Текст книги "The Queen of Bright and Shiny Things"

Автор книги: Ann Aguirre

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

“I’m trying, okay? I can’t handle just the two of us yet. I mean, I want us to be friends, but—”

“Last week, I was trying to tell you I’m in love with you. I broke up with my girlfriend for you. Don’t friend-zone me.”

“Your girlfriend…? The one you were lying to? Don’t even try for the moral high ground.” I can’t believe that he’s acting like the injured party.

“Ryan and Sage, less 90210, more chemistry, please,” the teacher says.

“That’s their problem,” somebody cracks. “Not enough.”

Oh God. How did my life end up this way? So much pointless drama, and Ryan’s just making it worse. Tired of it, I put my head on the lab counter and wait to be struck by lightning.

Sadly, this never happens. I’m forced to finish this class and two more, then make my way to work. By comparison, my shift at the Curly Q is a marvel of peace and quiet. We get two new customers, which is cool for Mildred. The second girl comes in half an hour before closing. She’s small with long brown hair and shaggy bangs. Her blue polo shirt has a pharmacy logo on it—along with the khaki pants, this looks like a work uniform. Just inside the door, she chews her lips nervously as I walk toward the front desk.

“Can I help you?” I ask.

“I just need…” Her voice is tiny, hesitant.

Wow, she’s shy.

“My bangs trimmed. Maybe the split ends on the rest.”

That won’t take long, so I call to Grace, who did my highlights, “Do you have time?”

She nods. It’s ten bucks more than she would’ve made fiddling with her own hair.

“I have to shampoo your hair first,” I explain. “It’s the law. This way.”

I notice she’s actually shaking when she sinks into the red reclining chair. Maybe she’s never had a haircut in a salon before? Pondering why that would be, I run the water so it’s nice and warm and then go about my business of wetting, lathering, rinsing, and conditioning. Water speckles the lenses of her red glasses, the one pop of color about her. I usually throw in a little head massage if there’s time, but she has a lot of hair, and Grace needs her in the chair to get it done before eight.

“There you go,” I say, helping her sit up.

The customer follows me over to Grace’s station, where I settle her with protective cape. “Do you want a magazine? Some water?”

“Water would be nice,” she says softly.

I head back to the tiny employee lounge and fill a paper cone for her. When I get back with the drink, Grace is already at work with the comb. That accomplished, I go back to work cleaning the rest of the salon. The other stylists are all gone; Grace and I are closing up together tonight. Windex and towels in hand, I do all the mirrors by the time she finishes the trim.

“I don’t have time to blow it out,” Grace says, then shows the girl how it looks it in back.

“I like it. Thank you.” She digs into her purse and slips Grace a few bucks.

That makes me smile; some people seem opposed to tipping their stylists. I head over to the front desk to ring her out. A full haircut is twelve bucks, so I charge her eight for the partial. Her eyes look so sad as she counts out the singles that I can’t help but ask:

“Are you okay?”

“No,” she says softly. Then she squares her shoulders, like she’s about to drink some medicine. “See, I’m … I’m Cassie.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Oh. Crap.

I feel weirdly like the other woman. What am I supposed to say? “Ryan mentioned you.”

“Yeah … he talked about you all the time. I thought you were a coworker.”

“At which of his fictional jobs?” This is so awkward it hurts. To make matters worse, Ryan’s family has plenty of money; he’s never needed to work. They’re against it, focused on him getting good grades and participating fully in high school in order to get the best possible start. They’ve been looking at college brochures at the McKenna house since Ryan was fourteen.

Her pained gaze sparks with humor. “The one at the credit union.”

“So he was a bank teller in his secret life?”

I wonder why she never went to see him at work. It seems like there would’ve been some natural moment in the last year where it all fell apart. Can it be that easy to live a double life? I mean, obviously I’ve heard about men who manage to have two wives, two families, but it sounds like an awful lot of effort. But if anyone could make it work, Ryan could. He’s diabolically smart; I just never expected him to use his brain for evil.

“That’s what he told me.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but … why are you here? I’m guessing not just for a trim.”

Cassie shrugs, looking upset and angry at the same time. “I told myself I’d just come in for a haircut—that I wouldn’t even tell you who I was.”

“Why did you?” In a way, I wish she hadn’t.

“Because you’re not like I thought you’d be.”

I’m confused now. “Did he tell you something about me when he…”

“Broke up with me? Yes, he said he had feelings for you. That things between us hadn’t been right in a while.” She sighs softly. “And I knew that. I thought he might be cheating on me, or that the relationship was just dying from lack of time. I’m at the daycare center from nine to five, and then I work midnights at the pharmacy.”

