Cinderella Steals Home (6 page)

That leaves me staring awkwardly at the jars of peppers and Parmesan cheese in the middle of the table.
 

I'm examining my cuticles and deciding that I need to put on a fresh coat of pink nail polish after I get home later when Doan turns in his seat to face me.
 

I glance up at him and raise an eyebrow. "Yeah?"
 

"How'd you end up here?"

"Justin asked if I was hungry."
 

He grins and shakes his head. "Not what I meant."
 

"I know."
 

"Are you always such a smart ass?"
 

"When it benefits me."
 

"How does it benefit you now?"
 

"I don't really like you."
 

He lays his right hand over his heart and sticks out his bottom lip. "You're killing me, Holls." I open my mouth to protest when he smiles. "I know, I know. Don't call you Holls. I got it."
 

I'm not sure I like that he already knows exactly what I'm going to say before I say it.
 

"Yeah," I tell him. "So stop."
 

He laughs. "So are you going to answer my question?"
 

"I didn't have much of a choice."
 

"You always have a choice."
 

"I wasn't going to move to Canada."
 

Doan smiles. "It was Arizona or Canada? Okay, maybe you didn't have a choice after all."
 

I laugh despite myself. "Exactly."
 

"Where were you before?"
 

"Pennsylvania."

"And you're complaining about coming here? I thought you were gonna say Hawaii or Florida or something. But Pennsylvania? Is there even anything there?"
 

I shrug. "It's home."
 

"Home can be anywhere you want it to be."

"Not here," I tell him, and I glance down at my hands. I still don't like him, but I feel oddly comfortable talking about all of this with him. Maybe it's just because my only alternative is going back to examining my nails while I sit around in awkward silence. "My mom got remarried last month. To an Italian count. She lives in Sicily now."
 

"You couldn't go with her?"

"I could have, but I didn't want to move to my grandmother's house in Toronto," I say. "You think I would've been okay going to Italy?"
 

"Good point."
 

"Yeah. So my father offered me a room while I get my life together and here I am."
 

"But you don't want to be here."
 

I shake my head. "I don't know what I want."
 

"What do you do? High school? College?"

"I just graduated from high school. I'm not sure if college is in the cards for me, though." I don't look at him when I say this; I've seen way too many stares of shock and pity whenever it's come up before.
 

"Didn't apply?"
 

"No, I did. I got into a couple of places. Even Arizona State because my mom essentially made me apply there," I say. "I just don't know if I'm gonna go."
 

"What else would you do?"
 

I glare at him. "I'll figure it out."
 

He holds up his hands. "Hey, don't shoot," he says. "I'm just asking."
 

I sigh. "I know. Touchy subject."
 

"I bet."
 

"Enough about me," I say, not liking where this conversation has ended up. "What's your story?"
 

A storm cloud passes over his face and stays just long enough for me to notice it and wonder why I struck a nerve.
 

"I don't really have one."
 

"That isn't what Justin said."
 

"Justin should keep his mouth shut," Doan grumbles, and I notice his hands have balled up into white-knuckled fists at his side.
 

"He didn't tell me anything," I say quickly. "Nevermind."
 

At that moment, four waiters walk over with the different pizzas, and I've never been so grateful to see the food arrive in my life. I hadn't meant to upset him, but I guess Justin's right.
 

Doan definitely has a story, and it isn't an easy one.
 

But that just makes me want to hear it even more.
 

CHAPTER SIX

I'm up in my bedroom later the next night, guitar in my lap, song notebook open on the bed next to me.
 

I know I'm not going to play at Gemma's or anything, but thinking about it made me realize just how much I'd let music go from my life, and how badly I want it back.

I flip through my notebook -- I've only come up with five original songs, and they're all finished and I like them okay, but there's one song on the very last page that I've been trying to write for months, maybe even years. I don't remember how long it's been.

And it still isn't working the way I want it to.
 

Probably because it doesn't have an ending, and I can't find the right one.

I read over what I have written already for it and let out a sigh. I scribble the first verse onto a fresh sheet of paper, then tear the old page from my notebook, crumple it into a ball and launch it across the room at my trashcan where it hits the rim and falls harmlessly to the carpet.
 

I smirk. Fitting.
 

I flip back a few pages to the first song I ever wrote and pick up my guitar, strumming the opening chords and begin to sing.

I'm almost to the chorus when I hear a knock at my door. I ignore it and keep singing when it sounds again, louder and more persistent this time. With a groan, I put my guitar down on the bed and walk over to the door, expecting to see Dad or Justin standing there, wanting me to come down to the pool again.
 

Instead, I jump back immediately as Doan leans against the door frame, arms crossed over his bare chest. He's wearing just a pair of bright blue swim trunks and flip flops.

"I didn't know you were a singer," he says.

I swallow hard. He must've just come out of the pool; there are still some water droplets clinging to the muscles on his tanned arms and pecs.

"Uh," I say, shaking my head, trying to regain my composure. Doan, of all people, isn't going to affect me. "You don't know anything about me."
 

He smirks. "Well, now, that isn't true. I know you don't want to live in Arizona, don't really like your dad and that you're pretty cute when you're all riled up around me."
 

My nostrils flare. Justin always used to say that was a dead giveaway that I'm either about to let someone have it, or lie.
 

I'm not sure which one is in play right now with Doan.

"You don't rile me up," I say.

Lying it is.
 

Doan raises his eyebrows. "Sure thing, Holls. You sound good."
 

