Shine and Shimmer (Glitter and Sparkle #2)

by Shari L. Tapscott

“No.” Linus flings his arm over his eyes and groans again. “We’ll go.”

  “You sure?” I ask, incredulous. “I know I’ve said this before, but you really are too nice.”

  Linus shrugs, pushes himself to his feet, and then offers me his hand. “Yeah, I know. Don’t remind me.”

  ***

  “I just like the older games better,” I say.

  Linus shakes his head, laughing, and downshifts as we near the little town where we’ll find Zeke. “You haven’t tried any of the newer ones. You’d like them if you’d give them a chance.”

  I shake my head, stubborn.

  The town is cute, touristy. There’s a music festival going on today, and it’s probably why Zeke and Zoe were here in the first place. There are cars everywhere, many of them with out-of-state licenses. It’s mid-evening, the horizon is pink, and streetlights and signs are just starting to turn on.

  “Where’s this hotel at?” I ask.

  “It should be down this street.”

  We don’t have to look for long. Zeke sits on a bench near the entrance of a posh hotel, looking all bad-boy broody. As usual, he wears a button-up shirt, and he has the sleeves rolled up to show off his tattoos and muscular arms. There’s a shadow of dark stubble along his jaw, and the set of his shoulders makes me think he wants to punch something.

  A man who wears the hotel’s logo on his polo shirt keeps shooting Zeke glances, like he’s worried the artist is up to no good. Honestly, Zeke doesn’t look like a man you want to mess with right now, but his expression softens when he recognizes Linus’s truck.

  “I had to leave the room.” Zeke shoulders his bag and walks to the truck. To Linus, he says, “Thanks for the ride, man.”

  Linus only grunts a greeting. I hop over the seat, sitting in the narrow back so we don’t all have to squish in the front. As I do, Linus glances out the window at Main Street, which is growing rather lively. The road runs next to the hotel, perpendicular to the one we came in on, and it’s blocked off to traffic for the event.

  “Hey, Zeke,” Linus says as he looks out the window. “If I loan you fifty bucks, you can find your own way home, right?”

  Zeke turns to Linus, looking mildly surprised. “I can find my way home with twenty.”

  “Deal.” Linus digs out his wallet and hands Zeke a twenty-dollar bill. “Now get out.”

  Laughing, Zeke shoves the money in his pocket and opens the door. “Good to see you too, Bradford. I owe you one.”

  “No, you owe me twenty.”

  As he’s sliding out of the truck, Zeke catches my eye. He subtly nods toward Linus and raises his eyebrow suggestively. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  I roll my eyes. “That would be difficult considering there’s nothing you wouldn’t do.”

  Zeke raises his eyebrows and grins. “That’s right, gorgeous. Have fun.” He turns to Linus and gives him an incredulous look. “You are aware she’s under the impression that you two are just ‘friends,’ right? You might want to step up your game.”

  Linus shakes his head, but he’s biting back a grin and staring straight out the windshield. Even in the dimming light, I can tell his neck and face are growing red. I blink at him, startled and more than a little hopeful. A warm, tingling sensation settles over me, starting in my chest and traveling all the way to my toes.

  “Goodbye, Zeke,” Linus says, but instead of sounding like the cordial pleasantry it is, it comes out as a demand. Zeke laughs and slams the passenger side door shut.

  I crawl over the seat and into the front as soon as Zeke’s gone, but this time I settle into the middle. If Linus minds, he sure doesn’t say anything.

  “You want to check it out?” He nods toward the festival. There are already strains of a country song blaring from the makeshift stage. He glances over to meet my eyes. I know that look.

  Elated, I shift slightly closer. Feeling far more confident than I’ve felt in months, I toss my hair and give him a flirty look. “Yeah, I do.”

  Linus stares at me for several seconds, looking slightly shell-shocked, then he clears his throat as he puts the truck in gear. “Let’s find a parking spot.”

  By the time I’m sliding out of his truck, my heart hammers in my chest, and I’m feeling so light, I’m not sure my feet will touch the ground. Linus doesn’t take my hand as we wind through the crowd, but he stays close enough we occasionally bump into each other.

