by Rachel Auld
I groaned. “You’re killing me here!” I told her, almost certain it was true.
Sara shook her head sadly. “Can’t have that, can we? We’d better discuss something else. How do you like the weather here in Oakville?” she asked, her tone brisk and businesslike.
I slid my plate out of the way and laid my head on the countertop. “The weather is lovely but the local redheads, oy!” I complained. She laughed and leaned toward me, toying with my hair as I turned my head to peek up at her. A shiver ran through me as her fingers brushed the back of my neck. She paused but I immediately pleaded, “Don’t stop.”
She continued, weaving a lock over and under her fingers, caressing my skin now and again with knuckle or fingertip. I fought the urge to close my eyes, wanting to watch her face. Her expression was dreamy, pensive, as though she were reading a beloved work of poetry. Until Sara, I’d never realized the depth of changeability that a person could possess, transforming effortlessly from amusement to contemplation and back again. Maybe that was why her aquamarine eyes fascinated me so, as though they represented the deep sea of emotions within her, shifting with the tides.
Feeling hypnotized by her touch, I wondered if this was how she felt when I stroked her hair or back. Did the world condense for her, too, until it was focused on the pinpoint of where our skin connects? Did she wish it would never stop, that we could freeze in that moment forever? Or was it only she who held that magical sway over me? I couldn’t bring myself to ask, too afraid of breaking the spell.
Sara began humming as she twirled strands of my hair around her fingers, lulling me further into reverie. I studied her from beneath the veil of hair that had fallen across my eyes. The black shirt stood in stark contrast to her fair skin, though unfortunately from this angle I couldn’t see the tempting flashes of that skin that I knew her ripped jeans revealed. Her hair was loose today, with two braids pulling the sides back from her face and soft ringlets tumbling over her shoulders. Those ever-changing eyes looked almost jade in color, but it was the half smile playing on her pink lips that drew my attention. God, she was beautiful. I wondered once more how on earth I had managed to find her.
I realized after a moment of daydreaming about her lips that she had stopped humming. Her expression was distant, serene but with a touch of sadness. I sat up slowly, clasping her hand as it fell from the back of my head.
“Hey,” I said gently, “everything okay?”
Her smile was genuine but weary. “Yes, just tired. It’s been a long few days,” she replied, squeezing my hand.
Nodding, I squeezed back. “It certainly has been a lot of socializing for a secluded little homeschooler,” I teased.
That pulled her back from the cloud that had been creeping over her. “I think the poor little homeschooler did just fine, thank you very much,” she huffed, eyes sparkling at me. Those exquisite lips curved into a smile. “But you’re right, I spoke to more people in the past two days than I did in the past two years!”
I laughed, catching her chin in my hand. “You were amazing, Sara,” I told her, meaning it with all my heart. “I thought we were going to have to fight our way out of the dance on Friday but you managed to waltz out unscathed.”
“Thanks in large part to Mr. Hall,” she corrected.
“True,” I conceded, reflecting on his timely interruption. “What the deal with him, anyway?” Though I fought valiantly against it, a swift bolt of jealousy struck me in the chest as I recalled his familiarity with Sara. I would never suspect anything had gone on between them—he was young, yes, but she’d been very young and her father had worked with the guy. There was just something beyond a typical student-teacher relationship that I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
Sara was quiet for a moment too long; my heart dropped into my stomach. Then she blinked as though clearing her head and smiled at me again, a smile of such warmth that I could practically feel each muscle relaxing under its power. “He’s dating my calc professor. I started taking classes with her last year and sort of introduced them over the summer. Our occasional awkward family dinners with him gave off enough clues that he was single and looking for someone who might really ‘get him,’ or whatever. She’s my advisor there so I was able to drop enough hints to finally hook them up when he came up to orientation with me and my mom this past August.” She grinned. “I never realized playing matchmaker was so rewarding,” she said with a wink.
