Our Song (13 page)

Chapter Seventeen

Becca

“Are you sure you’ll be alright if we still go out on the lake for two days? I hate to leave you right now with all of this going on.”

We’ve already had this discussion three times over the last two days. “I’ll be fine mom. We already talked to his parents, changed my phone number, and he has no access to any of my social media accounts.” Which was not fun. At all. “He’s never been here before, and doesn’t have the address. And I won’t be here all alone. Asher will still be here, and Olivia will be just up the road. I have the Davidson’s phone number, in case we need anything immediately, and you guys have the radio and your phones while you’re on the boat. It will be fine.”

I don’t know if I am trying to convince my mom, or myself, but I hope it’s working for both of us. Nobody should have to stop their lives because of me and my problems. And it is my problem. I’m the idiot that dated Trip, that didn’t break up with him when I should have.

Besides, not only did we go into town at the crack of dawn on Sunday morning to report the things that Trip did to me, but I also filed a temporary restraining order, which a judge immediately granted. The sheriff’s department sent all the information to my hometown police department, and they said they'd call when the injunction hearing had been scheduled. And it would be in the next fourteen days, because that's all a temporary restraining order is good for. Which means sometime in the next fourteen days, I'm going to have to be in the same room as Trip. In front of a judge. Possibly having to retell my story, again. I shiver at the thought.

“Alright. But seriously, if you need anything, you get ahold of us, and we will turn that boat right back around to get to you. You know that, don’t you?”

My breath hitches in an almost-sob, but I keep it in. “Of course, Mom. I know you guys would do anything for me. But I’m almost eighteen, and I promise, I can take care of myself for forty-eight hours.”

My mom reaches over to hug me, and it feels like she’s never going to let go. She whispers in my ear, “Even if you are all grown up, I will always want to take care of you, Rebecca.”

When she finally releases me, I turn away, steeling my resolve. I won't allow what Trip said to ruin the rest of my vacation. I have two days of Asher all to myself, and I am going to enjoy every single minute of it.

-----

Asher

“So, Becca. Now that we’ve gotten everyone else out of the house and on their way, I was thinking about heading into town to get a few things. Do you want to come with? Or would you rather stay here and chill by yourself for a little bit?” I don’t want her to figure out my surprise for her, but I really am not comfortable with her staying here alone. And I also don’t want Becca to feel like I’m pressuring her to do what I want her to do. Or that she’s somehow incapable, because she is perfectly capable of taking care of herself, even if I forget it sometimes.

“I wouldn’t mind tagging along. I have a few things I’d like to get myself. What are you going to pick up?”

I grin, relief sweeping over me, and I use her own words against her: “That’s for me to know, and you to maybe find out.”

She sticks her tongue out at me, then laughs. I join her, happy to see a little of that old light back in her eyes.

As we’re driving into town, Becca keeps pestering me, trying to figure out what I’m up to. Normally, that would drive me crazy, but I’m so grateful that she’s being a pest, and not silently staring out the window or something, that I just tease her back in response.

When we walk into the grocery store, Becca says she has a few things of her own to buy, and she’ll meet me back up front when she’s done. I want to ask her what she’s getting, but since I’m not willing to tell her about my surprise, I just smile and grab a basket.

-----

Becca

Asher has been so amazingly thoughtful this weekend. I think it’s time I did something for him. I’m actually kind of glad that he asked me to come into the store with him, because my surprise will be much less obvious now that he thinks I’m just ‘tagging along’ with him.

I haven’t been to this grocery store in a long time, so I decide to just go up and down each aisle and grab the things I need as I see them. Thankfully Asher was walking straight back to the deli when I left him, and I don’t need anything from there.

As I push my cart around the corner into aisle three, I spot the first ingredient I need for Asher’s favorite meal: rotelle pasta. This will be easy enough to bury in the bottom of my bag, but all of the fresh vegetables I’m going to need? I don’t think it will give it away, since Asher’s never actually watched me make my homemade spaghetti sauce, but I’m still crossing my fingers, for extra good luck.

Every time I round the endcap of an aisle, I look both ways to see if Asher is nearby. So far, I’ve had pretty good luck, but now I need to go out into the bakery and produce sections, and that is a WIDE OPEN space. Normally, I would have made my sauce using fresh tomatoes, but it’s
much
easier to keep a few cans of crushed tomatoes hidden than twelve to fifteen fresh ones! And I’ve already got my non-food items, butter, and shredded Parmesan. So all I need now is garlic, one green and one orange pepper, an onion, fresh basil, zucchini, a small squash, another container of mushrooms,
yuck
, and a loaf of French bread. I decide to make a run—well, quick walk—for it.

