One Week (Stolen Kiss #0.5) (5 page)

“I couldn’t find the size you wanted,” said a voice behind the boxes. “So I bought the closest I could get. Sorry.”

I stepped back from the porch as a girl popped up from behind the pile. Her overalls were paint-splattered and looked four sizes too big. She wore a fitted white T-shirt that had ridden up to reveal a stretch of brown skin of her lower back.

She looked at me, blowing a lock of dyed orange hair out of her eyes.

“You’re not Lydia,” she said, narrowing her brown eyes.

I shook my head. “No, sorry.”

“Where’s Lydia?”

I pointed back at the driveway, where Aunt Lydia was still at the mailbox, sorting through a stack of mail.

The girl brightened. “She’s actually checking her mail? This is progress.” She waved her arms wide and called out, “Lydia!”

“Hey, Ashton!” Aunt Lydia called back. She started up the driveway toward us, smiling brightly.

“I got the canvases, but not the size you wanted,” the girl, apparently named Ashton, called.

“What?” Aunt Lydia called back.

“I got the canvases!” The girl yelled louder, cupping her hands around her mouth. “But not the right size!”

“Bring them in and I’ll take a look!”

The girl blew her hair out of her eyes again and then looked at me. “Do you think you could help me carry these things to the studio?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Sure.”

I wasn’t sure exactly where we were going. If Aunt Lydia had a studio in the house, I hadn’t yet seen it. Ashton had a key to the house and opened the lock, pushing the front door open.

“I’m Ashton McNeil, by the way,” the girl called over her shoulder.

“Hannah Cohen,” I told her.

“Lydia’s niece?” Ashton asked, raising her eyebrows. “She’s talked about you before, but she didn’t say you were coming.”

I couldn’t help feeling surprised that Aunt Lydia had mentioned me to this girl.

“It was kind of a last minute thing,” I said, shrugging. “I decided not to go to Paris, and to come to Asheville instead.”

Ashton snorted. “Oh, yeah, I decided not to go to Paris last week, too.” She smirked as she hefted the boxes into my arms.

They were heavier than they looked, with paint fumes rising up from the cardboard and stinging my nose. Ashton picked up the stack of canvases and hefted them onto her shoulder as she walked into the house. She seemed to know the house well enough to know exactly where she was going.

In the hall, Ashton reached up to pull at the string to the attic. The wooden ladder unfolded and then she began to climb, expertly keeping the canvases balanced on her shoulder as she went up. My mouth went dry as I looked up at the ladder. I’d always had a fear of heights. Anything more than three feet above ground was enough to make me dizzy.

“Bring those boxes up,” Ashton called back to me as she disappeared into the hole in the ceiling.

It’s just an attic
, I told myself. Taking a deep breath, I put one foot on the bottom step. I tried to peer over the side of the boxes to watch my footing, but it was nearly impossible. I went up the ladder slowly, my pulse pounding in my ears.

When I finally made it into the small attic area, I quickly moved away from the gaping doorway in the floor. The roof was low, the exposed rafters only an inch above our heads. Exposed bulbs lit the room and the floor had been finished with sheets of plywood. All around the attic were canvases stacked against the angled walls and some on easels. Most had only bits of paint splashed across them, leaving pencil outlines uncolored. Others were completely blank.

Aunt Lydia followed behind us and tossed the mail onto a paint-spattered table.

“Working hard today?” Ashton asked as she placed the blank canvases on a table. She gestured for me to set the boxes down nearby.

“Not today. Hannah and I were just coming from dinner,” Aunt Lydia said. She sighed, rolling her eyes toward the exposed rafters of the ceiling. “Just imagine if I did work. Maybe I’d actually finish something.”

“You’re going through a dry spell,” Ashton told her.

“I’m going through a dry
life
,” Aunt Lydia corrected.

“This is your studio?” I asked as I looked around the dusty attic. Sweat prickled along my hairline as the heat closed in on me. I didn’t know how Aunt Lydia could stand to work up there.

“I was going to use the guest room,” Aunt Lydia told me, “but then I thought maybe I’d better save that room for, you know, actual guests. Be thankful you’re not smelling turpentine while you sleep.”