  We make our way to the concert area, toward the large crowd that’s gathered there.

  “Do you like country?” Linus asks, his voice loud so I can hear him over the noise.

  “I like anything you can dance to.” Already, I move to the music. The song is fast, fun. It’s as much rock as country, and I can get into it. The energy around us is contagious, and I yank on Linus’s arm, pulling him closer so we don’t get separated. “Do you dance, Video Game Guy?”

  “Not really,” he admits.

  I take his shoulders and gently shake them. “Just loosen up, move with the beat.”

  Other people around us are doing the same. Some are singing along, others are at the edges, just enjoying the night. Above, the stars shine bright, and the summer evening smells like pine trees, baked goods, and mountain air.

  Linus ends up paying so we can move closer to the stage, in with the rest of the people who want to have a better view of the band. I have no idea what local group is playing, but they’re doing a good job with the covers they’ve chosen.

  A song comes up that I know the words to, and I end up singing them with the rest of the crowd. Linus laughs when I turn, serenading him. We must dance for over an hour. I keep waiting for a slow song, but apparently that’s not what the band has in mind for the evening. Everything is upbeat, infectious, and happy.

  “I’m starving,” I finally tell Linus. “Think we can find something to eat?”

  “Absolutely,” he says, and to my utter and total astonishment, he takes my hand and leads me away from the stage.

  I’m glad I’m behind him so he can’t see me grinning like a lovesick fool.

  ***

  “I’m sure glad we had that blanket earlier,” I say as I settle, cross-legged, on the grass near the hotel.

  Linus sits next to me, and we eat, sharing each other’s meals. Other couples have done the same around us, but it’s shadowy in the night, and the darkness wraps around our blanketed area like a cool embrace. We’re close enough we can still hear the music, and I watch as people wander the festival, stopping at booths, buying drinks and kettle corn.

  After we’ve eaten, I angle toward Linus, who’s stretched out on the blanket, hands under his head, looking at the stars.

  “I like to dance,” I say.

  He shifts his head so he can look at me. “I gathered that.”

  I lie on my stomach next to Linus and turn to face him. “No. I mean, that’s the real me. I like to dance.”

  A question shows in his eyes, but he waits for me to continue.

  “I like to be outside. I like kids. I actually think I might like making soap, but that’s probably because of you.” I shift a little closer. “I don’t like to be alone, and I don’t like scary things. I like dogs and cats, sunrises, romantic movies, and romance novels. I like music, but I hate old seventies rock. I like to snowboard. I like to dress up…but I’d rather wear shorts and a tank top.” I search his eyes, desperately hoping I’m reading this evening right, and whisper, “And I like you.”

  Linus watches me intently and props himself up on his arm. Slowly, he brushes his fingertips over the inside of my wrist, looking as if he thinks this is some kind of test. Gravel crunches in the landscape nearby, but my attention is on Linus alone. He’s leaning in; I’m leaning in…

  “Are you guys done?” a shadowy figure says from above. “Because I’m more than ready to go home.”

  Angling my head, I glare up at Zeke. “Shouldn’t you already be on your way back?”

  “Funny thing. Apparently, the last bus lef
t”—he glances at his phone—“twenty minutes before you two showed up.”

  Nothing can ruin the mood like Zeke. Linus stands, and to his credit, he only looks mildly irritated. He offers me his hand, picks up the blanket, and the three of us head back to Linus’s truck.

  The night was already winding down, but I had been looking forward to a quiet ride back home with Linus.

  “So, what did you do to her this time?” I ask Zeke when we’re about forty-five minutes from home.

  Zeke rests his arm on the middle of the seat and turns back to look at me. “That’s the thing. I didn’t do anything. We were having a good weekend, sharing a booth at the festival. It was going well—made good money during the day, partied at night. Then this morning she just randomly freaked out, screaming at me that something was my fault, and then she stormed out. I have no idea what her deal is.”

  “Maybe she’s pregnant,” Linus says, laughing like he’s joking.