As I’m grabbing the last thing I need, the bread, I see Asher rounding the corner into the produce department. As much as I’d like to see what he’s getting, I do NOT want him to see what I have in my cart. I toss the bread on top of the rest of my items, and push my cart around the opposite end of the bakery department—right into another man’s cart.

“I am
so
, sorry!” This stranger probably thinks I’m just some punk kid, racing around the store. “I just didn’t want to run into my friend, who just walked into the produce section. I’m surprising him with supper tonight.”

But the older gentleman just smiles. “It’s alright. I’m pretty sure he must be the young man I was just talking to in line for the deli. He said…well, I guess I shouldn’t tell you, since he said it was a surprise.”

Well, that’s why Asher wouldn’t tell me what he was buying on the way to the store! And this man is so sweet for keeping Asher’s surprise a secret. “Really? He was talking about me?” I don’t know why this makes me so giddy, but it does. “Sorry, I shouldn’t ask what he was saying, and as much as I hate surprises, thank you for not telling me what he’s planning.”

“Well, it’s obvious that boy really cares about you. So no, I won’t be sharing his secret.” His smile spreads even further into a grin. “And if I run into him again before I leave, I promise I won’t tell him you’re planning on surprising him either.”

I can’t help the smile coming across my face. “Thank you, sir. And again, I’m sorry for running into your cart. I hope you have a wonderful day!”

“You too. I hope you both enjoy your surprises.”

As I walk away from the stranger, I shake my head, grinning. This moment, and some others that Asher and I have shared this weekend, these are the moments that make me think that maybe, just maybe, I might be able to be in a relationship again. Someday. As long as the other person is someone like Asher.

“Did you find everything okay?” the cashier asks me as I’m piling my groceries onto the conveyor belt.

“I did.” In fact, I think I found a few things that I didn’t even realize I needed.

Well, that didn’t take as long as I thought it would. I almost missed them. Driving his parent’s car was smart, but it would be almost impossible to miss the two of them walking down the street together. Besides their fairly significant difference in height, Becca has the hair of a goddess, and she left it down today. And now that I’ve found them, it shouldn’t be too hard to figure out where they are staying. And once they get back in their car, and I follow them back to their little love nest, well…

Chapter Eighteen

Asher

When we get back to the cabin, I head in through the door downstairs, while Becca walks up the steps to go into the kitchen. We decided on the way home that we shouldn’t see what we each bought, thus the separate entries. I’m going to prep everything I need for our pontoon picnic down here, at the wet bar, and I promised I wouldn’t head upstairs until after we come back from my ‘surprise’ for Becca this afternoon.

I’m really excited for this afternoon, but I’m also nervous. I want Becca to enjoy herself, to feel free to just be. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable, or to wish that she were just back at the cabin by herself or something. And I’m definitely feeling the pressure. But I’m hoping with all of the planning I’ve done, and all of her favorite things I could get my hands on for this, that I’ll be one step closer to making her mine.

I open up my grocery bags, and start pulling out the fruit, cheese, bread and maple glazed turkey (Becca’s favorite lunch meat) to start getting our picnic lunch together. I open up the cupboards and drawers of the wet bar, in search of a knife to cut up my fruit. But all I can find is a 4-place setting of regular silverware.

Trying to keep my promise to stay downstairs, I holler up the stairs, “Hey Becca? I need a paring knife. Do you think you could meet me half-way up the stairs with one? I promise not to even try to look at what you’re doing up there.”

I can hear her footsteps moving closer to the stairway door. “I’ll bring you a knife if you promise to plug your nose too.”

Huh? I guess whatever she’s working on must be identifiable by scent. Whatever, as long as I get my knife, and she doesn’t see what I’m working on, we’re golden. “I promise I will not try to smell whatever you are working on up there. Scout’s honor.”

“Alright. Just give me a sec to grab you the knife.”

As I listen to her tread get quieter as she walks further away, I can’t help but wonder what she’s working on up there. Obviously it’s food, since she got it at the grocery store, and I’d be able to figure out what it is if I smelled it. I wonder if it’s dessert, or supper.

“Okay, I’m coming down.”

I quickly climb the steps, holding my nose as I go, making sure she doesn’t come down any further than necessary. As I reach for the knife, I say, “Thank you, ma’am. Now get back up them there stairs and finish whatever it is you’re working on. We leave in fifteen minutes. Is that enough time for you to be ready?”

