Where You Belong

by Tracie Puckett

  My heart raced, pounding harder by the second, and all of my dreams seemed to unravel right in front of my eyes.

  This was a little more like how I’d imagined time alone with Avery. A soft, gentle peck on my skin. His warm body pulled up close to mine. Sweet, tender kisses . . .

  “Is there something on my face?” he asked, pulling back, just far enough to get a better read on me.

  “No.”

  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Like what?” I shook my head to wipe away whatever stupid expression I wore. “Was I staring?”

  “Little bit,” he said, cracking a smile. “Ravenously. Were you going to bite me?”

  “Hey, I’m not the one with vampire training,” I teased, trying to cover up the awkward moment with a laugh.

  My stupid hormones had gotten the best of me, and now I was ready to throw myself at him and kiss him until his brain exploded. And he was on to me. Great.

  “I was thinking,” I said.

  “Yeah?”

  “Would you be free to join me for Thanksgiving tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “We do it a day early,” I explained. “My friends and I spend Thursday over in Hudson Hollow working the soup kitchen at the homeless shelter.”

  “I don’t think your Mom would—”

  “She won’t be there. Mel hosts every year. It’ll be my three best friends, Ally’s boyfriend, and us—if you want to go.”

  “Really?”

  “It’s nothing fancy. We have an afternoon dinner—pizza’s on the menu this year—and we’ll play some games. It’s a pretty laid-back affair.”

  “And your friends won’t mind?”

  “No,” I promised. “I’ve already asked if I could bring a friend.”

  “You anticipated I’d say yes?”

  “I hoped you would.” I tried to downplay my excitement with a casual shrug. “What do you think? I don’t want you to feel obligated, and I understand if you’re not ready to face a group of people. The more people you meet, the higher risk you have at blowing your cover. I get it.”

  “I’m not concerned,” he said. “Should I pick you up?”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “That’s a yes. And I’m happy to take you; I figure you need a ride since some jerk wrecked your car.”

  “Okay then. I’ll . . . I’ll call them tonight and let them know you’re coming.”

  “Do they know to expect me? Or am I walking into another situation where—”

  “I don’t know how to tell them,” I admitted. “Avery, I’ve had a crush on you for years, and—”

  “You’re always saying things, aren’t you?” He smiled as if my honesty amused him.

  “They would never believe me. Your face was all over my room.” I prayed the words would stop, but my mouth was moving much faster than my brain could process a reaction. “Pictures and posters—”

  “Oh yes. I’ve heard about the posters,” he teased. “Wes says there’s an impressive collection. Of course, he called it a shrine, but—”

  “You’re lying,” I said, mortified, because I knew he wasn’t. Wes had teased me mercilessly about my crush on Avery a million times, and he’d never failed to point out how obsessive it all seemed. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

  “He mentioned the notebook doodles.”

  “Shut up.”

  “And our celebrity name you contrived. What was it again? Averoz? Was that it?”

  I groaned. “Why would he tell you that?”

  “And then there’s the ringtone of my voice.”

  “Please stop.”

  “And how could I forget the Mrs. Avery Chase T-shirt?” he said, laughing.

  “I’m going to kill him.”

  “Why haven’t you worn the shirt for me?” he teased. “I’m happy to sign it.”

  “I’m going to kill you.”

  He arched a brow, challenging me, and the longer his wide smile lingered, the more I wanted to duck behind a tree and hide.

  “Okay, so your friends wouldn’t believe you, big deal,” he said, bringing the conversation back full circle, but I couldn’t let it go. My cheeks were hot, and my pulse pounded in my ears. I’d never been so embarrassed in my life. It was one thing to admit your crush to your crush, but the dirt he had on me was downright humiliating. I could punch Wes Barrett in the face for this. “Look at you, all cute and flustered.”

  “You’re mean.”

  “I’m teasing.”

