Chapter Seventeen
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Lanie
I was back at my apartment in Portsmouth early the next day, telling Eliza I had things I needed to get ready for a job on Monday. It wasn’t completely a lie—I did have a move scheduled for the next day—but I could have stayed longer and still had time to prepare. Maybe simply being back in Maplebridge had sent my emotions into a tailspin.
Or maybe I’d been swept up in the high of Eliza’s joy and was crashing a little when I compared her life to mine. I hadn’t expected seeing Mark to be as confusing as it had been. Yes, I was still upset the only reason he’d come to see me was because of a stupid dare.
But going to dinner with him reminded me of the last time we were all dressed up and shared a fancy dinner. It was at prom...
So many years ago.
A hotel conference room had been transformed into a magical winter wonderland, strung with twinkling lights and decorated with a hundred paper flowers that our senior class had painstakingly crafted over a month in art class.
Many of us had joked if we never saw another paper flower again, it would be too soon. But that was before we experienced the beauty of all of them together.
Time seemed to stand still as my mind drifted back to that day, ten years ago…
I wobbled on too-high heels, trying to look like I wasn’t afraid of face-planting. I wore a deep green, floor-length chiffon dress and instantly regretted leaving my coat in the limo. The gown’s boat neck was supposed to make me feel less exposed, but with its sleeveless, form-fitting design, I only felt cold.
Eliza, on the other hand, looked perfectly at ease in her dusty-blue, off-the-shoulder, corset-topped gown, cascading with tiers of lace and sequins.
We had chosen our dresses together, but I regretted letting her talk me into something far fancier than my usual style. At least I drew the line at my hairstyle, leaving it down rather than tucked into an updo. That way, when I ducked my head, my hair fell forward like a protective shield, allowing me to concentrate on what was in front of me rather than how my classmates might be mocking me.
Some people float through high school, oblivious to how socially painful an experience it can be. I wasn’t gifted athletically or academically, and my sense of humor was an acquired taste. So, what was I good at? Once, a few years back, I had overheard my grandfather talking to one of his friends about me. I had stayed hidden around the corner of the house, listening. There had been so much pride in his voice.
Still, my ego had taken a hit when the best adjective he could come up with while bragging about me was that I was... extremely reliable .
What that really meant was I had chosen to help my family with the piano business over going to parties or having a hobby.
The irony of that assessment? I didn’t have a lot of friends competing for my time. I had Eliza, but she had Julian. And I had Mark... but his social calendar was always packed.
Moving pianos and learning how to tune them gave me something to do, a place to be. Looking back, it might also have given me the perfect excuse for not being popular—I didn’t have time to be.
It wasn’t that I was introverted or socially awkward...
No, I was busy.
Just busy.
“Nothing like arriving in style, huh?” Eliza said cheerfully, tucking her arm into Julian’s. “Thank you for getting a limo. That was awesome.”
Julian blushed. “Mark split the cost with me.”
I tripped on the edge of my dress, and Mark steadied me with a hand on my back.
“You’re welcome,” he teased.
I smiled up into his laughing eyes. “Don’t you dare try to fill it with cheerleaders on the way home.”
“Aww, damn, there goes my plan.” He dipped his head closer to mine. “I guess I’ll have to settle for you.”
I elbowed his side playfully. “You wish.” It was a joke, like so many we had made over the years.
Mark was so far out of my league that, despite us being good friends forever, there weren’t even rumors that he might like me. Our friendship was an anomaly—something people had never stopped being curious about. I was the hardworking, quiet one who was almost never invited to anything. He was everyone’s first pick. How we got along so well was just one of those unexplainable folds in the fabric of the universe.
I smiled and tossed back, “I did think the limo was pretty cool. Thanks.” Eliza and I had offered to chip in, but Mark and Julian refused to let us contribute. To afford it, they had cleaned out Mr. Martinez’s garage, sorted the clutter into piles, then hauled it to either the dump or donation sites.
Eliza and I painted the inside of the garage to earn money for our pricey gowns. There weren’t many opportunities to make extra cash in our town, so when Mr. Martinez offered to pay anyone willing to help him fix up his house, a lot of us jumped at the chance. It was tough hearing him say that losing his wife had changed his priorities. They had scrimped and saved for the retirement trips they intended to take together. Without her, all he wanted was a woodworking shop where he could make furniture—and teach anyone interested in learning the skill.
Normally, seniors took their pre-prom photos at their homes, but we organized a surprise for him. About a third of the graduating class met at Mr. Martinez’s house for a group photo.
He cried.
I did too.
Mark reached out and tucked my curtain of hair behind my ear. “Hey, you okay?”
“Yeah,” I said softly. “Just thinking about Mr. Martinez. Beyond piano repair, I don’t really care about woodworking, but I might pretend I do. He was so happy to have us there. I hope people keep going to see him.”
“We should do it together,” Mark suggested.
I bounced excitedly. “Really? That would be incredible.”
I was breathless as I added, “If you go, everyone else will too, and he won’t ever have to worry about being alone.”
Mark’s head tipped to the side, studying me. Whatever he might have been about to say was interrupted by Eliza announcing that she and Julian were heading inside to find us a place to sit.