She smiles, but has a curious look on her face. “Give me twenty, and I’ll be ready, no problem. Do I need to change clothes, or shoes? Or will I need my purse or anything else?”

I grin, knowing she’s trying to get information out of me. “Ah, ah, ah! I’m not falling for that. You can wear whatever you’re comfortable in. But I’ll be changing into my swim trunks and a tank top, since that’s what I’m comfortable in. If you decide you’d rather change your clothes, I’ll make sure to have all of my stuff out of here before you come down.”

Becca takes a deep breath, then sighs. “Alright. I guess I will change. Let me know when you’re ready for me to come down.”

She starts to turn around to head back upstairs, but I grab her wrist, pulling her back around to face me. A shock of electricity runs from my fingers that are touching her, all the way up my arm. Dang, if this girl isn’t making me feel like a twelve-year-old with a crush. She raises her left eyebrow at me, in her signature,
what-are-you-doing?
look.

I breathe deep and close my eyes, trying to calm my nerves. When I look back up at her, she has a look of concern on her face. I move my hand from her wrist down to hold her hand. Squeezing her fingers lightly I say, “Thank you for coming with me today, without asking questions.”

Becca bursts out laughing, but doesn’t let go of my hand. “Without asking questions?! I’ve been asking you questions all morning about what you have planned!”

I can’t help but chuckle along with her. “You know what I mean. You’re asking questions to be nosy, not because you don’t trust me. I mean, I hope you trust me.”

The most beautiful smile creeps onto her face, and she blushes a little. “Of course I trust you.” She squeezes my fingers back. “Now let me get back up to what I’m working on so we can get going.” She lets go of my hand, turning away again, and I suddenly feel bereft, like a part of me is missing.

I head back down the stairs with the knife, and quickly get to work cutting up the strawberries and cantaloupe at the sink of the wet bar. After throwing the remains of the fruit in the trash, and making us some sandwiches, I drop everything we’re going to eat into the picnic basket my parents brought, along with the chess board, sling my guitar behind my back, and carry it all out to the pontoon. I run back into the cabin, and I’m about to call upstairs that the coast is clear for Becca to come down, when I remember one more thing I need to grab out of the bunk room. I grab it out of the nightstand, where I stuck it earlier, and call up the stairs, “You’re free to come down and get ready whenever you want! I’ll be outside waiting.”

“Sounds good! I’ll be out in a couple minutes.”

I walk back out to the pontoon, with the last of my surprises in hand, and tuck it away under one of the seats on the boat.

Here’s to hoping Becca will give me a chance to prove I will take care of her.

-----

Becca

When I get downstairs, Asher is already outside. I go into the bunk room, and pull my beach bag out from under my bed, searching for my swimsuits and cover up. When I find the suits my mom packed for me, I get a little nervous. Apparently I should have packed my own beach bag, not that I had the time…Mom packed
three
different swimsuits for me, and they are
all
bikinis! No one-piece, not even a tankini. I guess I should consider it a godsend that she remembered my cover up, because there is NO WAY I am about to parade myself in front of Asher in just a bikini. I grab the most modest one, a turquoise halter with boy short bottoms, and run to the bathroom.

After changing into my swimsuit and cover up, I look up into the mirror. A very nervous girl is staring back at me.
Why am I freaking out about this?
It’s not like Asher has never seen me in a bathing suit before, or like we’ve never spent a day just the two of us. Although, it’s been over a year since we’ve done anything alone like this.

I guess I’ll just have to put on my big-girl panties (or in this case, bikini) and go find out what exactly Asher has planned for us.

-----

Asher

I have been pacing up and down the dock, waiting for what feels like forever for Becca to come out.
Twenty-one.

I can’t believe I’m about to put myself out there this way, but she needs to how I feel about her. Honestly, I’ve loved her from the moment I met her, all the way back in the third grade. Being a boy, I was just too stupid to admit it.
Twenty-two.

I’ve been thinking about it a lot this week, and what nobody else actually realizes is that I’ve been courting Becca for years, getting to know all of her inner workings, her quirks, what her favorite things are, what she can’t stand, her annoying habits… I think that’s what has hurt me the most this last year. When Becca started dating Trip, or at least once he apparently put out his edict about not hanging out with male friends, she stopped letting me in, and seeing all those things. I could only assume she had found someone that was doing a better job of knowing her, taking care of her, than I had been.
Twenty-three.
I tried going on dates with a few other girls who showed interest in me, but none of them measured up to Becca. None of them were Becca. So, I stopped trying to find another Becca, and I watched from the sidelines as her heart was mistreated by Trip.
Twenty-four.