“Wow. You don’t get much sleep, huh?”

“I usually pass out between six and eleven. Ryan and I were lucky to see each other once every couple of weeks. We’d Skype in between, send texts, but it wasn’t the same.”

“No.” That explains why she never stopped to see him at work, however. No time. And really, if you trust someone, it never occurs to you that they could be inventing their whole life.

“I know he’s a liar, but … did he cheat on me, too? It probably shouldn’t matter, as I could do jail time for being with him, but I swear I didn’t know.” Tears stand in her big eyes, and I feel a fierce pang of pity for her.

“Hey, he lied, not you. You thought he was a bit younger, but not jailbait. It would’ve been weird if you’d carded him.”

“I will, going forward,” she mutters.

“And to answer you, no. He didn’t cheat. At least, not with me. If there’s someone else, I don’t know about her.”

“Where would he find the time?”

I laugh. “I have no idea. Learning about you shocked me, that’s for sure.”

“It’s none of my business, but … are you … will you…” Cassie trails off, obviously embarrassed that she still cares about the jackass.

“No. Ryan can’t have everything he wants, and that includes me.”

She actually smiles. “I’m a bad person, but that makes me happy.”

“Yeah, well. Nobody wants to break up with someone and then find out he’s with somebody else a day later.”

Grace calls, “Are you about done? It’s time to lock up.”

“Yes, she’s squared away,” I answer. Then dropping my voice, I ask, “Aren’t you?”

She nods. “Thanks for your time. You’re not like I thought you’d be.”

I raise a brow as I gather up my belongings. “How’s that?”

“Big hair, bright red lipstick, lots of spandex. Classic man stealer.”

This is so far from the truth that I laugh. “I don’t know any high school girls who look like that.”

“I wasn’t in a rational mood.”

“Night!” I call to Grace.

Cassie walks out with me as the stylist turns out the lights behind us. My bike is chained to the rack nearby. There are only a few cars parked at the meters, as the businesses downtown close pretty early. I assume one of them belongs to her. With a smile in parting, I dig into my backpack and start taping my sleeves, so I will annoy as many drivers as possible on the way home.

“Night,” I say, moving to unlock my ride. There’s no way I’m saying it was nice to meet her.

“This might be totally out of line, but maybe you’d like to get a coffee sometime, just to make Ryan profoundly uncomfortable?”

I smirk and give her my cell number. “I could be persuaded.”

“It won’t be for a while. Like you said earlier, I don’t sleep much. Which kinda makes it hard to have a normal social life.”

“I’m finding it impossible to imagine Ryan as a booty call.”

Cassie smiles slowly. “We had our problems, but … never that.”

Uh. Wow.

Since I don’t want to imagine Ryan having sex, I end the conversation by swinging onto my bike. With a wave, I take off down the sidewalk. I don’t look back. Cassie wasn’t like I thought she’d be either; I figured she must be sophisticated, but in fact, she didn’t seem much more together than me. She’s just a person, working hard, trying to save for college. On bad days, I imagine she’s sad and exhausted; on good ones, she probably sees the light at the end of the tunnel, where she’ll have enough cash to attend classes full time for a while. It’s kind of revelational to realize that graduation doesn’t also mean receiving all the answers. This is also depressing. I imagine being fifty-eight years old, still with no idea what the heck is going on.

As I ride home, I consider. Some of my friends, like Ryan, know what they want; he has his future all mapped out. He’s going to MIT, where he’ll major in computer science. Others, like Conrad, are still living at home, three years after graduation, and he doesn’t seem to have any plans at all. I fall somewhere in between. I definitely intend to go to college, and basically, my decision will be driven by the school that offers me the best scholarship. There’s a college in Maine that I would love to attend; I’ve crunched the numbers and if I keep my grades up, I could earn a presidential scholarship at Unity, plus if I factor Aunt Gabby’s income, I’ll be eligible for some financial aid, too. We’re doing okay, but we’re not rich. If I do well on the SAT, it’ll probably cost around eight grand a year, which would be sweet. I’d love to finish college without any student loans.

Before I know it, I’m turning down the drive to my house. Two and a half miles isn’t that far, and it’s still before nine. By this point I’m starving, though, so I can’t wait to see what’s for dinner. Oh my God, yum. She’s made one of my favorite dishes, stuffed peppers.

“I’m home,” I call.