Mark and I joined the line leading to an arch of balloons where couples were being photographed. Kristen, the self-proclaimed prettiest girl at our school, rushed over to us. I prided myself on being open-minded and nonjudgmental, but talking to her often tested not only my patience but my ability to keep my thoughts to myself.
A year earlier, I had nearly lost it when she told me that, although it was something I wouldn’t understand, being beautiful was worse than being ugly because people expected her to always look her best.
Sometimes, she had claimed, I wish I could leave the house without makeup or a care in the world—like you do.
I didn’t throat-punch her because if I started throwing hands in her direction, I wasn’t sure I could stop.
She laid a hand on Mark’s arm in a possessive manner.
“Hey, you,” she said in a husky voice I was sure she thought was sexy. “We saved you a spot at our table.”
Mark shifted so her hand dropped away, and I fought back a smile. “I’m here with Lanie, Julian, and Eliza.”
Those cold blue eyes of hers swept over me, her nose wrinkling as if she had just smelled something unpleasant. “Look at you—all chastely covered up.”
I tried, but I couldn’t contain it. I gave her a once-over, noting the depth of her cleavage and the general minimum of material. “Look at you—not.”
Her eyes narrowed.
I widened mine innocently.
Mark might not have, but I would have sworn I heard him cough on a laugh.
She huffed and walked off.
Alone again, we joined a line leading to where people were signing in and lining up for photos.
“Sorry about that,” Mark said in a low tone.
My eyes flew to his. “Don’t be. You didn’t raise her.”
He barked out a laugh at that. When his expression sobered, he bent his head closer to mine again and murmured, “She can’t help herself. You have something she doesn’t.”
“Confidence?”
He groaned and pulled me to his side. “I was going to say me, but we’ll go with confidence.”
I smiled, and because it was the first thing that popped into my head, I blurted, “There’s a myth that prom nights result in increased pregnancies, but statistically, that’s not true.”
“What?” He was both laughing and confused.
“You know how my mother overthinks things. She didn’t want me to come to prom because she’s worried I’ll do something here that will keep me trapped in Maplebridge forever. I showed her real data on proms and pregnancies to reassure her. Don’t be shocked if she’s at the window watching for me when you drop me off. I told her there’s nothing to worry about. I mean, first of all, why would someone want their first time to be after they danced all night and got all sweaty? And second of all—I’m here with you.”
He pulled me closer, murmuring against my forehead, “Please stop talking.” Mark was a hugger—and not just with me. His parents were the same. They joked that touch was their love language. My family wasn’t physically affectionate, so when I first met Mark, I used to read meaning into every time he touched me. Over the years, I had learned to accept his arm around my shoulders or a full-body hug as just part of our friendship.
We had said we’d always be family, so maybe he saw me as the sister he didn’t have. But this hug was different—or at least, my reaction to it was. My heart started racing, my body flushed, and I shuddered against him.
When the line moved and we naturally separated, I blushed with embarrassment. First, I blurted out pregnancy statistics. Then I went all goofy just because he hugged me. If I wasn’t careful, I’d make a complete fool of myself.
Had I ever had a crush on him?
Of course.
At least once a year.
But we were strictly friends.
When things got confusing with my mom—or even with Eliza—I could text Mark, and he’d come and listen. Often, that was all it took for me to feel better. I did the same for him. We were each other’s safe harbor from the noise of life. With him, I could put aside my worries and responsibilities and be silly. With me, he could stop acting perfect and talk about the things that mattered to him most.
Even if there was some bizarre fold in the universe and he did start liking me, I had heard he’d been offered a full scholarship to a university clear across the country, while Eliza and I were planning to attend a much more affordable local state school.
Mark interrupted my thoughts with a joke. “Is it the sheer beauty of seeing me in a suit that has you looking nervous?”
“Sure.” I socked him in the arm.
He chuckled, then swept a hand down my bare back, settling on my lower back as he guided me toward an arch of balloons. The move felt possessive. Bold. I glanced back at him, unsure—and embarrassed at how much I liked his touch.
“Photo time,” he announced so casually I wondered if I was reading into the moment.
We stood side by side beneath the arch. A blinding light flashed. Before I could step away, he spun me and bent me backward over his arm. Taken off guard, I burst out laughing and grasped at him. He dipped his face down so it was just above mine.
Time stilled.
I forgot we were only friends.
Our breath mingled, our eyes locked, and the world around us disappeared. “You’re gorgeous,” he murmured.
And I was.
For just a moment, I was young, free, and... sexy for the first time in my life.
Eighteen and still very much a virgin, this was my first brush with desire.
It was heady.
And scary.
He’s leaving.
Nervously, I joked, “And you’re an idiot.”
He blinked a few times, slowly.
I regretted brushing off his comment immediately, but it was too late.
He gently righted me, and a heartbeat later, when Eliza called us to follow her, I did—without daring to look back. Mark trotted alongside Julian to a round table where we placed our things, then pulled out my chair, smiled down at me, and just like that, things were no longer awkward.
Friends —I reminded myself.
With a deep sigh, I pulled myself back from those memories.
I stood in the middle of my bedroom, angry with myself instead of Mark.
How could something that good have twisted into something so ugly?