  “Not cool.” Zeke flashes Linus a look but then sits quietly, mulling it over. After a moment, he begins rubbing the back of his neck. “She can’t be.”

  “Can’t be?” I roll my eyes. “Or you don’t want her to be?”

  Zeke looks like he swallowed a toad, and he turns forward, sitting unnaturally still.

  The rest of the trip home is both extremely quiet and extremely uncomfortable, but as soon as we drop Zeke off at his parents’ place, Linus turns to me and raises his eyebrows. Though he’s trying to hide it, a small smile plays on his lips. “He’s really got his act together, Riley. Are you sure you don’t want to give him another chance?”

  I choke back a laugh and smack him on the arm. “I take everything back. You’re not that nice.”

  Chuckling under his breath, he turns back onto the street to take me home.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “I like bowtie pasta better than plain spaghetti,” I say to Linus as I swirl the top of a loaf of citrus soap.

  It’s become a game with us. I list my favorite things, things that I don’t care whether Linus likes or not, and he does the same.

  Linus sits on the counter next to me, safety glasses on, and watches me. “I think it all tastes the same.”

  I sprinkle the top with lemon zest. “You would be wrong.”

  Now that I’ve quit selling the soap, I’m truly enjoying making it. Instead of worrying about what people will want to buy, I just make what makes me happy.

  As a final touch, I apply a good dusting of gold mica over the top of the finished soap (gold mica makes me very happy), and then I gently push the mold aside. In the last few days, I’ve been making cold process, the kind of soap that takes a full six weeks to cure, because I like playing with colors and swirls, and you just can’t do that with slow-cooker soap.

  “Your turn,” I say.

  “I don’t like marinara sauce,” Linus says.

  I pull off my goggles. “Seriously? But you eat ketchup.”

  He shrugs. “And you don’t like onions, but you eat onion rings.”

  This is our last day in the high school. Linus’s Science Explorers camp is finished, and teachers come back next week to begin prepping their classes for the coming school year. I go home next Friday, and Linus will drive to Colorado a few days after that.

  Our summer is coming to an end, and I’m panicking a little. We’ve spent all this time together, but we’ve never crossed that line from friendship to more. I’m worried it’s too late now. Why start something when we only have a few days left? That just sounds like torture.

  “We never got to go swimming,” Linus says, distracting me from my thoughts. “We should go tomorrow.”

  “Where?” I’m not sure I want to drive all the way to Yellowstone again.

  He hops off the counter. “I know a place. How about I pick you up tomorrow at nine?”

  I clean up my mess and put bottles and containers into my tote bags. “All right.”

  “Hey, Riley,” he says. “Wear boots.”

  “I’m getting nervous.”

  Linus only grins.

  ***

  The day is warm enough to go swimming, though the nights have started to cool. It won’t be more than a month before the mountains are in full autumn color.

  Linus picks me up exactly at nine, and we’re driving up a winding mountain road.

  “Exactly how long is it going to take to get there?” I ask after we’ve driven for almost an hour. I have the window down, and the air is growing steadily cooler the higher we climb. “If we get too far up there, it will be too cold to swim.”

  “It’s still early.” Linus glances over and gives me an easy smile, a smile that makes my heart ache.

  We could have been so good together.

  After another fifteen minutes, Linus turns the truck onto a pull-out with a trailhead signpost. Evergreen trees with gnarled, flaking bark tower over each side of the trail. Overgrown brush interspersed with thick grass grows at the base of the trunks, and ground squirrels chatter to each other from the heavy cover. The trail is narrow and springy with countless years of fallen leaves.

  I shoulder my lightweight hiking backpack and peer down the trail, which disappears into the thick forest. From the limbs above us, a raven caws. “Remind me to avoid gingerbread houses.”

  Linus laughs and puts on his own backpack. “Too bad I don’t have any bread crumbs.”

  “I’ve heard that doesn’t work out too well anyway.” In the cool-but-warming mid-morning air, we start down the trail. A little way ahead there’s a register, and as Linus signs it, I bend down to retie my boot. “I thought you weren’t a hiker.”

