Unlit Star (20 page)

Heat creeps up my neck, but I can't keep the grin from my face. "I know," I mouth back.

The scent of garlic gets stronger as we enter the kitchen, along with herbs, spices, and a hint of chocolate. I make a beeline for the counter where a cake pan sits. I'm about to pop the gob of chocolate frosting I acquired from the top of the cake into my mouth when Rivers catches my eyes. I grin and instead swipe my finger across his mouth. He pauses, his eyes going black as he slowly licks his lips without his gaze leaving mine. It's dark, smoldering, hot. My breath catches and I forget we're not alone.

Luckily, my mom clears her throat, effectively breaking through the magnetism of our gazes. It would be pretty embarrassing if I attacked him right in front of her. I offer to help with supper, Rivers agreeing almost immediately, and my mom sets us to work preparing a salad. The mood is light as we work and I feel not only connected to Rivers, but also to my mom. He and I tease each other, making my mom laugh, and she embarrasses me with stories about my younger years.

Rivers acts as a buffer between my mother and I, or a single point of continuity that pulls us together so that we take notice of one another and interact in a way we haven't in a long time. He is working the magic he used to in school and I don't even think he is aware of it—it's just a part of him.

He is like a focal point in the darkness of our existence—a beacon. How did the boy swathed in black become my shining light?

At one point, he murmurs close to my ear, "Why do you call your mom by her first name?"

I glance over my shoulder, but my mom isn't in the room. I set down the tomato I was slicing and look at him. "It's sort of a long story. Let's just say...I felt like I needed to grow up at
a young age, and I thought calling my mom by her first name was part of that. It stuck."

"I'm surprised she allows it."

"Well, I don't think she particularly likes it, but what's she going to do?"

"Ground you."

I shake my head at him. "And what, take away my bike? Oooohhh." I roll my eyes, a smirk on my face. "Hey! Maybe she'll make me stay at home and then I won't get to sleep with you anymore. No more petting and fondling through the night—"

He slaps a hand over my mouth just as my mom enters the kitchen. When she pauses to take in the scene, he immediately drops his hand, red-faced. He's lucky. I was about to bite it. He gives me a warning look when she turns away and I give one right back.

"How's the salad coming?" is all she asks.

"It's ready." I dump the last of the tomatoes into a small bowl and carry it to table to sit beside a dish of baked garlic honey chicken, cheesy garlic mashed potatoes, a fresh lettuce salad, and garlic butter rolls. I wasn't
exaggerating about my mother's love of garlic—just about the cake part. The croutons accompanying the salad are even garlic and herb.

"I made lemonade. Do you like lemonade, Rivers?"

"Yes. Thank you."

He's being so polite that the urge to shake him up emboldens me. Just as we sit down, I announce, "Rivers asked me to marry him."

He spits out the lemonade he just took a drink of. Luckily it doesn't hit any of the food. Unfortunately, it
does
hit my mom directly in the chest. A squeak leaves her as her arms raise and hover out at her sides.

"I'm so sorry," he says, lurching to his feet and then standing there awkwardly. It isn't like he can exactly wipe her down.

"You should get her a towel. There's one on the stove," I tell him, laughing when he glares at me.

My mom waves him away. "It's fine. Sit down. I'll just go change my top. Really, Del?" she asks in exasperation as she walks by.

"What are you doing?" he demands, eyeing me suspiciously.

"I'm having fun."

"At my expense."

"Well, yeah."

"Stop it."

"No."

"Stop it or I'll be forced to fight back."

My breath catches at the gleam that enters his eyes. "That's what I'm waiting for."

The glint in his eyes turns dangerous and I know he is thinking about all the ways he could get me back, and I also think he is thinking of things that would make me blush—until I realize I already am. My face is on fire and it matches the way my body feels. I gulp down lemonade and tear my eyes away from his, instead focusing on the vines of a plant in a corner of the room.

"You're in so much trouble, and you don't even know it," he promises. "You can always dish it out, but you can never take it, can you?" He rubs a finger over his lower lip just as I return my gaze to him and my pulse careens out of control. "What are you thinking about? Right now?"

Sex. That's what I'm thinking about. And it's his fault. I always innocently tease; he turns everything into an insinuation. I'm not complaining, I just get flustered by it. Let's just say I am not sauve in the art of flirting, or anything sexual, really.

"Nothing," I answer quickly.

"Mmm-hmm," is his dubious reply.

As soon as she gets back into the room and sits down, I continue with the previous conversation, much to Rivers' annoyance. "I told him no. It's too soon. But, maybe, ya know, in a few more weeks."

She stabs a piece of chicken with her fork and plops it on her plate, offering the dish to Rivers. "Yes, that should be sufficient time." She glances up with a question in her eyes. "What's with you tonight?"

I shrug, taking a bite of mashed potatoes. They melt on my tongue in a perfect combination of butter, cheese, and garlic. "I like teasing Rivers. Look at him. He doesn't know what to do."

"I know what to do, I just don't know if your mother would approve." There is a double meaning there, and his eyes confirm what it is when they meet mine.

My face flushes and I stare down at the salad, counting the dark flecks of seasoning in a crouton as I wait for my face to stop burning. I think I need to admit defeat. I am out of my league here.

I am not sure if my mother is truly aware of what is going on between us, but she chooses to say in response, "If I were you, Rivers, I'd tease back. Delilah needs that once in a while."

And that's all the encouragement he needs.

"Your daughter is obsessed with me," he casually supplies as he cuts into a piece of poultry.

My mouth drops open and I quickly close it before a chunk of tomato falls out.

A smile flits over my mother's lips. "Really? How can you tell?"