“Seriously,” Ashton said. She picked up one of the canvases and handed it to Aunt Lydia. “This is the closest I could find to what you wanted. It’s not quite right, but maybe it’ll work?”

Aunt Lydia scrutinized the canvas. “Maybe. I don’t know. I had this dream about the perfect painting and the size of the canvas was so clear in my head. It’s silly, but I thought if I could find that size, maybe I could paint the picture and finally finish something.” She laughed and tossed the canvas onto a table already full of other paint supplies. “It probably doesn’t matter. I’m a failure regardless.”

“Don’t talk like that.” Ashton turned to me, frowning. “Tell your aunt not to talk like that.”

Ashton seemed to be waiting for me to actually follow her orders, so I said, “Um, don’t talk like that?”

Aunt Lydia rolled her eyes. “Thanks, girls. But maybe it’s time I admit the truth. My painting days are behind me. I should go back to overseeing other artists’ work and give up on my own. It won’t be the first thing I’ve given up in my life.”

Ashton spoke before I could. “I don’t want to hear those words come out of your mouth again, Lydia Montgomery. You are not a failure. You’re a genius. One day the rest of the world will see it, too. So sit down and paint.”

Aunt Lydia cast me an amused look. “Yes, ma’am,” she said, giving Ashton a mock salute.

Ashton grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the ladder. “We’ll be downstairs if you need us. But don’t call us unless you’re on fire or something. Otherwise, I expect you to work.”

I heard Aunt Lydia sigh as we descended the ladder. Ashton folded the wooden steps and then pushed the attic door closed, leaving the string swinging back and forth over our heads.

“Come on,” Ashton said, waving for me to follow her to the kitchen.

She grabbed a bowl from the cabinet and then poured herself some Corn Flakes before sitting down at the counter. I sat in the barstool next to her, watching Ashton out of the corner of my eye for a moment. She had a nose ring; a small green stud, which made my own nose hurt to think about.

“So, um,” I said as Ashton ate, “how do you know my aunt?”

“I’m her assistant,” Ashton said, tapping her bright blue fingernails on the counter. “It’s for my college applications. Lydia is writing one of my recommendation letters.”

I nodded. “So do you paint with her?”

Ashton laughed. “No one paints with Lydia. She needs solitude to paint. Which I totally get, because I’m the same way. I can’t focus with a lot of distractions. Mostly, I go out and buy her canvases and paints and things. And tell her to get to work. I make sure she stays in her studio for a few hours each day.”

I didn’t even know that Aunt Lydia painted. In her old life, she was always just the owner of the museum and spent her time thinking about other people’s art. I’d never heard her speak of creating art herself.

“So, how long are you here?” Ashton asked.

“I’m not sure,” I said. “A few weeks, I guess. Or until I feel like going home.”

Ashton gaped at me. “I wish my parents would let me leave until I
felt
like coming home!”

I shrugged. “Well, both of my parents are gone right now, so it doesn’t really matter.”

“In Paris?” Ashton asked.

I bit my lip, then nodded. “Yeah.” I didn’t want to explain to a girl I didn’t even know about my parents.

Ashton drained the last of her milk and then wiped her mouth with her hand. “Well, this isn’t exactly Paris, but it’s not too bad. If you want, I could introduce you to some people and show you all the best places to hang out.”

I looked Ashton up and down. She didn’t look like the type of girl my mom would approve of me hanging out with. Her face was painted with sparkly eye shadow, and her orange lipstick matched the orange streaks in her hair. She certainly didn’t look anything like Natalie.

Step outside of your comfort zone
,
Mark had told me.
Do things you wouldn’t normally do.

Hanging out with Ashton definitely counted.

“Okay,” I agreed. “That would be nice. Thanks.”

Ashton’s eyes lit up. “Hey, my friend Syke is having a party tonight. You should come.”

A party with someone named Syke was even farther outside my comfort zone.

“Okay,” I said again. “Where is it?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ashton said. “You can meet me at my house and we’ll drive over there together. I live just a couple blocks from here.” She looked me up and down, eyeing the white sundress and matching headband that I wore. “I’ll help you get ready. Trust me, I’ll make you look like you fit right in here.”

I forced myself to smile, despite the nervous feeling in my gut. “Okay. Thanks.” I wondered what exactly I was getting myself into.

