Zeke grins at me over his menu. “We’ll have to come back in November and see.”
Zoe rolls her eyes at Page, almost as if she’s jealous.
Trying not to read too much into it, I say to Zeke, “Word has it you’re only here for the summer.”
He sets the menu aside and leans his elbow on the chair’s armrest. “That’s right.”
“Where do you live for the rest of the year?”
Even if he’s all the way across the table, at least he’s talking to me.
“I head south, where it’s warmer. There are year-round festivals in Florida and Louisiana.”
“The festivals in Louisiana are the best,” Zoe says emphatically.
It takes me a moment, but I finally realize the girl directly across from me is another artist, like Zeke. Except she paints things that are actually recognizable.
Not that I’d tell Zeke that.
“Have you ever thought about putting your work in a gallery?” I ask the two of them.
They both grimace like I’ve said something wrong, and Zeke says, “And let them dictate what I create?”
Zoe nods, agreeing. “I don’t work like that.”
“Oh.” I roll up my napkin. “I guess I never thought about that.”
“Most people don’t,” he says, quite serious now. “Especially you crafters.”
I raise an eyebrow, waiting for him to say something to soften that statement. Apparently, he doesn’t realize he’s said something slightly offensive, and he goes on to tell me about the evil that is art galleries. Page, the only other crafter at the table (and I use that term with myself quite loosely) scoffs but doesn’t seem particularly put out.
“Not all of them, mind you,” Zeke says about five minutes later. “There’s one in San Francisco—”
He’s interrupted by the waiter. “Hey, guys. What can I get you to drink?”
After we order, the waiter leaves, and Neil turns to me before Zeke can launch back into his gallery-hating spiel. “So, Riley, how long are you in town?”
“Just the summer.”
“And what are your plans after that?”
As he’s asking the question, a family is seated at the table to our left. Their toddler stares at us in the way that some children do—without any of the tact that you gain as you grow older. He’s turned completely around in his seat, standing there, watching us. I smile at him and wrinkle my nose to make him laugh. Delighted, he giggles and shakes his overlong blond hair. It’s so curled and pretty, I’m sure his mother can’t bear to cut it.
From how clean-cut his father is, I doubt he’ll wear it much longer. As the little boy gawks at us, his parents try to persuade their nine or ten-year-old daughter that she’s still young enough for the children’s menu—which she’s looking at with the same disdain she might bestow upon a petri dish of pond sludge.
The mom catches her son teetering precariously on the back of the sturdy chair, and she immediately apologizes to us. After I assure them it’s fine, I turn back to Zeke and the rest of the group, who all look a little put out.
Grimacing, Zeke says under his breath, “Some people, right?”
The group all emphatically agrees. Thankfully they keep their voices down.
Page subtly angles her back toward the family. “So, Riley, you were going to tell us what your plans come autumn are.”
“I’m going to school to become an elementary school teacher.” I smile sweetly at them all.
Lucky for him, Zeke has the common sense to look chagrined. “Ah.”
Dinner goes downhill after that. Zoe and Zeke spend most of it arguing over the idea of commissioned work, Page and Elle try to have a conversation across the table, and Neil attempts to make small talk with me.
I’ve maybe spoken five sentences with Zeke.
By the time we’ve paid the check, I’m more than ready to leave. The fresh night air is cool, refreshing, and it feels good to be away from the crowded restaurant.
“Thanks for inviting me,” I say, already planning to make my getaway.
“It was fun,” Zeke says, his voice easy because he’s obviously not disappointed in the evening as I am. “You should come again sometime.”
“Sure,” I answer, though I know I won’t have to for another couple of weeks. He and Zoe are heading to Nevada for a big show they were talking about.
I’m only a little jealous. And by a little, I mean really, really jealous.
