by Hughes, Maya
Making sure she wasn’t looking, I dumped the bags and her number into the dumpster right along with the card from my dad. He didn’t deserve any better than that. I got into my car and snagged one of the cookies from the top, showering myself in pink and purple sugar crystals. Brushing at my shirt, I devoured the cookie, which was the perfect blend of sugar and vanilla.
My phone pinged.
Declan: If you don’t show, we’re driving over to your apartment and bringing the party to you.
Heath: Hell, if you don’t show, we might all decide to have a slumber party at your place!
Emmett: Just make sure you show up so these two don’t get any crazy ideas…
All I needed to do was get Liv to tell me what was going on with her. It wasn’t like her to shut Colm out, and worry nagged at the back of my mind. Was she in trouble? She knew she could come to me if anything big happened, right? How the hell would she when I’d stayed so far away? Squeezing the back of my neck, I started my car and headed toward Heath’s place. Be cool, it’s fine. I’m sure she thinks about it like a distant memory.
I grimaced and shook my head. What had I been thinking? This was Olive. Olive Oil forever. Ask a few questions, give Colm the update, and back the hell off. Easy as that.
4
Liv
My black boots clicked on the cobblestone sidewalk, and I tugged on my braid, which was draped over my shoulder, my fingers tingling inside my gloves. Closing my books earlier and shutting down my brain to come had been the highlight of my week. These dinners were hard to pull off during the season because the guys were always traveling, and seeing everyone in one room was like being transported to a simpler time, back when I’d sneaked into Colm’s room at home while they were all in there playing video games and discussing “guy things,” eavesdropping like any good sister would.
They’d talked about their games and hot girls at school. Declan had always squawked about something Mak had said that got under his skin. The biggest things anyone had to worry about were sports, grades, and how much beer they could get from Emmett’s booze hookup.
Then there was the juicy stuff. The crap Declan, Heath, and Colm would give Ford because of the expectations the girls at Rittenhouse Prep had after being with him always came up in conversation. He kept it to himself, never being big on locker room talk, but it seemed the girls had no trouble shouting about their time with him from the rooftops. The jealousy burned brightly even though my curiosity hadn’t kept me from wanting to hear more.
This group was the closest I had to childhood friends. Sure, they were really Colm’s friends, but I wasn’t opposed to barging in on get-togethers if they came with awesome food and memories I wanted to snapshot in my mind. Plus, Ford usually steered clear, so it was a win-win-win.
The morning had been rough. Marisa had had a blowup with her mom on the phone over something, her raised voice filtering through the closed door to her bedroom. Even with how screwed up that relationship was, not to mention the one with her dad, there was still the chance of change, the glimmer of hope that they could repair things. The possibility wasn’t even an option for me, and I hated the pangs of envy scratching at my gut.
Those feelings had bubbled up more and more lately, and that wasn’t fair. I was sure I’d have been having those same issues with my mom—if she’d been around and not working 100 hours a week. It was why my trips to Ford’s mom’s had become more frequent over the last year.
Sinking into her hugs, I could pretend for an instant she was my mom. I dreaded graduating from college. Everyone would be there with their proud parents for pictures and parties. High school graduation had been an unexpected blow, a milestone people took for granted while bitching about dressing up and posing for photographs. I’d have given anything for Mom to come up and wipe a smudge off my cheek with a spit-covered finger.
The father-daughter dance at Mak’s wedding had started the highlight reel of everything I’d miss out on with Mom and Dad gone. Stopping in the middle of the sidewalk, I stared up at the sky and blinked back the moisture there. Stupid wind, making my eyes water. Get it together, Liv. This is ancient history. Nothing you can do about it. Just keep swimming.
Heath and Kara’s brick town house was tucked in alongside all the other red brick historical homes not too far away from our old high school—well, what would have been my old high school if I hadn’t shuffled along to Boston with Colm just before my freshman year.