  “But I’m trying to make a point here,” I said, pushing out a breath. “I’m afraid to tell my friends, because given my history with you, they’d have me committed to a nuthouse. They’d never believe me, and—”

  “Come here,” he said, taking my hand, pulling me into his chest. He took his phone out of his pocket, turned on the camera, and positioned the device in front of us. Snuggling up closer to me, he brushed his cheek to mine and smiled. I took a deep breath, hoping to calm my rigid muscles, and little by little, I felt myself relax into him. “Ready?”

  I beamed a smile, and the lens shuttered.

  “There,” he said, turning the phone in my direction. “Proof.”

  “Wow, look at that.” I studied the picture closer. “And I didn’t even have to Photoshop you into that one.”

  “First time for everything, huh?”

  “Oh, I have plenty of pictures of us together.” I winked. “Wait until you see our wedding album.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “Only a little,” I lied, hating that I couldn’t shut up. I was no better than Wes!

  “Oh, Rosalind.” He shook his head. “Only you would admit that.”

  “Ally blames my filter.” I shrugged. “Or lack thereof, I guess. I never know when to stop talking.”

  “I’ve noticed,” he said, reclaiming his phone. “And I love it—your lack of filter, and our first real picture together.” He messed with the screen for a moment, and then my cellphone chimed. “Now you can pass it along to . . . Mel?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ally and Carter?”

  “You got it. Oh, and Jasper. He’s Ally’s boyfriend. You’ll want to remember that one, too. Pretty sure we’re stuck with him.”

  “Mel, Ally, Carter, and Jasper,” he said, repeating their names one more time to burn them to memory. “Got it. Okay, send it.”

  “Now?”

  “Unless you want me to post it online. We gotta break the ice at some point.”

  “I’ll send it,” I said, opening his message and pressing the forward button. Since Jasper had recently bought Ally a phone, it’d become a huge deal that we could all finally stay in touch so easily. I tacked the names of my three best friends into the recipient box, and the message zipped out. “Okay, done.”

  As soon as the picture was off, the group text lit up.

  Mel: Photoshop game is strong. Good job.

  Ally: Wait, I thought you hated his guts? Are we pro-Avery again?

  Carter: Looks like my little talk did some good after all. Proud of you, R. Can you ’shop me in there, too? ;-)

  I closed my eyes. Avery read over my shoulder, laughing as each message rolled onto the screen.

  “Okay, you tried.” He shrugged a shoulder. His eyes lifted above the trees but slowly fell back to me. “It’s getting dark; should we go back?”

  “Yeah. Mom’s probably figured out where I am by now, so it’s likely she’s got the entire police department out looking for me.”

  “And me.”

  “Oh, definitely,” I teased. “They’ll have an APB out on the adorable teenage girl who’s been kidnapped by the super-hot runaway celebrity. It’ll be the biggest headline of your career. You’ll lose your job for sure.”

  “Yeah, let’s get you back now,” he said, taking my hand, and together we ran through the woods, out of this daydream, and all the way back to my boring reality.

  ~

  Avery walked me up to the door when
he dropped me off. He kept his distance as he said goodnight, knowing as well as I did that Mom was watching through the living room window. He didn’t want to be on her bad side any more than he already was, so with a grin and a nod, he said farewell until tomorrow.

  When I turned into the house, Mom made little attempt to rush away from the window. She didn’t care to hide that she’d been watching, and I rolled my eyes. I waited for her to say something, but she walked out of the room.

  Oh, how clear it’d become. My mother was a ticking time bomb, and the longer she turned her back on me, the more I felt myself on the brink of explosion. I knew it was a short matter of time before she stopped holding her tongue, and when she exploded, it wouldn’t be pretty. If I didn’t do something to end this silence now, it would only fester until it blew up, and I wanted to avoid that by all means possible.

  We had to clear the air.

  “Mom.” I followed her into the kitchen. “You haven’t said a word to me all day.”

  “You haven’t been home,” she said, keeping her eyes down as she cleaned the countertops.

