Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
How accurately should I capture the current vibe? I tap the song before I weasel out.
“Hello Beautiful” by Noah Schnacky—pop country, sappy narrator. Sophie’s half obsessed with his sister, so that should count for something. The first notes trickle through the speakers.
A lack of clapping is never promising with Sophie. She gulps.
When she turns to me, I raise my brow. She nods, so I queue up a few more like it. I swap her phone with a water bottle in the cupholder and offer her a swig. She passes it back, so I toss it to the back seat. That’s what she’d do.
A slow song? What’s that about? I clear my throat. I need a topic. No telling what’s going on over there, but I’m too high strung.
“How do you like your classes this semester?”
She squeezes the wheel. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“The pedal on the right is the gas. The one in the middle—”
“Ha-ha.”
“It’s okay to not know your major freshman year, Soph. God’ll get you to the right spot.”
She attempts a smile. “I’m trying to believe that. You’re lucky you’re just great at something.”
What she means is that I always liked math and science, so engineering made sense. But I’m not great at it. And I don’t like how she’s talking about herself.
“No, I was great at football. I’ve just been winging it since I got hurt.”
With a quiet sigh, I avert my eyes to the trees passing by.
I hate keeping secrets from her. But telling her I might be leaving?
That would force the issue on my other secret.
If she asked me to stay, that’s it. All I’d need.
But if she didn’t … I don’t know how I’d come back from that.
Anyway, I can’t tell her about football until she has all the facts.
“Pity this school doesn’t have life-of-the-party or singer-from-heaven majors,” I say.
Show her what you have for her, God. Show her how much you love her. How much you like her.
My thumb brushes her shoulder until I realize—and yank back the offending arm. With her hair pulled back like this, I can see her tiny ear. I wanna kiss it.
I rub my eyes to reset. Maybe a green light with Sophie was never coming. Maybe what I’ve been praying for isn’t mine to hope for. Maybe I was meant for something else.
You get to pick. You’re the boss.
I clear my throat and force my voice into something normal. “Where ya drivin’, Soph?”
“Oh! Where am I going?”
“You’re on the right track.”
Using her phone, I check the hours—we’re good. I tell her the turns as they come. We pull into the mall, and she blinks at me.
I slide out of the Jeep and head inside. “Wait for it.”
Past Dillard’s, Mrs. Fields is almost in sight.
I reach around to cover her eyes with my hands.
Bad idea—too much touching—but I’m already pushing my luck tonight.
She stops in the middle of the mall corridor, and I nudge her along, soaking in her shampoo of the day.
She smells like berries today—raspberries.
“C’mon,” I tell her. “Almost there.”
Every inch of me aches this close to her.
She’s pure voltage, and I’m a breath from closing the gap.
My lips hover inches from her neck. The air between us fizzes.
I want to get this right … if there’s ever a right time.
But I’m only making it messier. I let my hands fall—before we’re all the way there—and tip my head instead.
“Oh! Cookie cake! Austin!”
Bouncing. Clapping. Just the reaction I was hoping for.
“Instant gratification!” she says with a squeal.
I wish. Waiting sucks.
We continue our wandering loop around the mall after finishing the last bites of cookie cake slices. Austin’s quiet tonight, but I’ll take time with him in any mood.
He pushes up his sleeves for the millionth time, sending his comforting scent into the air. Like pine trees and dryer sheets. “Ready for the next thing?”
“I thought you were in a hurry. How long do you have?”
He tilts his head in question. “I just wanted to get going. I have all night.”
I barely suppress an embarrassing grin. “Next thing.”
“You drive or me?”
“You.”
As soon as he starts the Jeep, I have “Chicken Fried” by Zac Brown Band waiting and add a couple more to the queue.
“How are things at home?” I ask. “Miss it already?”
He half-smiles. “My dad gets to help Uncle Drew do a controlled burn on their property. They had to wait for a good rain, so I missed it. Janie’s looking at colleges. It’s always good to be back.” His eyes gentle. “Was break okay for you?”
“So quiet.” I grimace. “My dad has his own life now, and Mom just works all the time. Anyhoo …”
“The New Year’s parade was a lot more interesting this year,” he says. “I had the coolest tour guide.”
I bump him with my elbow. My place is walkable to the Rose Parade.
I always go with a group of friends with a connection—someone who can get us into a building on Colorado Boulevard, where we can watch from high above.
The masses have to peek around heads or pack onto metal bleachers.
This year I FaceTimed with Austin so he could watch with me.
“Maybe someday you can come see it in person,” I say.
He’ll deflect. Flying all the way to Pasadena isn’t really a friend thing.
“Let’s do it.”
My breath catches. That wasn’t his agreeable yes.
He wants to. I could actually book the trip when the time comes.
Which means … he plans on being friends in a year.
Close enough friends to travel with. Is he thinking of staying at my house?
Under the same roof as my mother? That’s not happening.
I’ll find a way out of that part when we get there.
But sharing the parade with him would be everything.
Seeing the floats—completely made out of flowers and plants—being built from scratch and then lined up along Orange Grove.
I barely refrain from clapping and sneak a glance at him.
He clears his throat. Been doing that a lot tonight.
“You said you made it to the beach a couple times?” he asks.
That was a shift.
“Yep. Wouldn’t miss my beach time. The waves crashing, the sand in my toes, the wind flapping everywhere.” I mime a chef’s kiss.
“You don’t seem like a lay-in-the-sun person. I bet you play in the water.”
“It’s too cold to swim without a wetsuit this time of year. This last time I got to play beach volleyball.” The closest I get to my club volleyball days. “That’s my favorite.”
His eyes slide over, wide and unblinking. “Right. Of course. Beach volleyball,” he emphasizes, “and field trips with your mini-mes.”
I chuckle. He’s loved hearing about my girls’ antics.
He lets out a breathy laugh.
“You’re being weird tonight.” I tap his arm.
He swallows, then nudges mine. “Just missed my bestie.”
My heart squeezes. He makes this so hard.