Being thrown in the deep end with boarding school girls at the peak of puberty had been the gift that kept on giving. My photo album from the first few months included a hell of a lot of pictures of the landscaping around the school and the library. Learning to make friends, mixing drinks, and having a college-aged brother who picked me up for weekly dinners had saved me from abject isolation and shunning.
I stood at the bottom of the steps to the house and smoothed my gloved hands down the front of my camel-colored cashmere coat. Laughter filtered out from inside, and I smiled. I’d never been happier to get folded into a group of friends as the little tagalong sister than I was with the Kings. Lifting my hand to knock on the door, I froze, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up.
“Hey, Liv.”
My back went ramrod straight. I spun on my heel. “Ford.” The word was almost swallowed up by the sharp winter air.
His hands were shoved into his pockets as he took two hesitant steps closer to me like I was a wild animal who might bolt at any second.
He had on a double-breasted black pea coat and jeans that hugged his thighs, powerful muscles honed over years on the ice and daily workouts. Our breath hung between us in small puffs of frozen air. Why did he have to look so good in winter clothing?
“Why are you here?”
“You look good.”
We spoke at the same time. He looked back at me with wide eyes like when you say that one thing you’ve been telling yourself not to say or focus on. Like one day in class, my stomach was rumbling and the teacher called on me and I just yelled out “Bread!”—exactly like that. Ford was probably hoping I wouldn’t take it the wrong way and attempt to jump his bones right there on the sidewalk.
“Thanks.”
“Why are you here?” I repeated, hoping maybe he’d decided to go for a walk and happened to be in the neighborhood and wasn’t, in fact, going inside where I’d have to be around him for the next few hours.
His eyebrows dropped and pulled together like he wasn’t even sure himself. Someone passed by on the sidewalk, casting a sidelong glance at the two of us doing living statue impersonations.
His gaze landed on mine. That sparking, skin-on-fire feeling rushed through my body, and I couldn’t move. The fullness of his lips contrasted with the scruff on his cheeks, reminding me how they’d felt on my mouth. Seeing every light brown fleck in his gray eyes was like reacquainting myself with a painting I’d once stared at every day. My heart pounded in my chest. Everything I’d promised myself went out the window the second I was within three feet of him.
My stomach turned itself into an intricate balloon animal with each passing second. I’d seen him on the TV screen the day before, but this was the living, breathing man standing in front of me. All those same giddy feelings I’d felt back when I’d discovered what a crush was rushed forward, but they were now tinged with reality. I clamped down on those schoolgirl sensations; I wasn’t one anymore. I wasn’t mindlessly following him around searching for a sliver of his attention. I’d had it, full on. My lips had felt the ghost of his touch for days, and my heart had borne the bruises from his rejection for months.
The front door flew open, and Kara stood in the doorway. Her black curls were pinned up by a pencil jammed into her bun. “I thought I saw you walk up. Hi, Ford. Come in! Everyone’s here already.” She stepped out of the doorway and waved us inside. Ford tugged his hat off. His shaggy hair. With the short beard, he looked a bit more like the Ford I’d had a crush on back when I was in middle school, and some
how that hurt a little bit more. Back then I’d had the hope of possibility. He shoved the hat into his coat pocket.
I unbuttoned my coat and shrugged it off. Kara grabbed them both and put them in the coat closet. Kara and Heath had been together since his senior year of college when she was a master’s student and, scandalously, his TA.
“Look who I found hiding out on the doorstep!” She tugged Ford forward by the arm, and a big cheer went up from the rest of the guys in the dining room. They barreled forward and swarmed him with limbs flying like they hadn’t seen each other the day before.
“I thought we’d have to burn down your place to get you out of there.” Declan clapped him on the back. The muscles in Ford’s neck tensed so tightly it looked like it hurt, and then he relaxed and smiled back.
“And I also found someone else out there.” Kara pulled me forward. I stepped up out of the shadows, and the pile of hockey players transferred from Ford to me.
“Olive!”
“Liv!”