  Linus closes the metal lid and waits for me to finish. “There’s a geocache near here, but my phone doesn’t have service this far out, and I got turned around when I was hunting it down. I found this trail while I was trying to find my way back.”

  “Lucky you stumbled on it—otherwise you might have spent an unexpected night in the woods.”

  He smiles at me, his expression saying that it wouldn’t be the first time, but he continues and changes the subject before I can ask him to elaborate.

  After we’ve walked for about an hour, I take off my jacket and tie it around my waist. The sun filters down in patches, and I dig in my pack for sunscreen. As I slather it on my shoulders, I ask, “Are we getting close?”

  “Just a little farther,” he promises.

  “Just a little farther” ends up being another two miles. We take a right at an old sign that reads Copper Creek. Finally, when I’m just about to give up on swimming today, I hear running water. We follow the path down a steep curve.

  “Careful,” Linus warns from in front of me. “This section is—”

  His warning comes two seconds too late. My foot slips on a pebbly section of the trail, and I slide forward, squealing as I pinwheel my arms, trying to catch my balance. I end up stumbling into Linus’s chest. He wraps his arms around me, trying to steady me as he teeters backward.

  Unable to stop ourselves, we tumble to the ground, laughing and clinging to each other. Linus breaks my fall, and I end up smack-dab on top of his chest. Our lips are inches away, and my braid is on his face. All the air has been knocked from me, and I lie here, trying to catch my breath.

  Linus groans from under me, and I attempt to scramble off as soon as I can move. His arms tighten around my waist, and he wheezes out a laugh.

  “Are you all right?” I demand, my hand straying to his temple. “Did you hit your head?”

  A gray jay cackles above us, and I eye the bird, irritated.

  “I’m fine,” Linus assures me, but he doesn’t attempt to get up. “What about you?”

  “My landing was a lot softer than yours.”

  His hand strays to my braid, but instead of simply pulling it away from his face, he runs his hand down it. “I didn’t make out too bad.”

  What little breath I’ve caught whooshes out of my lungs. I’m still lying on him, quite intimately in his arms. Slowly, I dra
g my eyes to his. “You must have hit your head after all.”

  A smile plays on his lips, and he shifts under me, obviously uncomfortable despite his bravado. I scoot off him and brush the trail dust from my clothes. Dirt and bits of twigs and leaves cling to my skin where I smeared the sunscreen earlier.

  “You can wash that off.” And just like that, Linus takes my hand and leads me around the corner.

  In a sunny, rocky clearing, a shallow pool of creek water gathers at the end of the trail. A sign warns swimmers and sunbathers to avoid diving, though I would think that since the pool is three feet at its very deepest point, that should be a given.

  “This is beautiful,” I say as I toss my backpack to the ground.

  Though the morning started cool, it’s a lot warmer now. The sun is high overhead, beating down on us and making the rocks outside the creek hot.

  Slowly, feeling self-conscious though there’s no reason for it since I have a swimsuit underneath, I pull my tank top over my head. When I glance at Linus, I go still. He’s stripping off his shirt, revealing muscular shoulders, defined abs, and nicely-tanned skin.

  My mouth goes dry. I’m too befuddled to care that I’m gaping at him. A Celtic-style tattoo wraps his right bicep. I’d never noticed it before because it was always hidden under a T-shirt, but now I can’t tear my eyes away.

  It’s simple, clean. Ridiculously appealing.

  He glances my way and then does a subtle double-take, raising his eyebrows when he catches me staring.

  “Nice tattoo,” I say when I finally find my voice. Feeling like an idiot, I rip my eyes away and attempt to hold back a smile as I kick off my shorts.

  “Thanks,” he says, sounding distracted.

  When I glance his way, his eyes dart to mine, and he looks a tad bit guilty, like he might have been checking me out right back. Knowing my swimsuit is in place, I resist the urge to tug at my tankini and instead check the back of my earring. “So…how cold do you think it is?”

  “This mountain creek water? Nice and warm.” Linus gives me an evil grin and steps next to me. He holds out a bottle of sunscreen. “Did you get your back?”