Linus stretches his legs out and watches a large black and yellow butterfly glide across the trail. “Sure.” He motions around us. “With all this so close, how can’t you?”
Automatically, I remember that horrified look on Zeke’s face.
“What about you?” he asks.
“Almost every weekend in the summer before we got so busy that we didn’t have time anymore. But even when I was in high school, we still tried to go for a long weekend around the Fourth of July.”
“What were you busy with?”
“Harper was in track and a bunch of student council stuff. I did cheer, and Lauren was pretty involved with theater, so I did a lot of that with her.”
“Cheerleader, huh?” Linus raises a brow, teasing me. “That explains a lot.”
I playfully swat his arm, and he recoils away, a mischievous smile on his face as he laughs.
“Did you do any sports?” I ask.
“I played baseball when I was in elementary, but I didn’t do any organized sports in high school. I got into mountain biking when I was about twelve, and I spent a lot of time doing that.”
“When you weren’t holed up in your parents’ basement, playing video games and working with your Little Gippers Big Brain Chemistry set.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Did you just make that up?”
“I totally did, yeah.”
“Well, I hate to disappoint you, but my parents don’t have a basement.”
“That kind of ruins the image for me.”
“Sorry.” He grins and playfully flicks my shoulder.
I stand, ready to get moving again. “So how close are we to the geocache?”
Linus looks at his phone, tilting it so he can see the screen. “Another mile.”
“Then what are you sitting for?” I tug on his arm, pulling him to his feet. “Let’s go find some imaginary treasure.”
***
Sunburned, smelling like campfire smoke, and sick-to-death of toasted marshmallows, we pull up in front of Aunt Marissa’s house on Friday afternoon. My hair, which has so much dry shampoo residue in it that it will practically stay up on its own, is in desperate need of washing, and layers of bug spray and trail dust cling to my skin.
It was a great trip.
Exhausted, we stumble out of Harper’s SUV, and Linus and I pull our stuff from the back.
Harper hugs me. “Tell Aunt Marissa I’ll be back to visit before summer is over.”
Brandon grabs me next, giving me a tight bear hug. “Bye, Riley!”
“Ow,” I complain, laughing, and push him away.
Harrison nods, which is more than a sufficient goodbye for me. Lauren, too, promises she’ll be back to see me again, and I tell them I’ll probably come home for a weekend in July.
Then they’re gone, pulling out of the drive and heading down the street, and it’s just Linus and me.
“I’m going to get home and take an hour-long shower.” Linus hefts his bag onto his shoulder. “Maybe I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”
“Are you coming to the festival in the morning?”
He looks a little unsure as he runs his hand through his sandy hair. It sticks up in all different directions, messy from our four-day adventure. “I don’t want to get in the way…”
Oh, right. Zeke.
“Maybe I’ll call you on Sunday, in the afternoon? We could do soap on Monday?”
He nods, and, just like that, things become awkward between us again.
“Okay. Well. See you later.” He gives me a last wave and walks to his truck, which is still parked in Marissa’s drive.
I watch him go, holding my hand up in a goodbye as he pulls onto the street.
Lucky for me, Harper has most of my stuff, and all I have to lug inside is my backpack of clothes. Unlike Lauren, I don’t immediately toss everything into the washing machine. I drop the backpack in the laundry room, promising myself I’ll see to it before the night’s over, and then take a thirty-minute shower.
Tired from all the early mornings, I crash on my bed as soon as I’m out of the bathroom and don’t wake up until Marissa comes home. Together we pull together dinner and spend the rest of the night getting sucked into a series on Netflix.
We don’t turn off the TV until one in the morning, and I realize as I’m walking to the guest room, yawning, that my soap is still at the high school, and I’ll have to get up even earlier so I can pick it up.
Despite how tired I am, I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, probably thanks to the nap I took after I got home. Giving up, I grab the book I bought the other day.
