Unlit Star (17 page)

“Well, what? Why don't you want to tell me? I can tell from the expression on your face. It wasn't something bad, was it?” he teases. “Did you want to be a government assassin or what?”

“I liked to create things, but I wasn't artistic. I liked to sing, but not enough to want to pursue it as a career. I've always liked patterns, colors, and putting them together in unusual ways. I like to decorate. My mom and I redid the kitchen last summer. It was fun,” I end with, waiting for the strange look to come.

But it doesn't. He nods, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I remember in Home Economics junior year—you made a scarf. It was red and purple with these yellow dots on it. You designed it?”

“Yeah.”

“It was hideous.”

I laugh. “How is it that you don't remember much about me, but you always remember the negative things?”

He shrugs. “When you did something unexpected, I took notice.”

Like this summer. Everything I have done has been unpredicted, most of all to me. And I am now realizing that Rivers paid more attention to me than I thought, and probably more than he knew too.

“You know, being a government assassin takes all kinds of creativity, in case you need something to fall back on. If you're decorating career doesn't work out.”

I bump my arm to his, knocking him off-balance. Rivers' hold on my hand tightens as we both stumble back, him landing against an aisle of chips and me on top of him. The sound of whole chips becoming partial ones crackles around us and our eyes meet guiltily. I laugh as we scramble to a standing position. Rivers grins and brushes bangs from my eyes. Every touch I receive from him sends a tingling through me.

He pays for the food and we walk back out into the hot day, his hand once more locked with mine.

"Why did you want to be a pilot?" I ask him.

"Because I wanted to be free, and the sky seemed limitless. Plus, there's the whole being able to fly thing. It's like being Superman without the cape." He grins.

"Free from what?"

He looks down at his feet, not speaking for a long time. He glances at me as he says, "Everything."

My throat tightens, sad for a young boy who disliked his world so much he wanted to be able to escape it. "And now?" He frowns at me and I specify, "Do you still feel like you need to get away from your life?" I am not entirely sure what I am asking, but the pounding of my heart lets me know how much his answer means to me.

"I already have," he says softly. He smiles as I frown—a perfect balance of seriousness facing off lightheartedness, and draws me in for a quick hug.

I wonder, as I get into the passenger seat, if part of him knows this can't last as well, and that is why he is so adamant about having some part of him in constant contact with some part of me. He links his free hand with mine as he drives, further affirming my thoughts. Maybe he thinks he can keep me with him from a physical link alone. If only that were possible.

Is this his version of freedom, here, now, with me? It's funny that, with all his current restrictions, he appears happier than when he had none.

When we get back to his house, Rivers prepares the grill as I rub spices on the steaks. I cut up a yellow pepper, zuchinni, sweet potatoes, and a red onion, tears burning my eyes and trailing down my cheeks as I do so. I toss them with oil and salt and pepper, turning to face Rivers as the patio door slides open.

He takes in my face and smiles, snapping the tongs together. "Crying every time I leave the room is getting to be redundant."

"I can't help it. Look." I show him the vegetables in the blue bowl. "They're so pretty."

He leans over the island, one eyebrow lifted. "It's like a vegetable rainbow."

"Exactly."

Grinning as he raises his face to mine, he places a kiss against my forehead. "The smallest things make you happy. It's endearing."

"I'll show you endearing," I mutter as I set the bowl down. "Are you going to eat any of these?"

"I can't promise that." He pauses. "But I can promise I'll try."

We go about grilling the steaks and vegetables, the scent of herbs surrounding us, the sound of sizzling meat filling my ears. I sit at the patio table and watch as he plays chef for me. I sip peach iced tea and eat celery with peanut butter and raisins. He occasionally glances back at me, shaking his head at my snack choice. I make sure to smile wide when my teeth are covered in peanut butter.

"I found a toad in our backyard when I was kid."

A smile curves his lips. "Oh yeah? And? Did you run away screaming?"

I laugh. "No. I decided to make it my pet. I named it Cha-Cha. I found a box and put grass, rocks,  and a dish of water in it. I had no idea what I was doing. Anyway, it stayed around for a few hours, humoring me, I suppose, and then it jumped out. And that was the end of my pet toad."

"What possessed you to name it Cha-Cha?"

I squint my eyes as I think this over. "I don't know. I guess because it looked like it was dancing when it hopped around." I shrug. "Did you have any pets?"

"I had a kitten when I was seven." He looks down. "It got outside one day. I searched the house and yard for hours and couldn't find it. No one knew, but...it was under the car. My mom ran it over without knowing it."

"Well, that's depressing," I tell him dryly. 

He flashes a quick, sad smile at me. "Yeah. I cried for weeks over that. Thomas got so annoyed with me moping around that he got me a stuffed cat."

"A
real
stuffed cat?" I widen my eyes at him, totally kidding.

His narrow-eyed look tells me he knows my tricks. "No. A toy one. He thought it would help."

"Did it?"

He shrugs, his attention locked on the food. "It didn't hurt."

"What did you name your kitten?" I ask softly, getting up and moving to stand beside him. I rest my arm against his, giving him silent support. I rub my cheek against the hardness of his upper arm, placing a light kiss against the warm flesh.

His smile turns to a laugh, flowing over me like the notes of an alluring melody. "He was orange and white and liked to play fetch."

"This was a
cat
, right?"

"Yeah." He glances at me. "I named him Fido."

"I guess that's on par with Cha-Cha."

"You could say that."

Low music plays from his phone, his diversified taste impressing me. He likes a lot of the same music I do—Coldplay, AWOLNATION, The Killers, The Fray, Imagine Dragons, as well as older music like The Rolling Stones, Aerosmith, Red Hot Chili Peppers, and Guns N' Roses. I move away, studying him. The lines of his form are captivating, even as he stands off-center to favor his left leg. Each movement is with purpose and I think I could watch him do anything, or nothing, and still find him interesting.