"She follows me around, taking indecent pictures of me at every opportunity." He shrugs, a smirk on his face as he looks at me. I promise retaliation with my expression and he laughs, turning back to my mom. "She even wrote me a love song. It's sweet, but sort of embarrassing as well, especially when she serenades me from outside my window at night."

"I can see her doing that. She wrote a song once when she was a child. How did that go?" She looks at me, her eyes alight with happiness.

"I don't remember," I state slowly and firmly, widening my eyes at her.

"It was about peanut butter, I do remember that."

I drop my face into my hands.

"Peanut butter?" Rivers sounds like he is choking.

"Yes. She really loves peanut butter."

"Trust me, I know."

I remove my hands from my face and divide a glare between the two of their smiling faces. "It was for school. I was eight! We had to write a song about something that brought us joy. Peanut butter was an easy answer. Lots of people love peanut butter!" I add when they start laughing.

"Was it called 'Ode to Glorious Peanut Butter'?" he teases, and even I laugh at that, though I fight to keep a scowl on my face.

The meal continues on with Rivers and I tossing words back and forth and my mom being entertained by it. After the meal is finished, we clean up the kitchen. I want to show Rivers the backyard and go in search of a blanket to take with us. My mom follows me into the closet near the living room.

I glance over my shoulder at her. "The both of us are not going to fit in here."

She fidgets with the hem of her top, nibbling on her lower lip. "I know we really don't talk about boys, but...what's going on with you two? I thought you were working there. It seems like you're...dating?"

Pulling a soft fleece blanket from the top of a pile, I back up, forcing her to move away, and face her. "I am working there." I purposely avoid the dating question.

"You seem..." she trails off when she catches my eye, her face reddening.

"What? What do I seem?"

"You both seem really happy, that's all. Like you care about each other."

"I do care about him," I admit, shifting my stance.

Her smile is bright, but also bittersweet. "He seems like a nice kid. Just...what happens after summer?"

I sigh. "You ask me that a lot." I pause, deciding to be honest. "You know, I really have no idea, and I don't even want to think about it right now. I'm just going to enjoy the summer."

She nods. "I've dated a boy or two, if you ever need advice or anything."

"Thank you," I say after an inner debate upon how exactly I should respond to that offer.

"Let me know when you're leaving so I can say goodbye."

"I will."

"I'm going to stop over to Alice's for a bit, but I won't be too long. She found a new recipe and wants me to try it with her."

Alice is seventy-seven years old and lives across the street. The only recipes she ever looks at or makes are for alcoholic beverages. She used to babysit me when I was younger. I associate her with the scent of baby powder, chocolate chip cookies, and a raspy voice brought on by years of smoking. She's nosy and blunt, but also endearing. My mother loves her. I suppose I do too.

"Okay. Tell her hi. Don't have too much fun boozing it up."

She smiles. "There is no such thing as too much fun."

"Or too much booze," I add and she laughs.

Rivers and I are camped outside on a blanket when my mom returns. I scoot over and she sits beside me, looking up at the black sky dotted with little blips of light. "That was a good margarita," she supplies.

I laugh. "What kind was it?"

"Mango with frozen mangos in it. Delicious. I'll make you one when you're twenty-one." She bumps her shoulder to mine. That's over seven hundred days away—too far into the distance to consider.

"Only three years away. It can be your ultimate achievement," Rivers says.

I lift an eyebrow at him, the night hiding certain features of his face while illuminating others. "It's more like two years away. I'll be nineteen in less than a year...and you're saying my goal in life can be to have a mango margarita at the age of twenty-one?"

"You've got to start out small."

I turn my face upward, letting it be kissed by the moon. "I thought the saying was, go big or go home?"

"No one likes a critic," he tells me.

"I wonder if critics even like critics?"

My mom shakes her head. "They probably criticize one another."

I snort. "I would
love
to see that. The entertainment possibilities are endless."

Touching my shoulder, my mom gets to her feet with popping knees. "I'm going to go in. I think my body is telling me I am older than I want to believe I am. It's past my bed time."

"You look great, Janet," Rivers says, and I shoot him a look. He shrugs with a grin in place.

"Thank you, Rivers."

I hop to my feet, tugging on the blanket before Rivers is off of it. "My babysitting hours start early and the child in question is extremely demanding, so we should be going." My tone is snippy and the gentle squeeze on my hand tells me Rivers caught it. I fold the blanket up and hand it to my mom, following her inside the house.

"Thanks for the grub, Janet. It was really good," I tell her.

Rivers shakes her hand. "I agree. Thank you for having me over."

My mom smiles. "You're welcome. It was nice to meet you. We'll have to do this again soon."

I wave and start down the sidewalk, but am abruptly halted when an arm slings around my waist. "Hey. Stop for a minute."

I go still, scowling at nothing in particular. "What?"

"What just happened? You were awesome and then you were scary. Tell me why." His hold tightens on me before leaving altogether. "Are you—are you
jealous
that I told your mom that—about her looking good?"

I cross my arms. "No. Of course not."

He moves around me, stopping when he is before me. "What's going on?"

"I'm just...you know..."

He laughs. "I really don't. What are you trying to say?"

I exhale and rub my face, turning to stare at the house I grew up in. With its dark coloring and old architecture, it looks eerie and magical under the cover of night. "My mom's beautiful. It isn't a jealousy thing, not at all. I love my mom and I love her beauty. I look at her in wonder all the time. I just...I just wish I was too." I can't believe I admitted that, especially to him. I hold my breath, my pulse working at a crazy pace, and wait for the mortification that is sure to come with whatever he decides to say next.