desolate (Grace Trilogy, Book One)

by Autumn Grey

  “Oh, come on. It’s fun! Wait, can you swim?”

  “Like a fish.” I turn away and eye the long drop down, shuddering. I don’t mind heights, really. But plunging into that water . . . into the unknown—

  “Do you want me to jump in too? Together, I mean?”

  The thought of my body pressed against hers makes my breath stall. God, I want to jump her.

  Uh, I mean, with her.

  Jump with her.

  “I’d probably crush you once we landed in the water.”

  She snorts. “Yeah, you would, you big giant.”

  I clutch my chest, pretending to be wounded by her words. “Way to go crushing my fragile ego, Grace.”

  This time, her shoulders shake in laughter, but I can’t see her eyes or her mouth because she’s staring at the ground, kicking dust with her foot.

  “Fine. I’ll do it.” I give in just so I can see those stunning eyes leveled on me. “But if I die, I’ll come back to haunt you.”

  All of a sudden, she leaps up my body and hugs me, arms and legs wrapped around me. Her entire front is plastered to mine. “You’re going to love it!”

  My body fires to life, and my brain’s yelling, “Oh my God. Her tits are just so round and soft against my chest. She smells like water and vanilla waffles.”

  And dear God. I’m hard again.

  I angle my hips to the side and wrap my arms around her, never wanting to let go. She gasps when I tighten my arms, burrowing her tiny body deeper into mine. My nose automatically presses into her hair, breathing her in.

  She shivers. Goosebumps spread on her arms as she pulls back and grins. She plants her lips on my cheek in a noisy kiss. “Go get it, tiger.” Her legs uncoil from my waist, and I bend my knees slightly, setting her on the dusty ground. She’s staring at my chest now with a horrified look on her face. I glance down at my shirt and see a wet spot there.

  “Uh, sorry. W-water from the river.” She licks her lips, still avoiding meeting my gaze.

  “If you say so,” I tease her.

  She buries her face into her hands and mutters, “Oh my God, Sol!”

  Knowing she’ll get more embarrassed if I laugh, I press my lips tight to stop myself from saying anything else. She’s seriously the cutest chick ever. Two weeks ago, I would’ve never imagined I’d be here with her, laughing and watching her get flustered.

  “Okay. Let’s do this,” I say before I lose my bravado. I kick off my shoes, then grab the hem of my T-shirt and pull it over my head. I stretch my arms while eyeing the long drop to the water below, and my heart beats faster.

  “Having second thoughts?” Grace asks. My gaze cuts to her, and I catch her taking me in with her lips parted. My muscles flex in response as if she’s actually touching me. When she notices me staring back, she rubs her hands over her cheeks and averts her gaze and mutters. “Okay, let’s see how brave you are.”

  I stride forward and grab the rope, trying to shake off the shiver her intense perusal caused. I could easily get addicted to this feeling.

  Within seconds, I’m taking deep breaths to calm my nerves. Then I sprint forward like I’ve seen Grace do multiple times, my heart racing and blood roaring in my ears. I’m definitely going to die while trying to impress Grace with my non-existent rope swinging skills.

  I kick off the cliff, and then my feet are in the air, and I’m wondering why the hell I agreed to do this.

  But as the adrenaline starts rushing through my system, the rope swings me back toward the tree line, and there’s this moment where I feel invincible, free—until I hear Grace yelling for me to let go of the rope.

  And I let go, close my eyes, and pray feverishly.

  My feet hit the water first, then the rest of my body joins. Then silence. My arms start slicing through the water, and within moments, I’m at the surface, breathing hard. I glance up at the trees and see Grace jumping up and down while clapping her hands.

  I swim to the shore and return to her side, grinning wide.

  “You did amazing!” she gushes, hugging my waist as soon as I’m within arm’s reach. “Wasn’t that fun?”

  My face finds the crook of her neck, hugging her back, smelling her hair. “It was kind of fun.”

  She giggles and steps back, hooking her arm around mine. “Want to try again?”

  “Yes,” I say automatically because rope swinging and seeing Grace laughing like this are my new high as everything else fades in the background, and I allow myself to have fun, like, really have fun for the first time in a long time.