Zeke grins, rubs my shoulder, and then turns back to the rest of the group. I say my goodbyes to each of them and then hurry to my car, glad to be away and crushed that tonight didn’t go anything like how I planned.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It’s late Monday afternoon, and Linus is supposed to meet me in—I check my watch—five minutes. I sort all my soaping ingredients and plug in my slow cooker, letting it slowly heat my oils. I have a good feeling about today’s soap. With Linus helping, I don’t see how anything could go wrong.
He steps into the room just as I’m rubbing copper-colored mica on the back of my hand. “What do you think of this?”
Linus angles my hand up to the light for a better look.
“If I coated myself with it, would I look like an Oompa Loompa?” I ask, frowning thoughtfully at the smear of color.
Raising his eyebrows, he asks, “Is there a market for Oompa Loompa body dust?”
I meet his eyes, serious. “Maybe.”
He grins, just like I hoped he would. His smile is contagious, and I grin right back. Slowly, he lowers my hand, but he holds it a few moments longer than necessary. When he finally releases me, he asks, “What are we making today?”
“I want to try a coconut oil salt soap.” I scroll through the saved recipes on my tablet. After I find the one I’m looking for, I hand it to him. “What do you think?”
As Linus reads through the recipe, I note the way his eyebrows draw together when he’s deep in thought. I can imagine him studying for a test, completely engrossed in the text in front of him, can picture him pulling an all-nighter, rubbing the back of his neck when he gets drowsy.
“What?” he asks.
I blink, realizing I’ve let my mind wander and am staring at him. Dismissing the question, I motion to the tablet. “What do you think? Will it work if we try it hot process?”
He gives me a funny look and then shrugs. “It should. We’ll just need to work quickly so it doesn’t seize up on us.”
“I guess we should get started.” I pick up my goggles and pose with them on. “I hope these won’t be too distracting for you.”
Grinning, he slides on his own pair, which, unfairly, look more like clear sunglasses. “I’ll do my best to focus.”
We get started. To my surprise, working with Linus is easy. Side-by-side, we read through the instructions, talking as we measure and mix. He catches me right before I dump the sea salt into the oils, saving me from ruining yet another batch.
“When do we add it?” I ask, turning toward the recipe.
“Just before we scoop the soap into the mold.”
Shrugging, I turn back to the oils and slowly add the cooled lye water. Once it’s at trace, I put the lid on the slow cooker and pull off my gloves and goggles.
Linus smiles, probably because I have goggle lines around my eyes, but he doesn’t tease me about it.
“You know, this is actually kind of fun,” I admit as I plop onto one of the nearby stools.
“You didn’t think it would be?”
“I’ve helped Lauren with a lot of her stuff, and I’ve never liked any of it. Paint, glitter, glue—I just don’t care for them. But this is more like…”
“Science?” Linus wags his eyebrows, teasing. “Maybe you’re a closet geek?”
I narrow my eyes even as a smile plays on my lips. “Not a chance.”
Laughing under his breath, he picks up my pots of mica one by one, studying them. “You have a lot of sparkles for a girl who claims she doesn’t like glitter.”
“It’s not glitter.” I take one from him and turn it to the side just to watch the mica twinkle in the sterile fluorescent lights. “Look at how fine it is.”
“Sure.” Then without missing a beat, he says, “How was your date?”
The change of subject is so abrupt; my eyes snap to his before I turn away to check the soap. Tilting the lid open a crack, I answer, “It wasn’t really a date.”
“What was it?”
I scratch the back of my neck, embarrassed to be talking with him about it. “More of a group thing.”
Linus is quiet for several more moments, then he asks, “Well, how was your group thing?”
Meeting his eyes, I force a smile. “It was fine.”
Obviously reading me better than I hoped he could, he lets it drop. We end up doing several more batches, which takes the better part of another two hours.
“Thanks for helping,” I say as we leave the school.
It’s late afternoon, almost evening, and it’s still hot despite the growing shadows. Nearby, the landscape maintenance guy loads his riding lawn mower onto a trailer, and the scent of cut grass permeates the air. The smell makes me want to throw a beach towel on the lawn, stretch out, and soak up the sun.