He catches my eyes on him. "Food's ready."

I nod, feeling warmth pool in my chest. "I'll get the plates and bring everything out here." I turn to leave and he grabs my wrist and tugs me back to him. I look up and his dark eyes sear mine. "Yes?"

"I feel like I should be asking that. What are you looking at?" He waits, staring back at me like he can find the answer he seeks in my face. Maybe he can.

"You."

"Why? Am I really so fascinating?"

"Oh, yes," I assure him. "You always have been."

He releases my wrist, lines forming around his eyes as he gauges whether I am being serious or not. In this, I am. His expression clears as he says, "You too."

A shaky exhalation of air leaves me as I spin away. I truly think he meant that. I don't even know what just happened, but it felt like a shifting in the foundation of our relationship, or how we view one another.

The steak is delicious, and Rivers surprises me by not only trying the vegetables, but liking them enough to have two servings. We spend the afternoon in the sun; me with my layers of sunscreen on and him without. We talk about music, movies, and school, but we focus on the good and do not mention the bad. It's a lot of good-humored arguing over movies, and laughter over school. I bring up the time Sandy Smith freaked out over a spider in History class and knocked herself out by running face-first into the wall. He talks about the pep rally for the first football game senior year when Melissa Mathison and Brent Stickler got caught making out behind the bleachers and the principal made them stand before the entire student body and apologize for their indecent behavior.

When he mentions my Halloween costume freshman year, the words I was about to say falter on my lips. Noticing my look, he asks, "What?"

"I...I'm just surprised." I frown, looking at the hem of my orange cotton shorts. Why didn't I try to know him in school? True, Riley would have freaked out if I'd ever approached him, but I could have made an effort. I gave up on the social aspect of high school before giving it a chance. I gave up on
him
before I ever talked to him.

"You won the school contest for funniest costume. You had rollers in your hair, crazy makeup all over your face, and you wore a robe over a nightgown with slippers. I couldn't believe it was you when I first saw you." He looks down, taking my hand in his and squeezing it before letting it go. "I don't think you realize how much you were noticeable, at least at times. Usually you kept to yourself and it was easy to forget you were there, but then you would do something totally out of character for you, or at least, how you were perceived to be, and...people noticed.
I
noticed."  

"Huh," is my amazing comeback.

HE IS IN THE WATER with me. This truth makes my pulse trip and scatter. I feel like this is a monumental moment right now. Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. Rivers is on the far end of the pool, not even paying attention to me, and here I am, motionless, quiet, my eyes riveted to his lithe frame as it cuts through the water like a blade.

Night has fallen on us, but the air is thick with hot moisture, making the water around me feel like a blanket of cool relief. The moon casts its glow on the water and us, giving the black liquid a spotlight and making Rivers the focal point of the show. He barely makes a sound as he swims, his muscled form impressive to watch. I can tell he's missed the water.

With the warm, occasional winds, the scent of lilacs floats toward me from neighboring yards. I slowly move my legs back and forth through the water, propped up against the ledge of the pool with my elbows as I notice more than I probably should about Rivers.

He breaks the surface, his face shadows as he turns to me. He swims over to my end of the pool, stopping when inches are all that separate us. His eyes shine as they meet mine. “You finally get me in the water and all you do is watch? What's the fun in that?”

“Trust me, it's loads of fun.”

Swiping a hand over his wet hair, he mutters, “Not even going to try to understand that one.”

I switch the subject before he makes me explain what exactly I
did
mean by that comment. “How are your legs?”

“Not bad.”

“Swimming is probably the best form of therapy for them. Low resistence.”

“Mmm.”

I can tell he doesn't want to talk about his legs or therapy for them, so I try to think of something else to talk about. “Peanut butter is my favorite food.”

Rivers looks at me for a long time, finally shaking his head. He moves to my side, reclining next to me. “Peanut butter is not food.”

“Then what is it?”

“I don't know. A condiment. Like ketchup or mustard.”

“Really, Rivers? Do you put peanut butter on a hamburger?”

“Do you eat it plain?” he shoots back.

“Yes.”

“Okay, do
most
people eat it plain?”

“How would I know about most people? I know
I
eat it plain. I also like it with honey on bread, or with jelly on bread, or all three on bread. Have you ever had a grilled peanut butter and jelly sandwich?”

He slowly turns his head toward mine. Our noses are almost touching as he says, “Are you saying you grill peanut butter and jelly sandwiches like we grilled steaks tonight? On a
literal
grill? What's wrong with you?”

I laugh. “No. Like a grilled cheese. Although, I never understood why it's called a grilled cheese. You don't grill it, you fry it.”

“Fried cheese just doesn't sound as appetizing.”

I consider this. “I guess. I'll make you one tomorrow.”

“No thanks.”

I put my hands on his shoulders, feeling them tense beneath my touch. I lean close to him as I say, “You know what else is really good?”

“What?” he asks warily.

“Peanut butter and bacon on toast. I'll make that for you too.”

“No. Really. Don't.”

I scrunch my nose up at him. “You shouldn't think you don't like something before you even give it a try.”

Rivers' hands find my waist beneath the water as he closes the distance between us. He stares down at me, his expression hard to determine masked as it is by night, but I can feel the scorching intensity of his eyes as they rove over my face. His fingers move around my waist to my back and slowly trail up it, causing goose bumps to break out in their wake. Sliding his palms up my neck so that his forearms are flush with my back, he lowers his mouth to mine. The kiss is slow but short, and ends with him catching my lower lip between his before he pulls away. My stomach is doing crazy flips and my limbs feel too heavy to keep me upright.