  We’re driving back to Portland after spending four hours in Ranger’s Cove. For me, it’s the most amazing four hours I’ve ever had. It’s still hot out, so our clothes are almost dry.

  I lift my legs and curl them under me onto the seat, sleepy but happy. “Thank you for today, Sol.”

  I can feel his eyes on me and a smile in his voice as he says, “I think I’m the one who needs to thank you, Gracie.” He pauses. “Tired?”

  “But happy,” I counter, then glance out the window and squint, realizing we’re not on the same route we used heading to Ranger’s Cove. “Where are we going?”

  “Just a little surprise.” He sounds pleased with himself. “We’re almost there.”

  Before I can open my mouth, I read a flashing sign that says Saco Drive-In. He makes a right and rolls down the road. He parks outside what looks like a snack bar.

  “We’re watching a movie?” I’m suddenly awake and looking out the window, excited. “I’ve never been to a drive-in cinema before.”

  He smiles at me, and it’s so tender it steals my breath away. “I’m glad your first drive-in experience will be with me then.”

  I scramble out of the truck and stretch my legs. As I reach back inside the cab to grab my purse, Sol’s hand covers mine, sending a shiver down my spine. He yanks his hand back as if the contact burned him.

  “My treat.” He flashes me that half-smile, then unfolds his long frame from the driver’s seat. He rounds the Chevrolet and stands beside me. “Come on. Let’s hurry so we can beat the line.”

  We head toward the snack bar where there’s, in fact, already a line snaking around the little shop.

  Ten minutes later, we walk out carrying two huge bags of popcorn and drinks. After settling back inside the truck, he weaves his way slowly toward the screen several feet away.

  “What are we watching?”

  “Transformers.” He points at the board listing the current movie showing. I didn’t notice it when we drove in.

  We’re sitting on a pile of blankets in the bed of his truck when the movie starts. Despite the warm night, there’s a light breeze rolling through the open-air field, causing me to shiver. Sol grabs another blanket and throws it over our legs, then slides his arm across my shoulders and tugs me close to his warm body.

  “You okay?” he asks, his lips brushing my earlobe.

  I nod into his chest, snuggling closer. “Today was perfect. Thank you for spending it with me.”

  His entire body swells as he inhales deeply. “Glad you’re not bored of me yet.”

  “I’ll be sure to let you know when I’m bored,” I shoot back playfully.

  He laughs. “Smartass.”

  “Jackass.”

  He pulls back to look at me. “Did you just call me a jackass?”

  I shrug and blink up at him innocently. “I thought we were rhyming words.”

  He shakes his head, silent laughter rocking his body as he pulls me to him. “You’re a nice little surprise, Gracie.”

  I can’t stop the big grin from spreading across my face. These moments are what friendships are made of. These precious, rare moments filled with teasing each other and laughter are what I’ve been missing. We fall into a comfortable silence as we wait for the movie to start.

  “When’s your birthday?” he murmurs in a lazy, deep voice.

  My heart flips inside my chest, and I don’t know why. It’s just a simple question that requi
res a simple answer.

  The opening credits scroll up on the white screen in front of us, and I say, “Why? Are you planning on surprising me? Because I love a good surprise party.”

  “Good to know. Come on, out with it.”

  “March twentieth. You?”

  “September ninth.”

  “Cool.”

  The movie finally starts, and I shamelessly snuggle deeper into his chest and sigh softly. With stars twinkling in the dark skies and Sol next to me, I’m in heaven. This is pure bliss. And I wish I could draw out this one moment into a thousand more. A thousand more filled with the scent of his cologne and summer and his strong arms holding me close.

  It’s almost closing time at the diner, and I’ve just finished clearing the tables with MJ’s help. She dropped by an hour ago to hang out since I was closing today. I’m totally grateful that she came, to be honest. I have someone to chat with as I finish my chores and prepare what I need to make tomorrow’s muffins. We filled each other in on what’s happening in our lives.

  She walks in from the kitchen and climbs on the stool at the counter. “I hate to break it to you, babe, but Sol looks at you like you’re a unicorn or something.”