“Where do people go around here if they want to swim?” I ask just as Linus looks like he’s going to say a final goodbye and walk to his car.
“There’s a community pool or…” Linus pauses.
“Or?”
“There’s also the Boiling River hot spring. It’s usually closed in spring, but it should be open by now.”
I’ve heard of the Yellowstone tourist spot, but I’ve never been there. “Is it very far?”
“About an hour.”
When I asked the question, I had been thinking of a cool dip in a pool, but a hot spring sounds good. “Let’s go.”
Linus, looking surprised, glances at his watch. “Even if we leave now, we wouldn’t get there before they close it for the night.”
“How late do you work tomorrow?”
He studies me for a moment. “Until one.”
“Great,” I say as I step off the sidewalk and into the parking lot. “I’ll pick you up when you get off.”
Before he has a chance to decline, I slip into my car.
***
It’s my first time in a video game store. Not just this one—any video game store. I’ve walked past the one in the mall plenty of times, but I’ve never done more than glance in. Maybe that’s a little odd for someone my age, but I haven’t had time for that sort of thing. That, and my parents both think video games are an utter and complete waste of time.
Maybe that’s why, as the bell jingles over the door, I feel a little rebellious. Linus glances over from the counter when I come in, and he gives me a questioning smile. He looks like he’s wondering if I’ll make it past the welcome mat.
A television plays an advertisement above him. On it, a small, elf-like creature brandishes a sword as he runs along the screen, attacking a colony of huge spiders. I watch it for a few moments and then look around the rest of the store, feeling a bit like I’ve walked into an unfamiliar world of technology and geekery.
There are at least a hundred plastic-encased figurines on display at the table nearest to me, all of them pieces for an elaborate cartoon game of some sort. A human-sized poster of a man in dirty armor hangs from the end of a shelf on my right, and I’m pretty sure that’s not supposed to be ketchup on his chest.
Everything is flashy. The carpet is red, the walls are stark white, and there are huge signs announcing sections for different systems that I am at least, thanks to television commercials and babysitting, familiar with.
The guy standing next to Linus looks at me like I’m a lost gazelle and he’s a ravenous, but slightly slow, lion. But I’m worse than a gazelle, I’m the elusive cheerleader who’s wandered into the game store. I glance at my outfit and realize I should have chosen a little more carefully.
I’m wearing my suit’s tankini halter top and a pair of jean shorts with rhinestones on the pockets that Lauren coerced me to buy last summer. This morning I painted my toenails hot pink, and I’m wearing a pair of gold flip-flops. Instead of my usual French braid, I curled my hair and have it in a loose updo. Lastly, I have a tasteful-sized pair of sparkly hoop earrings that would make Lauren proud.
I feel confident and pretty, but the whole outfit is too much for Game Store Guy, who stares at me, slack-jawed.
When the guy realizes I’ve caught him gawking, he jerks his attention down to the computer screen and studies it like he’s about to save the world from a rogue meteor.
“I’m just finishing up here, Riley,” Linus says, which makes the guy next to him glance up in surprise.
“No problem. I’ll just”—I cringe but try to hide it—“browse.”
A knowing and amused look flashes across Linus’s face, but he goes back to stocking the open glass shelf behind the counter.
After several minutes, Linus comes up beside me. I stare at the back of a game, frowning. “Wouldn’t it be more productive if a person were to start a farm and get married in real life?”
Shaking his head and giving me that look he’s so good at, Linus takes the case from me and puts it back on the shelf. “Are you ready? Or would you rather spend the afternoon here?”
“Where are you two kooky kids going?” the guy behind the counter asks, finally finding his tongue.
“Boiling River,” Linus answers.
His coworker’s eyes flick to my swimsuit top. “Taking a dip in the hot springs, huh?”
He then waggles his eyebrows at Linus in a way that makes me want to lean over the glass counter and grab him by his scrawny, pale neck. The guy knows I could do it, too, because he takes one look at my expression and steps back, gulping.