“Good day?” My aunt’s already eaten, judging by the plate beside her on the coffee table. I grab it and take it to the kitchen, then pull my plate out of the oven.

With a contented sigh, I plop down at the end of the sofa and then eat about half of my stuffed peppers, before remembering to praise her cooking. I’m afraid if I don’t, she’ll start doing takeout all the time. “This is so good. Uhm. Just so you know, we’re apparently having a small party on Sunday.”

“How small?”

“Like seven guests. We’re having lasagna.”

She cocks her head, thinking. “I have plans on Friday, but if you do the shopping on Saturday, we can put a couple of pans of lasagna together that night, and then bake them right before your friends come over on Sunday.”

“Plans, huh? UPS Joe strikes again?”

Her cheeks color. “Just call him Joe.”

“Noted. It’s awesome you’re letting me do this. I’d hate to tell everyone tomorrow that it’s not on, after they ask their parents and everything.”

“Next time, I’d appreciate more notice, but … this is a momentous occasion.”

“It is?”

“You’ve never wanted to invite people over before.” I hear the ping of happiness in her voice—that I’m doing normal things, making new friends, and having them to our house to eat pasta. If I’d known it would thrill my aunt this much, I’d have rounded up some random people to feed earlier.

“I guess not.” It seems like a bad idea to tell her that this was a conversation that got away from me, not some master plan to come out of my shell. “I’ll make sure to give you more than two days next time … and of course I’ll do the shopping. I can get some salad stuff, too.”

“Sounds good.”

While my aunt watches TV, I finish my dinner, then take my plate to the kitchen and clean. I have to prove that I’m not more trouble than I’m worth. Life with my mom was hell, and the group home was just as bad—in a different way. Everything was regimented, and I had no privacy. The first month, I shared a room with a girl who kept trying to smother me. Eventually, the housemother caught her during a random bed check and she was relocated. They were always searching our rooms for contraband and taking away our scant privileges, but sometimes I couldn’t help fighting. Sometimes it was self-defense.

I wash the dishes, wipe the counters and stove. The floor looks okay, so I’ll leave it.

“You don’t have to,” she calls, but she hates cleanup.

Since I can’t cook like she does, this division of labor makes sense. I’m learning, though. I can do a few of her recipes. Hopefully by the time I move out, I’ll have a respectable number of dishes, so I don’t wind up living on Maruchan. I had enough of that in elementary school, and I’m not looking to repeat the experience. Without noodles and gas station burritos, I probably would’ve starved. It’s hard to imagine sometimes; there’s such a demarcation between then and now, but once you’ve been truly hungry you never forget the feeling. And it’s hard not to think about where the next meal is coming from.

It’s ten, so I spend an hour on homework, and then fall in bed. It’s one before I finally drift off, and even then, my sleep is sporadic, plagued by the Dream. There are half-empty liquor bottles everywhere. I break one. Another. The glass sprinkles over me. I walk on it, but there’s no pain. I’m crying, but I can’t feel it; my face is numb. The tears taste like salt in my dry mouth, and my feet are bleeding. The red stains crushed packs of cigarettes, and my toes nudge a bright yellow lighter. Yellow on a stoplight means caution, but I pick it up anyway.

Smoke and licking flames, and there’s only my heartbeat pounding in my ears, my ragged breathing. I jolt upright in a pool of sweat. My aunt doesn’t know the Dream is haunting me again, or she might insist I go back on meds. But I hate how they screw with my brain. I want to feel things, even if they’re bad. I have to learn how to deal.

At six, I’m wide-awake, so I get up. Scramble some eggs. I do everything I can to be a good niece, a good kid. She’s the only thing standing between me and the system; and on days like today, I feel irrationally scared that my good, safe life could inexplicably implode. It’s the kind of fear that my old therapist would pick apart with a fine-tooth comb, asking me endless rounds of why, why, why. Then he’d offer me a new prescription.

I suspect I’m so nervous because I have a date with Shane tonight. I think.

School is school. There’s no quiz in geometry, but I did my homework right. Now we’re moving on to a new set of theorems, so I need more tutoring from Shane. I love that he waits for me after class, and that the jocks seem to have forgotten about him, mostly. Dylan gives us both a look, but he has bigger fish to fry, as from the loud convo, there’s a senior walking around in a sweater vest and bow tie. Clearly that challenge cannot go unanswered.

Shane smiles as we step into the hall together. “I put in an application at the P&K.”

“And?”

“When they found out I could work any hours, they hired me.”