Within minutes, I set it aside, disgusted. The love triangle between the angst-riddled bad boy and the sweet boy next door isn’t helping a bit. Maybe I should flip to the back and see who she chooses? Instead of reading, I punch my pillow into a more comfortable position and close my eyes, hoping sleep will come.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Sometime last night, while I was waiting to fall asleep, I had an idea. Instead of slicing the soap and selling each one for a certain price, I’ve decided to cut off sections as large as the customers specify and sell them by weight. I don’t know if it’s a good idea or not, but it sounded good, and the customers seem to like the novelty of it.
When I got here this morning, I parked in the vendor parking and didn’t have to walk nearly as far. Linus wasn’t here, not that I expected him to be. I might have still looked about a bit.
Zeke, however, actually helped me carry my stuff to my spot. I didn’t have a lot of time to talk to him because he had his own booth to set up, and we’ve had several strong gusts of wind at the most inconvenient times, making everything more challenging.
My tablecloth flaps, looking as if it’s trying to fly away. It’s only held down by a few smooth river rocks I borrowed from the landscape. For once, I’m glad I don’t have a canopy.
With every gust, the shade tree behind me releases cotton into the air. It swirls around for a while, looking like summer snow, and then somehow manages to lodge itself inside my baskets. The Shasta daisies in the carefully manicured bed to my right look a little worse for wear too. The tallest of the flowers growing from the cheerful mounds have snapped, and several lay forlorn, bent in half, their heads to the ground.
As the sun shines down from a deceptively clear sky, wind whips around me, blowing my hair out of the French braid I twisted this morning. Despite the weather, there are more people than I expected wandering about the park, but there aren’t nearly as many as last week.
I’ve sold seventeen of Lauren’s tarts and even a few slices of my soap. All in all, the day isn’t a total waste, but it’s not the best either.
Most of my morning has been spent sneaking glances at Zeke and wondering if he’ll ever return them. Without customers of my own right now, I watch people loitering in the park. A man loses his hat to another gust, and his young son goes chasing after it, laughing as he pounces on it before it blows away again. Zeke’s helping an older couple. Linda, the coordinator, is selling tickets for some sort of raffle that we were all asked to be involved in, and the girl at the scrapbooking stand is packing up to leave, apologizing to the sympathetic people nearby. The wind has already taken off with her display and ripped the poster board in two before she could catch it. No one blames her for leaving.
Exactly five minutes before three, Linus turns the corner around the fresh-squeezed cherry limeade trailer. I’m in the middle of helping a customer, a nice old lady with fluffy white hair, but I trail off mid-sentence as I answer her question.
My eyes meet Linus’s, and he smiles. Ripping my attention back to the woman, beaming like an idiot, I continue, “I like the cinnamon the best.”
Linus wears another one of those T-shirts today, the ones with the odd sayings, but he’s still too far away to make it out. There’s something different about him. He looks older somehow. Finally, I realize his hair is short. He must have had it cut this morning. He looks less puppyish, a little more…
Let’s be honest. He’s looking pretty hot.
I hand the woman her chosen tarts, thank her, and then wait with my hands in my lap as I turn the phone over and over. Linus stops to talk to the woodworker across from me, and, for a moment, I wonder if he’ll come say hello. They comment on the weather, talk about a few local events, and then, finally, Linus steps away and turns toward me. Zeke narrows his eyes. Linus doesn’t seem to notice or care.
Without a word, he stops in front of my table.
“I thought you weren’t coming today.” I gather the fragrance cards that I’ve had to chase down the entire morning and stack them into a pile before placing them in my tote.
“I changed my mind.”
Zeke looks like he’s not sure he’s okay with Linus talking to me. Probably the same sort of look I send him every time one of his female customers gets a little too close—or does that arm-touching thing they all seem partial to.
“I’m here to take you to lunch.” Without prompting, he helps me pack up.
“I have that dinner thing with Zeke.” Uncomfortable, I don’t meet Linus’s eyes.
His shirt whips against his lean frame as he kneels to release the table legs. Grinning, he looks at me. “And that means you don’t need lunch?”