I thought things were turning a corner, at least in the friendship department, when Mr. West assigned us that duet for solo/ensemble contest. But like I told Becca, she was pouring herself into the song, but not into singing it with
me
. And I didn’t know how to fix it. But I think I’m starting to figure it out.
Twenty-Five.

At the campfire the other night, she and I were totally in sync with one another. And the kiss we shared last night was amazing. If I can just get her to see that we are in sync in a lot of areas of our lives, maybe I can convince her that we can get past all of these hurdles, together.
Twenty-Six.

As I’m about to turn around and head back down the dock for the twenty-seventh time, I hear the screen door squeak shut on the cabin. I look up—and I can’t catch my breath. Becca is walking down the lawn toward the beach, wearing a white swimsuit cover up, which I can clearly see her bikini through, and her wavy brown hair is blowing loose in the breeze. I can’t believe how absolutely breathtaking she is. And she doesn’t even know it. I can tell by the way she is trying to cover up her midriff with her arms, despite the fact that she’s already wearing something over it. She has no need to be self-conscious.

After I wipe the metaphorical drool from my mouth, I take a deep breath and wait for Becca to reach the dock. When she reaches me, I smile and take her hand, walking toward the pontoon. “Are you ready for your surprise?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she answers, her cheeks turning rosy as she looks away from me. I wonder if she’s as nervous about this as I am?

When we get to the end of the dock, I let go of Becca’s hand so I can pick her up by the waist. “Ladies first,” I say, trying not to laugh as she squeals out my name. But when I set her down on the pontoon, she’s smiling, although her cheeks are now tomato red.

I want to see those smiling, red cheeks for the rest of my life. And I will take them any way I can get them. Even if it means being just friends.

But I really hope she’ll want to be
much
more than that.

-----

Becca

Asher is being ridiculously sweet today. He has been all week, if I’m being honest with myself. Even though I have mostly been trying to brush it off as me being overly attentive to his every word and muscle movement the last few days.

The longer I am out here on the boat, thinking about everything as Asher navigates us across the lake, the more I remember that he’s always been like this.
How could I have forgotten?
I guess I just took it for granted; he’s always made me feel like someone special, even when we were eight years old, and boys had cooties. Then when you add the fact that I kind of pushed him away when Trip asked me to stop hanging out with other guys…

As Asher turns the pontoon off, letting us float and drift in the middle of the lake, I take a deep breath, and try to mentally prepare myself for whatever Asher’s surprise is. Without the noise of the motor to keep us from talking, I’m going to have to be able to form actual words, and speak them out loud.

“Alright. I’m going to need you to close your eyes,
Frodo
,” Asher says, with a Cheshire’s grin on his face.
What on earth made him bring that old nickname up?

“Excuse me? My name is
not
, nor has it ever been, Frodo. Just for that, I am not going to close my eyes.” I bite my lip hoping I can hold in the laugh that’s trying to burst out of my lungs.

“Sure it wasn’t. You never had a boyish short haircut in the sixth grade, when you were, oh, about four foot eleven, that was kind of wavy on top, making you look almost exactly like Elijah Wood in the
Lord of the Rings
movies. Nope. That never happened.” He’s shaking his head, with a look of pure innocence on his face. That laugh I was trying to hold in finally pushes its way to the surface, and Asher’s deep chuckle joins mine.

It takes us a few minutes to calm down enough to be able to breathe again. “Okay, okay. So that epic fail did happen. But that doesn’t mean I ever want to relive those six weeks of torture. That was the worst haircut in the history of haircuts!”

“Ah, but do you remember what I did to cheer you up the day after
Frodo
happened?”

I can’t help but slowly let my smile make its way onto my face. “You convinced your dad to drive you forty-five minutes to the closest mall with a candy store, and bought me a whole bag of purple rock candy.” Before the last words are finished coming out of my mouth, Asher reaches into the bench seat that runs along the side of the pontoon and pulls out a huge bag of purple rock candy, and sets it on my lap.

I quickly wipe away the tear that comes to my eye, rubbing and pulling at my eyelid like something was stuck in it. This is not the time to cry. I’ve done enough of that this week. “How in the world? Seriously, how did you get out of Rush without me seeing this?”

He smiles sheepishly down at the floor of the pontoon. “When you were busy looking over the fudge, I asked the girl at the register if she could go behind the other candy counter and get me a bag of all purple rock candy. I explained that it was for you, and I didn’t want you to see it, because it was a surprise.” He looks up, and his eyebrows squish toward each other, his lips pursing. “That’s why I was so angry at the way she spoke to us when I paid for your things.”