Disaster averted, I thought, grinning back at her. I was annoyed at my own unfounded reaction to the thought of her having feelings for someone; for heaven’s sake, I’d only been here for a month of her life. Of course she must have had at least a crush here or there over the years before I came to town. Knowing logically that it was both likely and natural didn’t eliminate the vaguely queasy sensation that settled inside my gut, though. It must have shown on my face, because Sara cocked a brow.
“What is it?” she asked.
I tried to think of a smooth way out of this conversation but my brain failed me. “Ahh . . .” I began lamely. “I mean, I know you said you didn’t really date when we first met. I was just wondering if you had dated anybody, like, before.” Oh sweet heavens, I chided myself immediately, you are an imbecile.
Sara’s eyes shot wide, indicating this was not the direction she’d expected the conversation to take. I felt a tiny hint of pride that my face had not revealed every thought, then mentally rolled my eyes at my own idiocy—even if my face had not confessed, my mouth had. Sara’s expression was inscrutable and I wondered for one terrifying moment if I had crossed some invisible line, but then she spoke.
“Not really,” she answered slowly. “Not like this.” Her hand lifted in a broad, sweeping motion between us. She looked as though she were carefully considering how much to tell me. I was not feeling very reassured. Sara took a breath and then continued. “There was just a stupid middle school thing the spring before freshman year. He was already in high school.”
Something in her eyes caused a horrible sense of dread to settle in my stomach. “Jay Hallowell?” I guessed, fighting the lump in my throat.
She gave a tight, pained smile. “Yes,” she said, her voice bitter. “It was . . . I don’t know what it was. He was cute and popular and when he started paying attention to me, I felt . . . special? It sounds so stupid now. He was not interested in me and it was not special. My dad had given him a bad grade on something and he wanted revenge. I was stupid and naive enough to play right into it.”
My chest was tight, absorbing her pain. “You,” I said firmly, cupping her cheeks in my hands, “did nothing wrong.” I waited until her eyes locked on mine. “Nothing. You were just a kid.” I felt a cold fury deep in my bones. Jay Hallowell had done more than enough harm for one lifetime. I wanted him to pay.
She sucked in a long, slow breath. “I know. There have been plenty of things I’ve blamed myself for, but that isn’t one of them. I realized what was happening before it was too late, at least. Though . . . it was close.”
I felt my blood begin to boil as her cheeks reddened. How dare that son of a bitch try to take advantage of her like that? I followed her example and forced myself to take several deep breaths before speaking. I had been willing to defend her in the grocery store that day weeks ago, but for the first time in my life, I felt the actual urge to hunt down and punch another human being in the face. Sara laid a calming hand on my knee.
“I never told Nelson,” she said quietly, and I understood his puzzlement over Sara’s dislike of Jay even before the accident. “He and Jay were just starting to become friends back then. Nelson had been such a loner for so long, he didn’t really have any guy friends back then. I didn’t want him to blame me for ruining it for him. Later . . . I just thought it would sound spiteful, throwing the past in his face when he wasn’t even aware of it.” She fell silent for a moment. “I don’t want him to know, even now. I’m sorry, Travis,” she said, tears glistening in her eyes. “It’s terrible of me to ask you to
keep a secret from him, but will you?”
I couldn’t tell if I wanted to laugh or cry. “Sara, sweetheart, you don’t have to apologize,” I told her gently. “It’s not my secret to tell. Of course I won’t say anything.” She nodded in thanks and clasped my hand tightly. It wasn’t enough; I stood from my stool and wrapped my arms around her, wanting to shield her from intangible memory. I couldn’t shake the image of Jay putting his hands on her, pressuring her, taunting her. She hadn’t given specifics and I was caught between relief and a painful desire to know exactly what had happened so that I could calculate his punishment.
Through all the suppressed rage, I found myself wondering how the universe could have treated Sara so cruelly these past few years. She hadn’t deserved any of it, but the damned Hallowell brothers just kept adding insult to injury. I pressed my face to the top of her head, inhaling the sweet floral scent of her shampoo. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered, wishing I could erase all of the pain she’d endured.