  I huff out a laugh. “A unicorn?”

  She waves her hand and says, “Or something.”

  “I am something.” I bunch one of the napkins from the counter, scrunch it into a ball, and throw it at her. Caught off guard, she tries to duck, but the ball of tissue bounces off her forehead.

  “Yeah.” She snorts. “A terrible liar, for sure. Keep lying to yourself that you two are only friends.”

  I throw my hands in the air in exasperation. “There’s nothing going on. Even if I wanted—”

  The diner door swings open. A gust of hot air rushes in right before Sol’s long legs follow in all their toned and tanned glory.

  “Abraca-freaking-dabra,” MJ whispers. “He’s like a genie. You call his name, and he appears.”

  “No kidding,” I mutter, hoping I’m not drooling. Sol looks good enough to lick.

  What is he doing here?

  He seems distracted as he ambles in our direction, the navy blue T-shirt he’s wearing emphasizing his pecs and broad shoulders. He digs his fingers through what looks like freshly washed hair as his gaze meets mine and stays there for several seconds. MJ clears her throat, effectively breaking the connection. I want to kick her in the shin. Or somewhere equally painful.

  “Hey,” he greets, his eyes bouncing between MJ and me.

  “Well, this is my cue to leave, I think.” She hops down from the stool and rounds the counter to give me a hug.

  “You don’t need to leave—”

  She snort-laughs. With her arms around me, she whispers in my ear, “Really? If looks could kill, I’d be ash at your feet. The way you glared at me for breaking that smoldering stare between you two . . .” She steps back and adds in a much louder voice, “I need to check on my grandmother.”

  And with a sly wink, she grabs her purse from behind the counter and heads for the door with a small wave of her hand.

  Sol slides onto the stool MJ vacated, one side of his mouth hitched up in an almost- there smile. My breath stalls, and my knees get this tingly feeling. I have to grip the counter to hold my weight up.

  Oh, my.

  “Hey.” He steeples his fingers on top of the counter and stares at me. I can’t tell what he’s thinking as his gaze roves over my face and settles on my mouth. His teeth bite down on his bottom lip as we continue to eye each other.

  God, he smells so good. I imagine crawling over the counter, pressing my nose into the hollow of his throat, and breathing him in. My cheeks heat at the thought.

  “You hungry? We’re about to close up, but I can whip up a snack real quick if you want.” I cringe, hoping he didn’t catch the breathless desperation in my voice.

  “Sure!” he answers, sounding just as eager, then laughs. “I mean, yeah. I could eat. Need help?”

  “Oh, well, you can just sit there and relax”—looking all pretty just for me—“or you could come into the kitchen and keep me company,” I offer, suddenly feeling shy.

  “Now that’s an offer I can’t refuse.” He flashes a grin and climbs to his feet. “Is your mom around?”

  I shake my head. “I’m closing alone today. Why do you ask? Are you planning to do something naughty? Like ravish me in the pantry?”

  I was only kidding, but my own joke surprises me. I’m not usually this playful. Especially with boys.

  Instead of laughing, however, Sol sucks in a sharp breath, and his eyes become smoldering blue fire. Scratching the back of his head, he coughs a little. “Jesus, Grace.”

  The knuckles on his other hand gripping the counter are white. I may have pushed him too far. All of a sudden, I want to push him a little more, just to see how far it takes for his control to break.

  It’s such a bold and bad idea. And for some screwed-up reason, I can’t stop myself.

  “On a scale of one to ten, how nervous are you?”

  “Three, maybe,” he answers. “I’ve gotten used to being around you.”

  I breathe through the excitement and anticipation swirling in my belly as I head into the kitchen. After tying an apron around my waist, I start putting out the ingredients I need to make waffles. I pre-warm the waffle iron, but my senses are attuned to Sol’s movements as he shuffles around on the other side of the door. I’m dying to know what he’s doing. I mean, what’s more interesting than waffles?

  He says something, but it’s muffled.

  “What?” I ask.

  “You play the guitar too?” He ducks his head around the door, sounding surprised. He must have found Mark’s guitar.