I glance at my phone even though I know exactly what time it is—three o’clock, the time the festival ends. “It’s a little late, don’t you think?”
Especially when I have a dinner date…
“Come on,” he coaxes. “I’ll buy you fries and onion rings.”
He picks up my table, and, without waiting for an answer, heads toward the vendor area where my car is parked. I clasp my hands, unsure what to do. The thing is, I want to go with Linus.
I really do. And I’m going to.
Somehow, I pile the rest of my stuff in my arms and follow him.
On my way, Zeke stops me. His eyes dart to Linus’s back. “You going to be there tonight?”
Peering at him from over the top of all my stuff, I nod. “That’s the plan.”
“We’re usually there about seven. Ask for me. They’ll know where to seat you.”
Silly visions of riding on the back of Zeke’s Harley fade away. “Sure.”
Zeke smiles, but it flickers momentarily. I can tell he wants to say something, but he’s hesitant to ask. Finally, he says, “What’s up with you and Linus?”
Irritated by his tone, I bristle. “We’re friends.”
I must say it with more force than necessary because Zeke holds up his hands in surrender and laughs. “Okay, sorry.”
Several stray hairs whip around my face, but with my hands full, I can’t push them back. After an awkward moment, I adjust the load in my arms, trying not to drop everything. “I’ll see you tonight.”
A little embarrassed for overreacting, I make to move past him, but he comes up behind me and sets his hands on my shoulders. His fingers knead my tight muscles, and he leans close. He smells exactly how he should—dark, dangerous, and intoxicating.
“I’m looking forward to it.” He practically purrs the words, and I would be lying if I don’t admit I swoon a bit.
I glance at him over my shoulder, tossing my head so the wind will catch my hair and blow it behind me. “Me too.”
The hint of a promising smile play at his lips, and then he releases me.
Conflicted, I walk to my car, where Linus is diligently waiting by my locked door, pretending he didn’t see the whole thing.
***
I have every single article of clothing that I brought with me strewn on the bed. Jeans, shorts, skirts, and tops lie on my comforter, a mess of colors and textures. I’ve tried on everything with each of my eight pairs of shoes, but I still have no idea what to wear. So, I do what I always do—give up and call Lauren.
“You’re still going out with him, huh?” she says after I tell her my dilemma.
“Yes.” I hate how defensive I sound.
“Sorry, I just like Linus.”
I like Linus too. But Zeke.
“I want to look sophisticated but casual,” I say, choosing to ignore her. “I don’t want him to think I tried too hard.”
“Do you have your cropped skinny jeans? The dark ones?”
I pull the jeans in question out of the pile. “Yes.”
“Wear them with your short-sleeve, off-the-shoulder white sweater—the lightweight one you let me borrow the weekend before you left.”
“And shoes?”
“Your beige high-heeled sandals. Then pair it all with some fun, chunky earrings.”
“What will I do when the day comes you’re not available to dress me?” I joke.
I can practically see her roll her eyes. “Let’s hope it never comes to that.”
It’s not that I don’t love clothes, but Lauren just pairs things better than I ever could. It’s like a gift.
“I went to lunch with Linus.” I sit in the armchair in the corner, my soft sweater in my arms. “Is that bad, you think?”
“Why would it be?”
“It’s just that I’m going out with Zeke tonight.”
“If you and Linus are just friends,” she says, her voice taking on a slightly condescending tone, “I don’t know why you’re worried about it…”
I scowl at the phone. “Never mind.”
“It’s fine, Riley. Why are you letting yourself get so worked up about these two?”
“I don’t know,” I admit.
The sun is low, and I’m supposed to meet Zeke in an hour.
“Wear your hair down—curl it in long loose waves.” Hesitant, she adds, “You look really pretty like that.”
The last time I wore my hair like that was for our double date with Harrison and Grant, a guy from school that Lauren dated for a while. I’m sure she remembers, seeing as how I was Harrison’s date that night.