She shifted to peek up at me, a tiny smile playing on her lips. “Not as sorry as Jay was,” she said. “He told everyone it was a soccer accident but I broke his nose when he tried to ignore the word ‘no.’ The look on his face was priceless.”
I laughed, the tension bursting within me as I pictured tiny little Sara decking him. “Why am I not surprised?” I asked, squeezing her tighter against me. “No wonder he holds a grudge!”
Sara grinned now, the familiar mischievous twinkle returning to her eyes. “Few things in my life have been as rewarding as hearing that crunch,” she confessed. “My dad always encouraged his students to learn self-defense, so I took a class with some of them that winter. I swear it was like he didn’t even see it coming. Do I look like that big a pushover?” she asked indignantly.
“Hell no,” I assured her. “You are one badass chick, Sara Matthews. I wouldn’t want to get on your bad side!”
Pleasure spread across her features. “Why, thank you, Travis Holmes. You’re not so bad yourself,” she replied lightly. “As you might have guessed, Jay’s issues with me run well beyond his brother getting behind the wheel drunk.”
I reflected on that, rubbing my chin along the top of her head. Jay’s behavior toward her was turning out to be a serious personal personal vendetta. I didn’t have extensive experience with the guy, but from what I had seen, he showed absolutely no remorse for his role in any of these incidents. That seemed like an awfully dangerous combination.
Sara gave a slight shiver that spoke her agreement clearer than any words. “Hey,” I said softly, waiting until she looked up at me to continue. “It’s abundantly clear that you can take care of yourself, but I want you to know that I will never let him lay another finger on you. Ever.”
The expression that spread across her beautiful face in that moment—a mix of pleasure, gratitude, and something much deeper—erased any doubt in my mind that I was in love with her. I opened my mouth to say it aloud but stopped myself before the words came tumbling out. She caught it, though, and lifted a brow. Her eyes were soft, almost dreamy. “Say it,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Say what?” I asked, feeling tongue-tied and awkward in a way I hadn’t felt since the day we met.
Sara shot me a knowing look, like something my mom would throw at me when I was playing dumb. She lifted her hand and traced her thumb across my lower lip. I could barely think straight, never mind string words into a coherent sentence. “Whatever it was you were about to say,” she replied.
I sucked in a breath, hoping the oxygen would both clear my head and infuse me with courage. “I think I’m in love with you,” I said quickly, the words running together as though my tongue were swollen.
She didn’t look surprised or upset, only cocked a brow in the usual sweet, tempting challenge that I knew so well. “You think?” Her tone was light, without ridicule or amusement.
I leaned my forehead against hers. “I know I’m in love with you,” I clarified, hoping desperately that I wasn’t making a mistake in telling her the truth. She’d trusted me with her most painful secrets; surely I could trust her with this?
The smile that spread across her face was beatific. I felt like my heart might explode with happiness as she grabbed the front of my shirt and pulled me down to kiss her. This was every kiss we’d ever shared all rolled into one blissful, extraordinary meeting of lips.
It ended entirely too soon—forever would have been too short, I thought—but the expression on her face was consolation enough. She hadn’t said it in return, but her eyes spoke volumes. Warm flooded my veins, filling me with joy until I felt I might burst.
Sara’s hands lifted to my face, smoothing back the hair that fell loose against my cheeks. “That’s good,” she said, her voice hoarse. “Because I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you, too.”
I grinned like a fool. “Pretty sure?” I teased.
She laughed, the sound as musical and magical as always. “Positively certain,” she amended. The glow in her eyes was as mesmerizing as the flush in her cheeks. I leaned down to nuzzle her temple, unable to wipe the smile off my face.