I rolled my eyes at the collective yell. My childhood nickname hadn’t died the death it deserved. I’d been tall for my age at eleven and then had just…stopped growing. Olive Oil had been my name back then when everyone thought I’d inherited my parents’ height. Colm was over six feet tall, as were the rest of the guys. I, however, had capped out at five-four, which wasn’t that short, but around them I felt like a teacup poodle.
Delicious smells wafted out of the kitchen, sweet and savory dueling for top billing on what I was going to devour first. Ford made himself scarce over by the bar cart, checking out Heath’s bourbon collection. Of course he did.
“You guys are going to crush her.” Mak batted them off me and pulled me in for a hug. “How’s the biochem prep going?” Mak had been a godsend with my premed requirements trying to eat my life, consuming any free time, and destroying my brain. Her note-card method kept everything organized. She was going to make an amazing doctor.
“It’s going. I took the practice exams, and I’m hitting the high eighties on them, so I’m no longer ready to pull my hair out, but not doing as well as I need to be.”
“You’ll get there, and you know I’m just a phone call away if you need anything.”
“Remember that when the organic chemistry final is coming up and I’m knocking on your door.”
Avery leaned out of the kitchen with a glass pitcher filled with mint leaves. “Liv, get in here and make us some raspberry mojitos.” Her standard uniform of jeans and ripped sweatshirt showed she hadn’t changed one bit over the years. There may or may not have been little bits of icing stuck in her chestnut hair, a hazard of owning a bakery.
Ford’s head snapped up from his intense study of the five liquor bottles in front of him over at the bar tucked in the corner.
“Duty calls.” I saluted the guys and departed for my kitchen escape route.
“Jesus Christ, you’re right. It’s like she stepped out of a catalog,” was my greeting the second I crossed the threshold into the kitchen.
I whipped around at the new girl’s voice. “Thank you?” Black boots, dark blue jeans, and my sweater with the bow accent on the shoulder didn’t seem catalog-worthy to me.
“Max, this is Liv. Liv, this is Max. She works at my bakery and creates things like this.” Avery pushed her turquoise-haired friend out of the way, and I gasped. Behind her on the counter was a small two-tiered cake. The icing matched Max’s hair, and she’d also created an intricate pattern in gold that looked like a cross between paisley and henna designs you’d see covering someone’s hands.
“That’s gorgeous.” I walked toward the cake and clasped my hands in front of me to beat down the temptation to touch it. It wasn’t a cake—it was a piece of art. “You did all this?”
Max’s peacock-blue head bobbed. “Trying something new. Avery’s trying to pimp me out to the high-society party set for weddings and stuff.” She shrugged, resting her hands on her paint-splattered jeans. “It probably pays better than she does.” A sneaky smirk curled her lips.
“Hey!” A shout of mock outrage came from Avery.
Emmett, with his regrown scruffy facial hair, popped his head into the kitchen and made his way to Avery immediately.
“Everything okay in here?” Nuzzling her cheek and wrapping his arms around her waist, he rocked the two of them back and forth to music no one else could hear. The dark days of brooding Emmett were over, and now he was like an eager puppy whenever she was near him.
“We’re fine. Max is just being an ass, as usual.” She covered his hands with hers. The massive ring on her finger caught all the available light in the room, bathing us in a rainbow kaleidoscope of colors.
“Leave us to our work, Cinderella. Your ring is burning a hole straight through my retinas.” Max spun back around and picked up the tiniest piping bag I’d ever seen, going back to her detailed work on the cake.
“I’ll be right back, Liv. Everything you need should be there.” Emmett rushed Avery out of the room. They were probably going to find a nice secluded nook to make out in.
I sighed. Maybe I needed a date. It had been almost five months since I’d left the house with anyone other than Marisa.
“What’s your deal, Disney princess?” Max swung back around, propping her feet up on the bottom rung of the stool.
“My deal?” I scrunched my eyebrows.
“How’d you end up with this ragtag group? You’re kind of young, aren’t you?” She lifted an eyebrow.