“W
hat do you think?” Ashton leaned back from the mirror over her dresser, the top of which was littered with various lipsticks, blushes, and eye shadows in all kinds of bright shades. On the edge of the dresser was a swirling, twisty sculpture of a dancing body made from coffee cans and plastic cups, and it had been spray painted glittery gold. It was strange, but captivating.

Ashton had smeared glittering yellow eye shadow over her lids and blue lipstick on her lips. The makeup stood out brightly against her golden brown skin, but I didn’t know what Ashton wanted me to say. Her look was completely unlike anything I’d ever wear, though it looked great on her.

“More eyeliner,” Ashton’s mom, Desirae, said as she peeked into the doorway.

“Definitely,” said a voice behind her.

My gaze flicked to the tall, willowy blonde who stood next to Mrs. McNeil, her grin wide. She was a complete contrast to Ashton’s mom, who was short and had dark skin with black hair and brown eyes. This girl’s pale blonde hair stretched down to her narrow waist at the end of her long torso. She wore a pair of cutoff jeans so short my mother would have had a heart attack if she had seen them. She looked just as amazing as Ashton did, though she wore a lot less makeup.

“Kate!” Ashton cried, throwing her arms wide.

“Ash!” the girl squealed back. She and Ashton hugged as if they hadn’t seen each other in ages.

Ashton’s mom laughed. “You girls are always so dramatic when you see each other,” she said, smiling fondly, before she disappeared down the hall. I’d been introduced to Ashton’s parents when I first arrived. Her dad was a tall, broad-shouldered man with red hair and freckles dotting his pale skin. Ashton looked like a combination of her parents, stuck somewhere in between their differing heights and features.

When Mrs. McNeil left, Kate spotted me over Ashton’s shoulder and broke free of the hug. “Who’s the tag along?” she asked, nodding at me.

“This is Hannah, Lydia’s niece. She’s here for the summer, so I thought I’d show her around. Help her loosen up.” Ashton gave her a grin before turning to me. “This is Kate.”

“Her BFF,” Kate said, extending a hand toward me. “Though she doesn’t like to admit it.”

“Because you get me into more trouble than anyone else,” Ashton said. “I don’t like my name being associated with you.”

I reached out to shake Kate’s hand as the two girls laughed. Kate gave me an appraisive look.

“Strong handshake,” she said. “Nice. My dad always says you can tell a lot about a person by their handshake.”

I smiled. “So does mine. Or, he did.”

Kate laughed. “Our dads would probably get along well. Does yours wear a suit and tie all the time, too?”

I cleared my throat, picking at a loose thread on Ashton’s comforter. “He, um, used to.”

Kate and Ashton exchanged looks in the mirror, frowning. “Sorry,” Ashton said. “Lydia didn’t tell me your dad had died.”

I opened my mouth to say he wasn’t dead, trying to figure out how I could possibly explain my dad’s stay in rehab to these strangers. But before I could respond, Ashton turned back to the mirror and changed the subject. “Yes, more eyeliner, ” she said, inspecting her reflection. Her wide brown eyes were already ringed with thick black eyeliner, but I nodded in agreement, trying not to feel guilty about lying.

While Kate and Ashton continued painting their faces with more makeup, I sat on Ashton’s bed and took in the paintings of dripping lines and wild spatters, and more wild sculptures that were placed around her room. It was nothing like the art I knew, the soothing paintings in reserved brushstrokes that decorated our house. Some of these pieces looked like they were made of trash. Mom would have called Ashton’s artwork junk, but I found myself appreciating the carefree feeling her work radiated. It was art without trying too hard to be serious.

“Are we ready?” Kate asked, breaking me from my thoughts.

Finally
,
I thought, reaching for my purse and standing. But when I looked at the two girls, they stared back at me with strange looks on their faces.

“What?” I asked.

Ashton tilted her head to the side. “I don’t think we’re ready just yet.”

I looked at the silver watch on my wrist. “We’re going to be late.”

Kate shrugged. “It’s a party. You’re not supposed to be on time. Now turn around so we can get a good look at you.”

I was dressed in a white denim skirt and a yellow polo shirt, with my red espadrilles on my feet. When I didn’t move, Kate reached forward and forced me into a turn.

“She
definitely
needs a new look,” Kate said, nodding.