We stayed like that in the kitchen for quite a while, “canoodling” as we jokingly called it. I couldn’t get enough of her, her smile, her scent, her kiss. The morning passed into afternoon, but time stood still in the bubble that surrounded us. We moved to the family room, cozying up on the couch together, talking and kissing and dreaming the hours away. Sara relayed some of her favorite childhood memories, many of them including Nelson, and I laughed until tears ran down my cheeks at some of the images she conjured. I imagined Sara as a small child was probably much as she was now, an impish little sprite ready to take on the world. I told her some of my own favorites, relishing in her laughter as much as ever, the way her eyes crinkled at the edges when she smiles, the delight that filled her as we traded stories.
As the afternoon wore on, we returned to the kitchen to reload our plates and snuggled up on the couch to eat. Sara giggled as she plucked a chocolate chip off my chest, popping it into her mouth. “You’re an even bigger slob than I am,” she teased.
“Oh, but that’s what I like best about you,” I told her, my tone earnest.
She snorted, poking me in the ribs. “Oh, really?” she challenged.
I eyed her carefully, letting my gaze wander from her tousled curls, across each freckle, down the graceful line of her throat, then finally to the rest of her lovely attributes. When I looked back at her face, she was glaring at me and clearly fighting back a smile.
“What?” I asked innocently. “You asked! I can’t answer without exploring all the options.”
“Uh huh,” she retorted, “and what did you decide?”
I pursed my lips, as though deep in consideration, until she whacked my arm. “Ouch!” I muttered. “Your fists are definitely not my favorite.”
Sara grinned. “Unless they’re connecting with Jay Hallowell’s face?”
“Oh yes,” I breathed, closing my eyes to wallow in that particular image. “I wish I’d been there to see it in person.”
She laid her head against my chest, tucking her legs up under her. “It was pretty awesome,” she confessed. I stroked my fingers up and down her arm. “Though my hand was bruised for weeks.” She lifted her head to scowl at me. “You’re avoiding the question.”
“Hmm,” I mused, shifting my hand to the curve of her hip. “I can’t pick just one thing.” I fought the urge to let my hand roam.
With a contented sigh, she snuggled up against my side. Her fingers toyed with the drawstring of my hoodie and I decided to compromise and keep my hand in place while letting my thumb brush lightly back and forth along her hip. The way her jeans hugged that curve threatened to drive me insane, but I held it together by forcing myself not to imagine the skin underneath.
We were still cuddled up like that—several kisses and the occasional wandering hand later—when Mrs. Matthews came home. The sound of the front door startled
us both and the top of Sara’s head cracked against my jaw as she jumped. We both gasped in pain and whispered apologetically to one another as we sat upright and plastered innocent expressions on our faces.
Mrs. Matthews bustled into the kitchen like a whirlwind, arms loaded with bags. She peeked through the doorway and bit back a smile when she caught sight of us. “Hi there,” she called, setting down her bags on the floor.
“Hi Mom,” Sara replied, standing to go help her unload whatever she’d brought home.
“Oh no, don’t get up, honey. Just some decorations from the square that I offered to store for the winter. I’m heading back out to pick up takeout for the Ladies’ Auxiliary,” she said over her shoulder, her eyes twinkling just like Sara’s and filled with that same knowing look my mom always wore. “Can you two fend for yourselves for dinner?”
Sara nudged me with her elbow as her mother drifted out of view and I fought back a laugh. “Yes, we’ll be fine,” she called back, widening her eyes at me dramatically. I wondered if she was trying to get me busted.
Her mother peeked in one more time, smiled brightly and waved a farewell. When we heard the front door close, I tackled Sara onto the couch, tickling her until we were both laughing breathlessly.
I paused, staring down at her beautiful face. “You,” I said succinctly, “are trying to get me in trouble.”
She blinked, batting her eyelashes prettily. “Me? Never!” she protested, all innocence.
“Liar,” I whispered, kissing the tip of her chin.
A soft sigh escaped her lips. “If you got in trouble, so would I!” she said, her tone a little less resolute as I shifted my kisses to her jaw.
The sound that escaped her throat could only be described as a purr when my lips brushed her earlobe. I knew this was a dangerous road, but couldn’t bring myself to turn back.
“Travis,” Sara said, her voice barely above a whisper.