I hug him to celebrate the awesome, and when his arms go around me, I swear my heart skips a beat. He smells of laundry detergent, sunshine, and fresh air, no cologne, no body wash. And that works for me in a big way. I imagine pressing my lips to the curve of his jaw. In helpless reaction, I curl my fingers into his army jacket, hoping he won’t notice my unsteady breathing. His eyes are so, so blue …

When somebody bumps us, I break away and head toward his locker. Shane is a few steps behind me, looking thoughtful. As he dials his combination, he says, “You know, it would save time if we just picked one and shared it.”

I know some couples do this, but I’ve never—does this mean we’re a couple? I wish I had a clue what’s going on between us. If I was brave, I’d just kiss the hell out of him and see what happens. I lack the confidence for that maneuver. Also, I’m not exactly sure how to kiss.

So I just say, “Sounds good. Which?”

“Yours,” he says.

“Okay. When do you want to move your stuff?”

“Might as well take care of it now.”

So while I wait, astonished, he packs up his stuff and sticks most of it in his backpack. I carry a few odds and ends, and then we’re at my locker. My hands shake as I dial the combination, so I need to do it twice. “Did you catch what it was?”

“No. Can you tell me?”

I raise up on tiptoe to whisper it, and I swear his eyes fluttered closed briefly, like he’s really into me exhaling right there. It gives me a weird feeling to realize that Shane might be as into me as I am him. Or maybe I’m reading him all wrong because I so want him to be.

In two minutes, he’s all moved in. My locker has more personality than his, as I’ve had the same one for two years, going on three. It’s a desirable location as well, located in the main hallway, equidistant to all classes and departments. Shane pauses, examining the pictures I’ve cut out and stuck in the door. Unlike most girls I don’t have a mirror, snaps of hot guys, or tiny plushies. He’s seen the décor before, obviously, but he feels more investment now that he’s sharing it, I guess.

“What are these places?”

“Pictures of countries that have better conservation and recycling programs than the U.S. I want to visit all of them and bring back ideas we can use here.”

“That’s pretty cool. How did you get so into this stuff?”

Nobody’s ever asked me that before, and I struggle for an answer that won’t give away too much. I’ll tell him about myself … I owe him some answers after how open he was with me, but not here, not in school on the way to the cafeteria. So I eventually say, “I lived in a bad area when I was younger. I guess … I want to fix the world for other kids. Well, try anyway.”

His expression reveals pure surprise. “I thought you’d been here longer. You seem really at home.”

“No. I moved in with my aunt three years ago.”

Questions stir in his eyes, but we’re at the lunchroom, and our crew waves with mad enthusiasm. I can see that Mel already has lunch set out, and as we approach, they’re all saying how awesome it is that we’re hanging on Sunday. Operation Lasagna is a go.

Shane gives me a look that says he’ll ask later. Tonight, probably, and I dip my head in silent acknowledgment. I don’t know if I’m excited that he wants to know me or terrified about how he’ll feel once he does.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Tonight, Aunt Gabby has another date with UPS Joe. This time when he picks her up, I notice that he has kind eyes, and he takes the time to chat with me while she putters in the bathroom, pretending to put the finishing touches on her face, but really she’s just making him wait. With some women, this would be a power play, but with my aunt, it means she’s nervous.

“You have plans tonight?” Joe seems like a good guy. I mean, he’s trying to make conversation.

“Yeah, we’re seeing a movie.”

“Which one?”

“I don’t even know what’s playing. It’s not like we have a choice.”

He makes a face. “Small town.”

“Pretty much.”

Eventually, my aunt comes out, looking beautiful. I don’t know why she worries. Unlike their first date where she went for cool sophistication, tonight she’s wearing a bold pink-and-purple-print dress with kicky retro shoes, chunky gold jewelry, and her hair up in an adorably complicated twist. They must be going to dinner in a neighboring town, or possibly even the city, a fifty-five-minute drive on the highway.

“Where you taking her?” I ask Joe.

Some men might get irritated, but he answers me in a quiet, polite tone. “To Rudolfo’s. We have reservations at eight.”

Yep, he’s taking her to the city. Rudolfo’s is where the rich people eat before prom. Then they take a limo back to be dropped off at the country club in style.

“Have fun,” I tell them both.

“Ryan’s not coming over tonight?” My aunt knows I’m talking to Ry again, but things are still awkward between us, made more so by his quiet jealousy.

“Actually I’m going to see a movie with Shane.”