“I’m thinking plaid,” Ashton said. She pulled open one of her dresser drawers and dug inside, pushing things onto the floor during her search. After a moment, she came up with a blue plaid shirt and a pair of cutoff jean shorts with long threads hanging off the ragged ends.

My eyebrows shot up my forehead. “Um, thanks, but I’m okay in this. Really.”

Ashton shook her head. “No, seriously, you’re not. You can’t go dressed like that.”

I smoothed down the front of my skirt. “Why not?”

“You look like you’re going to a tea party,” Kate told me. “Not a
real
party.” She grabbed the clothes from Ashton’s hands and pushed them into my arms. “Now change. Trust us.”

They pushed me into the bathroom, shutting me in. I looked down at the clothes they had given me. The shorts were so short, they were almost obscene. What would Mom say if she knew I’d been out in public dressed like that?

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror over the sink. Ashton and Kate were right. I looked prim and proper, like the Hannah Cohen that I was desperately trying to escape. All I could hear were Mark’s words:
Be who you want to be and live a happier life.

I didn’t know who I wanted to be yet, but I knew it didn’t involve my mother’s approval. For the first time ever, my mom was not going to rule my life.

I quickly changed into Ashton’s clothes before I could change my mind. When I came out of the bathroom tugging at the hem of the shorts, Ashton’s eyes widened, and she clapped. “You look great! Just a few tweaks.”

She tied the front of the shirt into a knot right at my belly button so that a small sliver of skin showed above the waist of the shorts, before Kate pushed me down onto the corner of the bed and went to work on my hair.

Before I could stop her, Ashton spread blush on my cheeks and whipped out her lipstick. A few minutes later, they were done and stepped back to let me look in the mirror. I gulped and took a deep breath, afraid of what I might see.

The girl who stared back at me looked almost like a stranger. Her brown hair was piled up in a messy bun, with little tendrils hanging down all around her face. And she wore a lot more makeup than I’d ever worn before, with bright coral lips and shining pink cheeks.

“Now we’re ready!” Ashton declared. “Let’s go party.”

I nodded, trying to feel as excited as Ashton. On the ride over, Kate and Ashton talked on and on about random people who would be there, but I could hardly listen. Instead, I kept pulling at the bottom of my shirt, trying to cover up my stomach, or pushing hair out of my eyes. Kate and Ashton were being so nice to me that I didn’t want to tell them how uncomfortable I felt.

I can do this
, I told myself. It was just one night, with people I would probably never see again.

The music pounded through the car as we turned onto the dirt road. Ahead of us, a blazing fire rose from the darkness and I could see shapes passing in front of the firelight, dozens of people already roaming around the valley. People stumbled on each side of us as Ashton’s old Honda bounced down the uneven path.

I gripped the edges of my seat as my stomach twisted deep in my abdomen. Coming to this party was probably a bad idea. Memories of the last party I’d been to flashed through my mind.

It had been only three weeks before. My dad was celebrating the opening of ten new branches in Florida by throwing a cocktail party for all of his friends and business associates. My parents lived for cocktail parties. I usually spent most of the night dodging my dad’s vice president’s pervy son, Garrett, and his oversized wandering hands. It had been only a week since my ex-boyfriend Zac Greeley had broken up with me, and though the breakup had been my idea, I wished he were there to serve as a barrier between me and Gropy Garrett. My best friend Natalie had abandoned me for some college guy she’d met, and so I was on my own, slipping between rooms and ducking behind people whenever I thought I saw him.

My mom was on her seventh or eighth martini of the night. I’d lost count between my constant Garrett avoidance. I had spotted her just as I slipped into the kitchen to escape him once again.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” I whispered in my mom’s ear, careful to keep up the image of perfection that my mom insisted on.

“It’s a party, Hannah,” Mom told me in an exasperated tone. “You’re supposed to drink and relax at a party.”

“You’re slurring your words,” I hissed. “You’re making an idiot of yourself.”

Mom patted my cheek a little too hard, leaving it stinging. “You’re so uptight, honey. Loosen up.”

My body stiffened at her words.
Uptight.
Hearing
my
mother
call me too uptight was so ridiculous I almost laughed.

