Wicked Charm

by Amber Hart

  A pinecone falls from the tree above, and I watch it roll off into the water.

  “How are you doing with losing Jorie?” he asks.

  It’s hard to bridge the gap between the friend I had and the murderer she became.

  “I wonder if I could have done more, somehow saved all those girls,” I say. “I miss the Jorie I thought she was, but maybe with time, it’ll get easier. I’m convinced something good has to come from this.”

  Beau watches me, understanding clearly visible in his stare.

  “I think you’re right that change will come,” he says.

  Neither one of us wants any of the deaths—the girls, his grandpa, Jorie—to be in vain.

  “I feel it, too, you know…the guilt.” He sighs and it takes him a moment to find his voice. “It all started with me hurting one girl’s heart, but I’ve decided to be better. More open. Considerate. Thoughtful.”

  I take his warm hand in mine. I lost a friend. He lost a family member. I gained perspective. I think he did, too.

  “What happened with Pax and Grant?”

  Both of us suspected them, a little in part because of Grant’s jealousy and Pax’s quietness. I owe them an apology, even if they don’t realize that I’d questioned their innocence. And next time I see them, I plan to straighten it out, clear the slate. Maybe even help Grant learn how to talk to girls so that he can get one to stay longer than ten seconds. I smile at the thought.

  “We talked,” Beau says. “I apologized for not putting more trust in my friendships with them. Now Grant can see that my life isn’t something to be jealous of. I told them that I lost my parents, but I’m not ready to tell them how just yet. It’s something, right? I suppose I should tell you that I’m sorry, too.”

  “For what?”

  “For not opening up easily. I’m trying, though.”

  “I know that.”

  Maybe he doesn’t have an open door to his heart, and maybe that’s okay.

  “What about the cabin?” I ask.

  “Though my grandpa is gone, the house is willed to us—Charlotte and me. You know what this means?” he asks.

  I do. It means that he gets to stay my neighbor. It means that he doesn’t have to lose everything.

  “That you can be in the place you love without worry,” I say.

  I lean against his chest, gently placing one of his arms around my waist. Beau’s lips are featherlight on my temple. Above us, cotton-ball clouds blot an expanse of steely blue sky.

  I think about how his cabin will feel with the absence of his grandpa. It’s a drastic change for him, one that can’t come easily, one that’s bound to have a few hiccups. I take a deep breath and gauge my next words.

  “Are you doing okay with missing your grandpa?”

  He hasn’t had a lot of time to grieve his passing.

  “It’s hard,” he whispers.

  His fists clench, and he stares off at the trees and leaves and nothingness. And then he does a funny thing. He exhales and grins.

  “Before I forget, I’m supposed to deliver a message,” he says.

  “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

  “Think you could tell Old Lady Bell that my grandpa never stopped loving her?”

  I smile. “I could do that. Believe it or not, she might not mind hearing those words.” Then, on a more serious note. “You know you still have me, right? No matter what.”

  A crow perched above us caws.

  “I know.”

  “You’re free, Beau. You suffered another loss, and you survived it. You don’t have to live in fear of caring—that’s the best part. Without caring, you never truly live.”

  I’m far from a place of understanding his pain, but his bravery is right here, in plain sight.

  He stares off into the distance, only his profile visible. I admire his features, my gaze tracing the strength in his jaw, his shoulders, his body.

  “Look at me.”

  Slowly, he does.

  “I’m not going anywhere. You can trust in me, in us. I choose you, Beau. Though you’re a little bit wicked, you are also thoughtful and kind and, damn it, I love you.”

  He stills. And then he smiles the biggest smile I’ve ever seen in all my life.

  “You love me?” he asks.

  “So what?” I say. “You love me, too.”

  He pulls me tighter against him.

  “You love me,” I continue, “even though you don’t have to and even though you haven’t said it, and especially even though you never actually wanted to. You still love me.”

  I don’t care that I’m transparent. I don’t care that I’ve left my heart out on the swampy soil.

  “You are completely in love with me, Beau Cadwell, and the feeling is mutual.”

  He doesn’t deny it. Instead, he kisses me.

  He kisses me like the sun kisses the sky every morning. Like the forest kisses the shadows. Like murky waters kiss the dirt.

  “Willow,” he whispers, “I do love you.”

  I relish the taste of his lips. I press against them again and again until the sun breaks right through the leaves.

  “Is that the first time you’ve told a girl that you love her?”

  “It might be the first time,” he says.

  “By ‘might be,’ do you mean ‘is’?”

  “Perhaps. But probably not.”

  “Or you could be lying right now.”

  “Or maybe not.”

  “You are.”

  “No way to know for sure.”

  I grin. “Are you feeding me your damn riddles again?”

  “Did you honestly think I’d ever stop?”

  “I sure hope not.”

  The sun drips rays over us, and I lean my head toward the sky, letting it warm my face.

  “Look at us, Beau,” I say as his fingers curl around mine. “The swamp fits us. We fit us.”

  Strange thing about love: it shatters all walls and encompasses all senses and steals the very breath from your lungs. It kisses you good night and greets you in the morning and spins your thoughts with one face. It cries when you cry and laughs when you do and stitches two souls together.

  I love him. This boy. I forget what it’s like to not love him, and I suppose that’s the point.

  “The bog can finally go back to being the bog: gator tails and frog songs and, if we’re lucky enough, endless nights under depthless stars.” My voice softens, and a small laugh escapes me. “Only this go-round, you are mine, Beau Cadwell. And I am yours.”

  His grin speaks of his wicked charm. His hopeful eyes tell me he agrees with every word spoken, and I manage to whisper.

  “Forever and ever.”

  Acknowledgments

  Georgia, you beautiful state, thank you for the wonderful, inspiring memories. I wouldn’t have wanted to grow up anywhere else. An outpouring of gratitude to the people who made Wicked Charm possible. Entangled Teen and my editor, Karen Grove, you are a charm to work with. Stacey Donaghy, agent and friend, thanks for your guidance. Invaluable help came from Amy Horn, who read the first, messy draft and told me I had something worthwhile. Endless gratefulness to my friends Tracy Clark, Kelsey Sutton, and Jenn Marie Thorne for chats, encouragement, chocolate, and Starbucks. You girls have kept me sane. Jay Asher, you are one of the very first people I told about this novel. Thanks for convincing me to drive across the state on a whim, ALA, many laughs, and for showing me the ropes. It was the experience of a lifetime. My precious family: you are adored. Dad, remember the time you encouraged me to call a gator over, and then had me sit beside its head while you snapped a picture? That was fun. Thanks for the walks through the woods, too. Rodolfo, I hope all my chapters end with you. The biggest of all appreciation to my son. I’d pluck down the moon for you if I could, and it’d still never shine as bright as your smile. I love you more.

  About the Author

  Amber Hart resides on the Florida coastline with family and a plethora of animals she affectionately refers to as h
er urban farm. When unable to find a book, she can be found writing, daydreaming, or with her toes in the sand. She’s also the author of the Before & After series for teen readers and the Untamed series for adult readers. Visit her online at www.amberhartbooks.com.

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