Things have been so crazy, I forgot to tell her, but this works out better for me. In front of Joe, she won’t go all hyper-protective and ask a million questions. She can’t implore her date to stick around so she can meet mine without looking anal, plus it would ruin Joe’s reservations. Aunt Gabby gives me a look that says we’ll talk later.

“I can’t wait to hear all about it,” she says pointedly. “Be home by eleven.”

“The movie will be out by ten or so, and there’s nothing else to do. So … definitely.”

I give Joe a smile as he sets a hand in the small of her back. It’s not a gesture that casts aspersions on her competence, more a quiet assertion that he’ll help if she needs it. After all, the driveway is rocky and she’s wearing heels. She kisses my cheek on the way out, then I scramble to finish getting ready. Shane will be here in an hour, and I don’t even know if this is a date.

Please let it be a date.

His comment about not expecting to find a friend echoes in my head. I can’t glam up too much or it’ll look like I’m trying too hard. Plus, I’ll probably burn my hair off if I try to use my aunt’s flat iron without supervision. In the end, I settle for jeans, a lacy sweater, and a T-shirt with sparkles on it, then it’s time to decide what to do with my hair. The usual ponytail doesn’t seem like a solution, so I brush it out and then aim the blow dryer at it for a few seconds. It’s a little fluffy but not too big. I tame it with a squirt of product from Aunt Gabby’s stash. She won’t mind if I borrow some earrings to go with my silver key necklace, so I dig into her jewelry box and find some hoops.

That leaves makeup. I don’t do foundation because to cover my freckles, I have to use too much and it looks caked on. Which leaves me with eyes and lips; I’m pretty good at those, though I don’t bother for every day. Five minutes later, there’s a knock. I scrub sweaty palms against my thighs as I move to answer, swinging the door wide to find Shane waiting. He looks as nervous as I feel; that makes things easier.

“Wow. You look beautiful. Not that you don’t always.” He’s about to stammer something else, and I feel like kissing him.

I don’t, obviously. That would take way more swagger than I possess.

He’s wearing the usual boots and jeans, but he traded his T-shirt for a blue button up and he has on a black jacket instead of the army one. It’s big on him, which makes me think it might be his dad’s. But he made the effort, and I can’t help thinking this means tonight counts as a date.

“Thanks. Ready to go?” I ask.

“Yeah. I hope you don’t mind walking. My limo’s in the shop.”

I smile at that. “I wouldn’t get in it, even if it was out front.”

Shane tilts his head, looking surprised. “Come to think of it, I’ve never seen you in a vehicle of any kind.”

Glad of this conversational opener, I explain my stance on the decadence of private cars burning fossil fuels. Cars also have pretty awful associations for me; my dad died in one. They took me away in one to foster care. When I was with my mom, I never rode in one, but afterward … well. That kind of stuff is too dark for a first date. Fortunately, Shane seems interested in the constructive reasons behind my boycott. This discussion carries us halfway downtown, mostly because he asks smart questions about how I cope in a small town with limited options for public transportation.

“It’s not easy,” I admit. “But I can ride my bike most places, and if I can’t, then I just don’t go. My aunt and I have taken the train to the city a few times, though.” I add the last part so he doesn’t think I advocate traveling by wagon.

“I admire your dedication,” Shane says, smiling.

My weirdness probably also takes the pressure off him to have a car. Since he knows I don’t want any part of that, he can’t imagine the date would go better if he had a sweet ride. A few minutes later, he takes my hand in a casual gesture. Did he think about it at all or reach for me instinctively?

At night, the Capitol looks cool with the white bulbs surrounding the marquee. Darkness softens the dilapidated lines, lending the old building a certain grace. Ryan and I came here occasionally when there was a show we wanted to see, so I’m used to half the town turning out to buy tickets. Tonight, according to the misspelled title on the sign, there’s a horror movie playing. I have no desire to see it, but I do want to sit in the dark with Shane. Somewhere in front, Ryan’s laugh rings out. I stretch up on my tiptoes and spy Gwen, Kenny, and Tara, along with my former best friend; I can’t tell if they’re on a double date, but I smother a laugh. At least it’s legal for Ryan to date Gwen. Given Tara’s general indifference to Kenny’s interest, I figure they’re just all hanging out. Shane’s brows draw together, probably wondering why I’m laughing, then he spots the group ahead of us.

“They’re funny for some reason?” he asks.

“It’s just ironic to see Ryan here when I’m trying to avoid him. But it’s a small town.” I shrug, wishing I could explain fully.

Shane nods, like this makes perfect sense. But if he can accept my other off-kilter ideas and my refusal to ride in a car, he likely thinks this is just a postscript to strangeness. We move up as the cashier processes others ahead, then it’s our turn at the window.