“Later, Tom.” Linus shoots him a chastising look and ushers me to the door before I maim his coworker.
“He seems like a lot of fun,” I say as soon as we’re standing on the sidewalk.
Linus rolls his eyes. “He’s not that bad, really. Just…”
“Socially awkward?”
Unable to help himself, Linus smiles. “That pretty much sums it up.”
He follows me to my car, which is parked out front. “You sure you don’t want to take my truck?”
“I like to drive.”
He shrugs, agreeable as always. We slide in, and I generously let Linus pick the radio station, mostly because I’m curious what he’ll choose. He scans the channels and stops on something upbeat and happy that easily fades into the background.
I keep waiting for him to do something annoying, something that’s a deal breaker for me. But so far, even his odd, quirky habits—like keeping his window down on the highway or humming with a song instead of singing it, aren’t bothering me like they normally would.
The hour to Yellowstone goes by quickly, and signs begin to announce the National Park long before I expect to see them. As we pull into the parking area, I let out a groan.
“It’s still closed for the season,” I say, resting my head back.
Linus gets out of the car, reading the sign from a closer distance, and then comes back. “Sorry, Riley. I should have called.”
I shrug, not wanting to have driven all that way for nothing. “We might as well explore a bit. What do you say?”
***
We end up driving around, like tourists, visiting the must-see spots in Yellowstone, all of which I haven’t seen since middle school.
It’s evening now, and the sun is warm and golden. Soon it will be cold, especially since I’m in a swimsuit and shorts. We’re walking down the planking, checking out the Grand Prismatic Spring, which just happens to be the United States’ largest hot spring—and definitely the most colorful.
My breath catches in my throat as the setting sun reflects off the water. It’s the busy season, nearing the height of summer, and the boardwalk is busy. Older couples smile at us, probably
thinking Linus and I are together.
I mean, we are together. But they think we’re together together. Which we are not.
Yet, a tiny voice in my head whispers.
Peering at Linus, but trying to act casual about it, I study him. It’s crazy how much difference a simple haircut can make. He went from cute and puppyish to downright delectable. He’s got these strong, sculpted features that I never noticed when his hair was flopping across his forehead and hiding his ears. It’s short now, not messy like Harrison’s but just as perfect. But where Harrison likely spends hours each morning perfecting his look, Linus probably dries his with a towel and calls it good.
There’s something about that, about him being so easy and simple and, well, guyish, that makes me like him even more.
“Why are you staring at me?” Linus asks as he reads a sign.
Obviously, I'm not as subtle as I thought.
“Why’d you cut your hair?”
“Because my mother said I was starting to look like one of the Beatles, and she didn’t say it like it was a compliment.” He glances at me, his eyes laughing. “Why?”
I shrug. “I like it.”
“Yeah?” Instead of looking away, which would be the natural thing to do at this point, his eyes stay on mine. Finally, he quietly says, “I was hoping you would.”
He was hoping I would? What does that mean?
I’m still staring at him, and this strange knot coils in my stomach, making it hard to breathe. We’re surrounded by tourists, lots of families with giggling, squealing kids. There are dads warning their children to stay away from the edge, moms telling their sons to stop pestering their sisters, and grandparents talking about coming here when they were kids.
But it all fades away. A grizzly bear could wander from the trees and start tap dancing, and I doubt I would notice.
Yes, I like Zeke. But there’s something here, too. Something real and warm and honest.
Something, that if I’m truthful, scares me a little bit. Linus isn’t like anyone I’ve ever met. He doesn’t like me because I was a cheerleader, he’s not using me to boost his social status. He’s just him. And I’m just me.
And we’re just leaning in, closing the gap between us, right here on this busy boardwalk next to a huge hot spring that looks like an oil slick in the middle of the Wyoming mountains.
Shine and Shimmer (Glitter and Sparkle #2) Page 10