  “It’s Mark’s.” I toss my ingredients in a bowl. “You play the guitar, right? How about you play something for me while I make these?” I blink up at him and smile sweetly.

  He stares at me for several seconds, his eyes growing darker. His fingers curl around the doorframe.

  “What?” I whisper, trying to breathe through the quivers ricocheting all over my body.

  He’s staring at me, like really staring at me. Need, hunger, guilt, and finally resignation cross his face, then he straightens to his full height. “You look cute.”

  Heat fills my cheeks. I lower my head between my shoulders to hide what I’m feeling. I’m not sure when my feelings went from liking Sol to desperately wanting to spend every second with him.

  I don’t know what to do with the multitude of emotions tearing through me. How is it possible to feel like this, like nothing else matters but this moment?

  Frankly, it’s terrifying. Is this how my mom felt for my dad—this indescribable, intangible feeling? No wonder it almost destroyed her when he left. There’s no way someone could recover easily after feeling like this for someone else.

  It’s just not possible.

  God. I need to stop this before I fall in too far. Sol and I aren’t meant to happen.

  I stare down at the bowl and shiver when his fingers sweep loose tendrils of hair from my temple. He secures them behind my ear gently, brushing my skin.

  “You cold?” he asks in a whisper.

  I can’t tell if he’s teasing me or genuinely wants to know.

  I can’t look at him, though, because I’m afraid my mind is just playing tricks on me.

  No relationships, remember, Grace?

  Why the hell am I thinking about that? Sol and I are not in a relationship. At least not the one my stupid heart craves. But sometimes a hopeless heart is just that—desperate to feel like it belongs to someone, beating in the same rhythm as someone else’s.

  He’s leaning closer now, his chest brushing my arm. And I swear I feel his heart beating as fast as mine. I put the whisk aside and grab the bowl of beaten egg whites, but his fingers brush the side of my body before dropping down into the bowl. He scoops up some batter with his index finger and puts it inside his mouth. He makes an approving noise in the
back of his throat.

  “Vanilla and butter,” he murmurs, smacking his lips. “You smell like vanilla waffles.”

  I snort, my cheeks heating. “How would you know that?”

  He scoops another dollop of batter and licks it off his finger. “Back in high school, whenever you’d enter a classroom, the whole place would smell like vanilla waffles. I love vanilla waffles.”

  Oh my God. Wow.

  With that, Sol walks out of the room casually as though he’s just told me the weather forecast for the upcoming week.

  I finish preparing the waffles with a wide grin on my face while humming “Sweet Child O’ Mine” by Guns N’ Roses under my breath, then make a quick job of preparing a batter for some muffins. My ears perk up at the light strumming of a guitar as Sol tunes it.

  We’re soon sitting across from each other in a booth with a plate stacked with waffles. Sol sets the guitar on the seat next to him and rubs his hands gleefully as he glances around the table. Within seconds, he’s piled a few waffles on his plate, adding a healthy portion of chocolate and ice cream on them. Then, he bows his head and makes the sign of the cross. He says a grace prayer in a low voice with his hands clasped together on the table. I watch him, fascinated by the movement of his full lips. He ends the prayer the way he started it. Praying before a meal has never looked so sexy.

  Don’t get me wrong. I try to remember to pray before my meals, but sometimes hunger overrides all thought.

  Sol grabs his fork and knife and digs into his food like a starving man, shoveling huge chunks inside his mouth.

  “So good,” he says with his cheeks bulging.

  I laugh, shaking my head, and fill my own plate with a heavy dose of maple syrup and vanilla ice cream. “Glad you like them.”

  We eat in comfortable silence, our eyes catching a few times.

  “The last time I ate waffles with ice cream was . . .” He trails off, his eyes losing focus. Almost sad. “My mom used to make waffles every Sunday after church. We called it Waffle Sunday. It was the only day I was allowed to have ice cream and waffles and syrup. Then we’d snuggle on the couch and watch movies.” He smiles wistfully into his now empty plate, shrugging. “Sorry for being a downer. This just reminded me of her.” He waves a hand across the table.