“Two, please.” He speaks for both of us before I can even touch my wallet.

“Eight dollars.”

Shane passes the girl a crumpled bill and she gives him back some change. So I murmur my thanks as we pass through the gilded doors into the faded luxury of the lobby. I nearly bump into Gwen, who doesn’t register anything odd about the fact that she’s with Ryan and I’m not.

She beams a Colgate smile. “I didn’t know you guys were coming. You want to find some seats while we get the junk food? We can settle up inside.”

Ha, this could be awkward. I’m not having my first date with Shane while Ryan looks on from three seats over.

“Thanks for the offer,” Shane says, surprising me, “but we’re fine.”

Since Gwen tends to boss people around, she likely gets that response a lot, so she just smiles and waves. Ryan watches us walk away, and I’d be lying if I said I’m not happy that Shane’s still holding my hand. The theater is already half full as we step into the aisle. He glances up and down before leading me to the left side of the theater. These rows are short—only four seats—compared to the ones in the center and we sit in the middle two seats, which should make it awkward for anyone to join us.

“Do you want popcorn or anything?” Shane asks, as we sit down.

I shake my head. “We can have a snack at my house after the movie.”

There’s no way my aunt will be home before eleven, and it’ll be more like ten for us, even with the walk. That gives us some time alone, which makes me nervous and excited at the same time. With some guys, I’d worry about the message I’m sending, inviting him back to my house with nobody else around, but Shane won’t pounce on me like a leopard. I’ve already been alone with him at his place, and he only touched me when I hugged him.

“Is that the plan?”

“If you want,” I add, hoping I haven’t assumed too much.

“Sounds good.”

He’s still holding my hand, and I’m aware of how much longer his fingers are than mine, slender and graceful; he has a musician’s hands, with calluses that aren’t just from playing guitar. He has those, too, but his palms are hard as well. I feel like fidgeting in my seat, but since he’s calm, I pretend I am, too. I wonder if he has any idea how new all of this is to me. His comment about needing a friend echoes in my head. Still, a guy doesn’t act like this with a girl unless he’s dating her. Right? I study him out of the corner of my eye, trying to decide.

The previews start before I get too nervous, giving us something to look at besides each other. There’s the usual product placement and trailers for flicks not yet released. Eventually the scary stuff starts, and I remember why I hate this kind of movie. I’m really susceptible, so I’m always the first one to jump or scream, but it’s not all bad because halfway through the movie, Shane puts his arm around me and his thigh bumps against mine. My heart’s not racing from the creepy noises anymore.

Forty-five minutes later, it turns out the nerdy guy was the killer, which surprises no one, but I have the shivers as we file out with the rest of the audience. I can stand monster movies better because they aren’t real, but you never know when an actual psycho could be lurking in the bushes.

“What did you think?” Shane asks. “Worth the price of admission?”

“I was confused as to who was doing it until I realized that Reggie knew too much about the crime scenes. Overall it wasn’t bad.”

He grins down at me. “You hid your face through all of the murders.”

Yeah, I did. I regret nothing. I can still feel the warmth of his shoulder against my cheek and the smell of his freshly washed shirt. The night is chilly, and I wish I’d worn a heavier coat. But that just makes me walk faster, putting distance behind us. It’s half past nine by now, and I’m hungry, as I was too nervous to eat dinner before Shane picked me up.

“I’m a wimp,” I admit.

“It’s sweet. Will your aunt mind my coming over so late?”

“No.” That’s probably true, though she would prefer to meet him before leaving us alone together. “But she’s on a date.”

“So no awkward introductions tonight?”

“You dodged that bullet,” I tell him. “What’re you doing tomorrow?”

Belatedly I realize he might think I’m trying to lock him in for a second date and I stutter-step. I don’t want him to think I’m desperate or anything. Luckily Shane doesn’t notice my nerves. The sky has clouded over while we were inside and a light drizzle sprinkles down on us. I hope it doesn’t pour before we get to my house. I walk faster; this is the downside of my vehicular limitations.

“It’s my first night at the P&K. I’m working three shifts a week to start. The manager said I might get more hours if I’m reliable.”

“Will that be enough to help?”

“Hell yeah. It’s close to two hundred bucks a week, before taxes.” In the moonlight, relief shines from his blue eyes.

“Do you get a store discount?”

“I wish,” Shane says. “But no. Though I can have first pick of day-old pastries from the bakery, once they’re marked down.”