“Thanks, Lauren.” My voice is quiet.
“Call me when you get home so I know this Zeke guy didn’t steal you.”
Glad that she’s lightened the mood, I laugh. “Yeah, okay. But it might be late…”
“Be good,” she orders.
“Yeah, ma’am.” Still smiling, I hang up.
***
As usual, the restaurant is busy tonight. I wait about five minutes before I even make it to the hostess stand.
“I’m sorry. They’re not here yet,” the woman says, barely looking at me. “I can’t seat you unless half your party is here.”
“That’s all right,” I say as I turn to stand outside.
People hang out nearby, and several groups wait for a table. After what seems like forever, I shift my weight to my other leg and resist the urge to check the time. Zeke’s late.
I’m just not sure how late.
The girl from the silver-wrapped jewelry booth at the Artisan’s Festival walks up with two other girls and a guy. They’re a little older than I am, about Zeke’s age, and the girls have on a lot more eye makeup than I do.
“Hey,” the jeweler says, recognizing me. “How are you?”
“Good.” I give her my people-pleasing smile. Then playing on a hunch, I add, “Zeke invited me here with a group tonight.”
“That would be us,” another girl, a pretty petite blond says. “Where is he, anyway?”
Just as I give in and pull my phone out of my purse to see how late Zeke is, he turns the corner. The artist gives me a rueful smile, and his eyes laugh as I shove my phone back into my purse pocket.
“Sorry.” Smooth as satin (or black leather, more aptly), he slides his arm around my waist, greeting me as if we’re already on far more intimate terms.
I can’t say I mind—not until he moves on to each one of the girls. The other guy in the group, who’s introduced himself as Neil, doesn’t seem surprised by Zeke’s behavior.
While the artist talks with the others, I take the opportunity to get a good look at him. He’s wearing an open charcoal-colored vest over a button-up shirt, not a look I’ve ever seen any of the
guys from my high school attempt. But on Zeke, it looks pretty darn good.
But let’s be honest here. Zeke could wear a burlap bag and a grin, and girls would be swooning at his feet.
“Hungry?” he asks, finally turning to me. He cocks a dark brow, again wearing that smoldering smile.
I nod, hoping I don’t look as besotted as I feel.
Like the gentleman I suspect he’s not, he motions us girls ahead of him and holds the door for us as we walk into the restaurant. There’s a different hostess than before, this one a pretty girl a few years older than I am with a thick, high ponytail of ash brown hair. She’s all smiles when she sees Zeke.
“Would you like your usual table?” she asks. Her eyes slide to me, and she acknowledges me with the briefest smile before her attention returns to Zeke. “I think we can add another chair if you’d like.”
“That’d be perfect. Thanks, Lanna.”
I can’t help but notice the familiar way he says her name, but before I can study the two further, another girl escorts us through the crowd.
We wind through dozens of full tables. The pub’s cuisine is German, and the rich smell of sausage and schnitzel hangs in the air, mingling with the tang of sauerkraut that wafts from the tray a nearby waitress carries.
It’s not exactly the most romantic of aromas, but at least the servers are dressed in white shirts and slacks instead of lederhosen and barmaid skirts.
We end up at the dark table in the corner where I saw Zeke before when I was here with Lauren. The hostess butts another square table up to it to give us more room and drags over more chairs. Before she leaves, she gives us our fabric-napkin-wrapped silverware and tells us the night’s specials.
“Your usual table, huh?” I ask, glancing at the people around me.
Zeke, unfortunately, ended up by Zoe, kitty-corner from me. Neil’s at my side, and Page and Elle are at the ends.
“When you grow up in a little tourist town like this,” Neil says, “you’re bound to have a few favorite spots.”
Just behind Ella, a fireplace stands. It’s asleep for the summer months, but the blackened stones show that it’s well used in the winter. I motion to it. “I’m sure this is very cozy on cold nights.”
Shine and Shimmer (Glitter and Sparkle #2) Page 9