“I’m the younger sister tagging along. The guys all played hockey with my brother, Colm, who got traded down here a few months ago.”
“Weird being around so many pro athletes, huh?” She peered out the open kitchen doorway.
“I’m used to it. I’ve been around these guys since they first got on the ice. Sometimes I forget they’re famous now. What about you? What’s your deal, tough girl?”
Her head jerked back, and her eyes widened. A big smile spread across her face. “I knew I liked you.” She set down her gold icing and leaned against the counter. “My deal: orphan, baker, candlestick maker, resident big mouth, and tough girl, as you mentioned.” She flexed her arm and kissed her bicep. Staring at me, she lifted her chin toward me. My turn.
“My deal: orphan, little sister, dancer, resident fashionista.” I swooped my arms out in front of me to show off the outfit she’d already commented on.
“No college?” She lifted an eyebrow.
“Right, that too. I’m premed in college.” Why hadn’t I said college student?
“And a brainiac to boot. Go you. I hear you’re also a master mixologist. Avery, Kara, and Mak have been going on and on about your cocktails since I got here. I’m excited to try them, but no skimping on the booze.” She winked at me and spun back around to face her sugar-laden masterpiece.
Her work was mesmerizing. The precision of her movements and the patterns she created entranced me. She was in a world where nothing else existed other than buttercream and a painstaking attention to detail.
I grabbed a pan out of the cabinet, threw in some water and sugar, and then cranked up the heat. Turning to get the pitcher of mint leaves, I spotted a tall, scruffy-cheeked figure in the doorway. I took a deep breath and beat back the flutters in my stomach. Did this have to happen every damn time I saw him? It’d only been eight minutes.
“Hi, Ford.” That sounded nonchalant, right?
He froze, like if he didn’t move I wouldn’t see him. “They need some more glasses out there.”
The air around us crackled. Was it all in my head? Maybe it was. He’d shouted at me to get lost after the wedding with that puck bunny all over him, the smear of her lipstick on his cheek. I’d gone over it so many times. Why had he kissed me? Had he just been trying to cheer me up? Had he done the one thing he knew could stop me from thinking about everything I’d lost? If so, he’d done one hell of a job. My body had hummed in anticipation of more, and then that future had been ripped away.
I f
elt the heat from his fingers, which were less than an inch away from mine on the cool counter.
“Holy sexual tension, Batman, you two are going to melt the icing on my cake.” Max’s laughter broke the thin line that stretched between me and Ford, releasing us from its grip. “How long has this thing been going on?”
I stared at her with wide eyes, shaking my head. My chest tightened.
“No!” he shouted.
“Not even a little bit. We’ve known each other forever. He’s…we’re…there’s no sexual tension here, not at all, and we’re certainly not dating.” Had someone broken out a flamethrower? Because my cheeks were on fire. I might have overdone the denial the tiniest bit. This was my worst nightmare come to life. Did he think I was in there talking about him to Max? Did he think I was still hung up on him? I mean, I kind of was, but he didn’t need to know that. Did he think I was there hoping to run into him? Or that I’d been pining away for him? I pumped up that outrage. It would keep me from doing something stupid like trying to talk to him.
“Whatever you say,” Max sing songed.
“I’ll get the glasses.” I wrenched the cabinet open. The handle flew out of my hand, and the glass rattled. I winced at my clumsiness and nearly cleared out the entire shelf of glasses, gently putting them on the counter. Avoiding eye contact, I stirred the pot, which was now at a rolling boil, and then turned off the burner.
He gathered up all ten glasses at once and left the kitchen, showing off with his massive hands.
I lifted the pot and swung around, skidding to a halt and nearly sloshing piping-hot simple syrup all over us both when he reappeared behind me.
“How did you become the designated cocktail maker?” He leaned against the edge of the counter like we were old friends catching up. Well, we were old friends, but this was the first time he’d initiated a conversation with me in a long time.