  “I just walked through the door and you turned away from me. You didn’t say anything.”

  “And what do you want me to say, Roz? That I approve of him? That I like him? That I enjoy seeing my seventeen-year-old daughter running around with him? I don’t.”

  “So ignoring me is the best alternative?” I felt my temper spark. “You won’t say you like him, so you’ll just avoid me instead? That’s mature.”

  “I wouldn’t preach to me about matters of maturity.”

  “Someone needs to,” I mumbled.

  “You want to say that a little louder?” she asked, testing me.

  “Forget it.” I turned out of the room and trekked upstairs to my bedroom.

  Why try? What had I hoped to accomplish?

  Trying to push my frustration with Mom aside, I rolled into bed and snuggled up between my blankets. I didn’t bother taking my sweatshirt off, because every now and then I’d catch a hint of Avery’s scent lingering on my collar, and I wanted to savor the memory of his body pulled up against mine, the way he’d pressed his lips to my skin, and how gently he’d touched my hair.

  I could hold on to that moment forever . . .

  I turned to my phone, staring at the photo on my screen, admiring how gorgeous Avery was. How genuine my smile looked. How beautiful we were together. Averoz. I laughed.

  It’s funny how I’d never noticed how carefree he looked when he smiled—like, really smiled . . . not that forced celebrity thing he always pulled on the red carpet. There was something joyful in his eyes, like that very glint that stared back at me from the picture he’d posted at the body shop earlier.

  I wanted to see it again, to be reminded of that goofy side of him. I pulled up my newsfeed and was breathless at the first picture.

  It was Avery’s latest post, a picture he’d taken tonight—added to his profile only minutes ago. And it wasn’t the picture we’d posed for together, but one he’d captured at a different point in the evening. One I was completely oblivious to. He’d snapped it sometime in those few minutes while I was at the top of the waterfall and he was still down below. The camera angled up at me, capturing my profile as I looked at the fall foliage behind me.

  The photograph was taken from so far away that the distance made it impossible to make out my face. I was just some random female figure, perched atop the rocks—an unassuming object of his photography. And the caption read: I’ve met vampires and werewolves. Demons and ghosts. Angels and witches. But I’ve never met a creature quite as intriguing as her.

  I swallowed hard, reading his words again. Avery had never posted a single photograph of a girl on his social media accounts. Never. It was like PR rule number one: don’t piss off the fans.

  While he’d made no secret of his previous relationships, he’d also never paraded photos of them around for his fans to see. His past girlfriends, love interests, or whatever you wanted to call them, had posted plenty of pictures of them together on their sites, but he’d never done something like this before.

  So what did this mean? Was this some kind of romantic gesture, and if so, how was I supposed to respond? Was I supposed to respond?

  I didn’t know. I was too surprised. Here he was again, doing something outside the realm of Hollywood reason. Doing what he wanted. Taking risks. Being bold. Letting the world have a glimpse of what was really going on in that beautiful mind of his. Refusing to play by the rules.

  I clicked into my messages, tapping on Avery’s name to send a text.

  Sterling Dalca has nothing on you.

  My phone lay silently near my head for fifteen minutes—I counted each and every one, and when it finally chirped, I sat up straight and read his response.

  Avery: Oh, good. I find myself constantly competing with him.

  Me: Well, obviously. He’s gorgeous, you know? And that voice . . . ah, that voice. Gets me every time.

  Avery: Damn Sterling. He has a hold on you, and we can’t have that, now can we? I should step up my game.

  Me: Tread softly. Any sudden movements could throw a girl into shock, and we both know how that ends. I’ll end up with a bruise.

  Avery: And I’ll get to kiss you again. I’m happy to take that risk.

  Me: Good night, Avery.

  Avery: Sweet dreams, Rosalind.