I feel my cheeks grow warm, and I hate my body for betraying me like this. I don't care what Doan Riley thinks about anything that has to do with me.
 

"Thank you." My voice is calm and cool.

He smiles and shakes his head. "I really don't get it. Why do you hate me so much? I'm not a terrible guy. Most people even think I'm fun."
 

"If you still don't understand it, you never will. And I'm not most people."
 

"I know," he says. "Believe me, I know."
 

"I really should get back to the guitar."
 

"Do you play in front of people?" he asks.

"No."
 

"Why not?"
 

I shrug. "Just never had the chance."
 

"No, I don't believe that. You can always find the opportunity you're looking for if it's what you really want."
 

"What are you, some kind of book of proverbs?"
 

"What?" His forehead creases.

"First, you tell me over pizza that we always have a choice, and now you come out with this line about opportunity?" I raise an eyebrow and fold my arms across my chest.
 

He grins. "I guess you could say that I'm chock full of life's little wisdoms."
 

"I don't think that's what you're full of," I mutter under my breath, but he only laughs.
 

"I'm gonna wear you down, Holly," he tells me. "It's just a matter of time, you know that, right?"
 

"Wear me down to what, exactly?"
 

He shrugs. "I'll settle for you being a normal person that can have a conversation without looking for new ways to insult me."
 

"Why would you want that?"
 

He laughs. "I think you're interesting. And I think there's a lot more to you than you let on."
 

"Funny you should say that," I shoot back. "Because I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one."
 

"Drop it," he says.
 

"What, so I'm just supposed to tell you everything about me, but you can't tell me about you?"
 

"I didn't say I want you to tell me everything."
 

I roll my eyes. "Semantics."
 

"No," he says. "Not at all. I think there are certain things we all want to keep hidden for whatever reason, and I don't think there's anything wrong with that. We don't have to share everything with everyone."
 

I'm not sure what to say to that. I don't think he's wrong.

"Come down to the pool," he says after my pause stretches to awkward heights.
 

I shake my head. "No, I'm good up here. Gotta work on the music."
 

"Okay, well, the whole reason I came up to find you was just to give you a head's up, anyway."
 

"About what?"
 

"I heard your dad talking to your stepmom downstairs when I was grabbing a Bud Light," he says, and my stomach immediately twists. "He's gonna ask you to play for the team."
 

"The what?"
 

"You know, the baseball team." Doan gives me a funny look. "The one he coaches."
 

I take a step back from him. "Why would he ask me that?"
 

Doan shrugs. "I don't know. If I had to guess, it's so he can spend more time with you."
 

I let out a breath. "Great."
 

"I know I don't know the whole story there," Doan says, looking me straight in the eyes. "Or even the beginning of it. But if I were you, I'd do it. There's never enough time with your family."
 

I open my mouth to respond, but he shakes his head.
 

"Just trust me on that one, okay, Holly? No matter what, you can always forgive family. I understand better than you think."

And with one last look at me, Doan gives me a strange little half-smile behind his suddenly sad eyes before he claps his hand against the door frame and turns to walk down the hall.

I lean up against the door and watch him walk away, my eyes drawn to the ripples of the muscles in his back, but I'm not really seeing him.

I can't stop wondering about what he's talking about.
 

CHAPTER SEVEN

I'm sitting outside on the back porch later that night under the covered patio with a bowl of spaghetti and meatballs when the sliding door opens and Dad steps out onto the deck and glances over at me.
 

"Hey kiddo," he says, pulling the door shut. "Mind if I join you?"

I look down into my pasta bowl. "No, go ahead."
 

He walks over and drops into the seat across from me. "Beautiful out tonight, isn't it?"
 

"Yeah, it is."
 

"Did you have a good time at practice the other day? It was nice seeing you there," he says, and I close my eyes. This is it. Doan apparently hadn't been kidding like I'd hoped he was.
 

"It was cool to see."
 

He nods. "Good. Listen, Holly, I was thinking about something. It would be really great if you joined the team. We're a little thin at third base and could use the extra body. It'd mean a lot to me if you would do it."
 

I suck in a deep breath and slowly let the air rush out of my body. I really, really don't want to do this. More time with Dad, more time with Doan. I'm not interested in having either.
 

And then there are the memories to think about. So many memories, so many days, so many nights, weeks, months, years; it'll all come back. I'm not ready for that, can't handle any of it. It isn't time.
 

I'm about to say no when I glance up at Dad.

"Okay," I find myself saying, and even though I'm not exactly wild about him or what he's asking me to do, the smile on his face when I agree is almost worth the irritation that being on the baseball team will bring.
 

My answer surprises me; I can't quite believe that word came out of my mouth. But maybe, something in me knows that all isn't quite lost after all.
 

"You can quit your job down at that cafe, too," Dad says.

I shake my head. "No, I don't want to do that. I like it there."
 

He looks surprised but recovers quickly. "Okay. Okay, sure. Up to you."
 

"When does this start?"
 

"We have a week until our first game," he says. "That's when you'll need to be sharp again."
 

I nod. "Sounds good."
 

Dad beams. "I'm glad you're doing this, Holly."

"Uh, yeah. So am I."
 

"And I'm glad you're home."
 

I swallow hard; I'm not ready for this. It's one thing to lie about being happy about joining a baseball team and quite another to give my father false hope that maybe I'm ready to forget it all and go back to how things used to be.