Then Mom called out to one of her friends and left me behind, sloshing her martini on her arm as she went. I thought I had spotted the back of Garrett’s head in the dining room, so I turned and raced up the stairs into the darkened second floor. I was about to lock myself in my room when I saw a light on in my parents’ bedroom. I hadn’t seen my dad in a while, and figured he must have had enough of the party, too.

“Dad?” I asked as I knocked on the door. I stood there for a minute, but there was no answer. “Dad?” I pushed open the door, peeking inside. The room was lit by just one lamp on the table next to my dad’s side of the bed. My eyes scanned the room, until I saw a dark shape near the end of the bed.

I stepped into the room, my feet making no sound on the thick plush carpeting. As I drew closer, the first thing I saw was my dad’s shiny black shoes. Then his legs, his body crumpled on the floor. His skin was white, slightly blue, and his eyes were closed, a line of vomit trailing from his mouth.

#

“This is going to be a great night,” Ashton said, taking me from my thoughts.

The heat of the summer night hit me along with the smell of burning wood as soon as I stepped out of Ashton’s car.

I followed Ashton and Kate carefully down the slope into the valley clearing and the throng of people there. Music mixed with the sound of laughter and conversations, and I could feel a panic rising inside me when Ashton’s orange head disappeared into the shadows.

“Hey,” a guy slurred at me, smiling crookedly. His eyes already had that glazed look of too much drinking.

I spotted Ashton again, the firelight reflecting off her hair and making it glow. Ignoring the drunk guy, I pushed past a group of girls and caught back up. Kate had wandered off to talk to a tall dark-skinned guy, leaving Ashton and me alone in the middle of the crowd of people. “Come on,” Ashton said, slipping her arm through mine. “Let’s get some beers.”

We found the cooler, and a guy with close-cropped hair was handing out beers. He smiled as Ashton and I approached. “What’ll it be, ladies?”

“Three, please,” Ashton told him, smiling wide. She took the cans, her eyes never leaving the guy’s face. “Thanks. Hey, have you met Hannah?”

The guy turned his smile toward me. “No, I haven’t. I’m Carter.”

“Hannah,” I said automatically, before I remembered that Ashton had already said my name.

“I’m showing her around while she’s here for the summer,” Ashton said.

Carter’s gaze slid back to Ashton. “I’m sure you’re the best tour guide in town, Ash.”

Ashton blushed so deeply that she looked like she was practically on fire. Then she said, “Well, thanks. For the beers.” She held up the cans.

Carter nodded. “No problem. Come see me again if you need a refill.”

As we walked away, Ashton looked back over her shoulder to where Carter was already talking to someone else.

“Your boyfriend?” I asked.

Ashton snorted as a blush crept up her neck again. “No. Just a friend.”

“A friend you like,” I said, raising my eyebrows.

Ashton’s face turned even redder in the firelight. “Just a friend,” she said. “A friend who would never go out with me.”

“Why not?”

Ashton sighed as we made our way back to where Kate now stood alone. “It’s a long story.”

“What’s a long story?” Kate asked.

Ashton handed Kate one of the beers, which was dripping cold water. “Why Carter and I can never go out.”

Kate rolled her eyes. “Oh, lord, don’t get her started on that.”

“Why?” I asked.

“She thinks she’s not good enough for him,” Kate told me. “He used to date this one girl named Jennifer, who was like homecoming queen, cheerleader, et cetera, et cetera. And so now Ash has it in her head that those are the only kinds of girls Carter likes, and she of course thinks that she could never live up to that.”

Ashton popped open her can and took a sip. “Carter and I are friends. That’s all he sees me as, and all he ever will see me as. Why delude myself into thinking there might be something else when I can just face the truth now?”

“Have you ever told him that you like him?” I asked.

“No,” Kate and Ashton said at the same time.

Ashton scowled at Kate before saying, “I don’t want to mess anything up.”

“You know what my life—” I stopped myself before saying “life coach.” I coughed. “My friend Mark would say?”

“What?” Ashton asked as she took another sip of beer.

“The rules you think you should follow aren’t always the right rules for you.”

Kate raised her eyebrows while Ashton smirked.

“Is he, like, a philosopher or something?” Kate asked.

“What if the rules are in place to keep you from making a complete idiot of yourself?” Ashton asked. “If we all abandon our rules, there might be anarchy.”