Chapter Sixteen
Levi
M arigold sat beside me in the cab of my Chevy wearing cut-off shorts and a sporty green tank top with a racer-back.
We’d been flirting with the fallout of our kiss for almost a week. I never should have kissed her.
But I wished to do it again.
I couldn’t. Not without telling her the truth. The distance between us was uncomfortable, but we could heal and move on.
Our eyes met for the briefest of seconds before I looked back toward the windshield. Her hair was pulled into a pony at the base of her neck. It was the first time I’d seen her with her hair up, and it was just as lovely as when it sprang wild around her face.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“I told you it’s a surprise.”
We bumped onto an almost-forgotten road with cracked pavement. Green shoots sprang from the crumbling concrete. Animal trails veered into the woods. I steered the truck off the disintegrating road and parked on the shoulder.
She tucked an uncooperative strand of hair behind her ear and met me at the tailgate as I slung a backpack out of the bed. “This way.” Twigs snapped and leaves whooshed as I foraged into the woods. “There’s no trail. Stay close.”
Hiking on Ghost Mountain was similar to hiking in the Great Smoky Mountains. A mist obscured the woods in an ethereal haze. Rich brown tree trunks rose from the ground with gnarled bark that stretched upward to reveal dark green leaves, lush with robust veins and dewdrops. Boulders and slabs of rock protruded from the earth along the landscape to create an enchanted forest feel.
Moisture stuck to my legs, arms, and cheeks as I tugged the backpack straps tighter and moved into the untamed woods.
A cold breeze swirled around me. In the past, I’d imagine a ghost greeting me as I walked its territory. But I knew better now. Ghosts were real. They were flesh and blood. One walked behind me. Still, the cool, otherworldly fog felt like a premonition. A warning or an invitation.
The tranquility of the woods invited my mind to wander.
I remembered the day Lillian's dad was arrested. I remembered the night she broke up with me in an alley filled with shattered glass. Glass she’d thrown against the walls. I remembered my dad in the casket. And then I remembered Shelly Hooper’s broken body on the cliff.
The wintry wind rolled around me again and I looked over my shoulder. “Do you feel that?”
She stopped. “Feel what?”
“A cold breeze.”
She stilled. “No.”
A sense of urgency filled my chest as the swirling chill turned my head.
Above us, etched into the bark of a towering oak tree, were initials intertwined within a heart. Marigold’s eyes met mine, drawn to the intricate carving. The heart, positioned just above my eye level, bore the letters DES she was simply comfortable in her skin.
When she turned, I spied more freckles across her back. I wanted to lay beside her and play connect the dots all day long.
Suddenly, cooling in the creek seemed like the perfect idea. “Fine.” I took off my shirt and stripped to my boxers.
She perched on the edge of the rock, feet in the water and teeth set in a bracing grin. “It’s not too cold,” she forced out.
I stepped in until the water reached my knees. Slippery river rocks made it hard to stand, so I maneuvered to a waterlogged branch and then held my hand out toward Marigold.
She stood, her body dappled in leaf shadows, and then she stretched toward me. Step by step, she wobbled forward. When her foot slipped on a rock, I lunged to catch her by the waist and pulled her to me. We paused at the center of the creek, and I kept my arm around her. If my grip traveled any lower, I’d touch her curves. I kept my hand in a gentlemanly position until I realized she could stand just fine on her own, and then I released her.
Her teeth chattered. “Not—” she gasped—“cold . . . at all.”
“Hilarious,” I said in a deadpan voice. I turned and climbed onto the thick branch behind us. The water didn’t rise above my knees.
“Help me up.”
I tucked my arm around her and hauled her beside me. Her hip touched mine.
“You about done with this madness?” I asked.
She glowed. “I feel refreshed. How about you?”
“Refreshed is one word for it.” I pointed down the length of the tree branch I still held. “We can climb on this branch and walk back to the riverside.” I pointed to my backpack resting on the rock.
“You first,” she said.
I maneuvered around her and hauled myself onto the tree. With careful hand placement, I crouched and then crept along the slippery waterlogged bark until a mighty shake sent me toppling into the river. A shake that could only have been caused by one person. Marigold!
The sudden immersion of cold stole the breath from my lungs. I surfaced with a gasp. Marigold stood waist-deep in the creek holding the branch, tears streaming down her cheeks and laughter pulsing her stomach.
“You won’t get away with that.” I grinned.
I powered through the water and lifted her over my shoulder. A half-scream, half-laugh rushed out of her before I tossed her into the water.
Seconds later, she surfaced with mouth agape, arms wrapping around her shoulders. “That’s colder than Antarctica.”
The smile on my face hurt. When was the last time I had smiled this widely? “You done swimming now?”
She nodded with chattering teeth and held out an arm. I hauled her toward me, and then we plodded through the rushing water back to our rock. She lay in the sun. Her bra and underwear were soaked and see-through, but she didn’t cover herself.
Her sense of self-worth and acceptance attracted me more than her body. How had my brain and my words created a girl like this? I’d never met a woman with no physical insecurities.
She reached her arms toward the sun. “Warm me.”
“If you stay there, you’ll warm up so quickly you’ll want to jump back in.”
“You said you brought sandwiches?”
Unlike Marigold, I preferred to cover what the water had uncovered. I sat on the rock and set the backpack in front of me like a shield. “Yep. PB and J and a few peaches.”
“Sounds perfect. Will you bring them here? You can dry off too.”
Proximity to her could be dangerous. The chemistry between us was as tangible as the water rushing past us. I wanted to draw her close and kiss her, tell her I didn’t mean it when I pulled away from her lips all those days ago—but I couldn’t give in to these impulses. I still couldn’t tell her the truth.
“It’s September now,” I said as I moved just close enough to toss her a sandwich.
“I know.” She caught the bag and folded the edges down to take a bite.
“Every September the town hosts a Labor Day event. Would you like to go with me?”
She talked around the bite of PB and J. “Are you kidding? I’ve got nothing else to do. Will Ezra be there?” A worried expression flitted across her face before she masked it.
“Why would that matter?”
She shrugged. “He helped me find the part for the truck, and I need to find another.”
“I can take you to the farm.”
“I know, but—never mind.”
My body buzzed with alarm. I was missing something important, and I had no idea what it was.
“Do you—” I stared. “Would you still like to go to the Labor Day events?”
“Yes. On Monday?”
I nodded.
On the surface, the day was a success. We’d gotten out of the confines of the cabin. We’d reconnected as friends, but in the cracks of my chest, I worried that we’d opened a new chasm.
She saw Donner once a week, but did she see Ezra too? The idea was preposterous. Why would they have any reason to converse or spend time together?
But if they hadn’t, why would Marigold ask about him?
I couldn’t force her to see things from my perspective. I couldn't convince her that Ezra’s heart was poisoned with hate.
Is this what Lillian felt when I went on tour with Ryker Tucker?
Left out? On the sidelines? Worried?
I should come clean. Tell her everything and see if she’d accept me.
No. I couldn’t lose her.
She stretched out on the rock a few feet away, her eyes closed and a blissful smile on her face.
A pang shot through my chest. Had our bond deepened too much? I feared that, now, telling her the truth might feel like the ultimate act of betrayal.