinner.
“Of course we have plans.”
“Am I allowed to ask if you’re official yet?”
Losing my appetite, I set my spoon down and squirm. “We’ve decided not to discuss it.”
“You’ve chosen not to discuss it?” He gives me an incredulous look. “You mean neither of you have chosen to bring it up.”
Yeah. That.
I shrug and slip away from the counter to get a glass of water. He comes up behind me as I fill up the glass, and I focus on the cold water pouring from the filter.
“You don’t have to go out with him, you know.” He pauses. “If you don’t like him.”
“I do like him,” I say with more force than necessary.
Harrison just stands there, quiet as if he’s thinking. He’s close enough I could turn around and step into his arms, clasp my hands behind his neck. He’d kiss me back. I know he would.
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