  I hugged my phone close to my chest, turned over, and closed my eyes. For the first time in weeks, I fell asleep with a smile. Tonight was the beginning of something great in my life—I could feel it. Something about Avery lit my heart on fire, and I never wanted to stop feeling this high. With Avery, every problem was a mile away, and every dream felt like it was coming true.

  Avery was my dream come true.

  Chapter Eleven

  I woke up with my phone stuck to my sweaty cheek.

  I didn’t want to miss any chance that I’d hear from Avery again, even though we’d said our goodnights. By sunrise, my battery had drained, so I tossed my phone up on my nightstand and rolled out of bed.

  The morning flew by in a blur. Mom and Dad were out the door first thing to do their last-minute shopping for tomorrow, because like the rest of the nation, they celebrated the holiday on the day they were supposed to. And they never shopped ahead of time. Given the conditions of the supermarkets on a day like today, they’d be lucky to get back home in a couple of hours. But I hoped it wouldn’t take too long, because Dad had promised to buy the drinks I needed for my celebration today.

  By midmorning, Daniel was off playing a game of backyard football with his buddies—his idea of an annual Thanksgiving tradition. When my parents returned from the store, with my short list of drink orders in hand, I packed up my things and started for the door.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Mom asked, blocking my exit.

  “Same place I’ve gone every year for the last five years,” I said. “Thanksgiving at Mel’s.”

  She eyed me closer. “Who’s going to be there?”

  I heaved a sigh. “Yes, okay?”

  “Meaning?”

  “Avery’s going to be there. He’s picking me up in two minutes, so if you don’t mind, I need to—”

  “Roz, I don’t like—”

  “I’m not doing this. Not now. If you have something to say, save it. I’ve tried talking to you about this twice, and you’ve shut me down each time. If you’ve come around, and you’re ready to talk—great. But don’t wait until I’m about to walk out the door to spend the day with my friends.”

  I expected her to fire back at that. On any normal day, she’d never stand for one of her kids talking back. But she held her hands up in surrender and moved, and I shoved past her and out the door before she could change her mind.

  Avery pulled up just as I reached the edge of the driveway, juggling a stack of drinks.

  “Here, let me help,” he said, sliding out of the SUV to lighten the load. He popped the trunk open and h
elped me load the waters, sodas, and juices into the back. He turned to me. “Hi.”

  “Hi,” I said, and for some stupid reason, I couldn’t quite meet his gaze. Something had changed for me last night, and suddenly Avery wasn’t just the guy from TV, or the guy who’d hit my car. He was a very real person whom I felt a very real connection with.

  There was a feeling—the kind I’d always craved, one that left me a little speechless, a little weak at the knees. A sort of dizzy, happy, blissful feeling that kept me short for breath more often than not whenever he came around. The very kind that made this reality so much better than any dream . . .

  Avery gave me that feeling.

  “I’m nervous,” I admitted.

  “You wanna know something?” he asked, dipping down to whisper in my ear. “Me too.” A shiver got the best of me, but then he stepped away and my hormones settled at once. “Do I look okay? Am I underdressed?”

  “You look great,” I promised, assessing the khakis and sweater ensemble he’d doubted. And I understood his uncertainty. I’d doubted my own appearance today, too. After yesterday, I didn’t know what to wear. Dress up? Dress down? Fix my hair? Do my makeup? I’d settled for a long skirt, sweater, and jacket, and I kept my cosmetics as natural as possible.

  “I brought a back-up outfit,” he admitted.

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “I want your friends to like me.”

  “You know, you’re right,” I said, nodding. “One fashion mistake and my incredibly materialistic friends will tear you to pieces.”

  “I know you’re joking, but it still scares me. I want to make a good impression.”

  “You will. Just be yourself, and you can’t go wrong.”

  He closed the trunk and rounded the back of the car, opening the passenger’s side door to help me in. And then he returned to the driver’s seat, and we hit the road. I instructed him a few blocks away to the center of town, and we pulled off to park in the same row of spots where our worlds had first collided.