It's okay to miss him, but you can't let grief control your life.
"I know," I snapped.
Gael's eyes widened in surprise.
"I mean, I know it's different," I said, trying to regain my composure. "That's the point."
Gael flicked his eyes away, focusing on the stage. "There was nothing wrong with the old Cerise," he said quietly.
I clenched my jaw. "I'm going to get a drink."
A wall of tented vendor booths surrounded the courtyard in a semicircle, penning in the concert audience. Some were handing out water bottles branded with sponsor logos. I snatched one up and, before anyone could notice, slid my way between the small gap between two booths.
There were no crowds on this side of the tent wall. The noise and furor was muted.
I took in a deep breath. Then another. And another. Slowly my heartbeat calmed.
For someone who drank like a fish and brought a new girl home every night, Gael could be oddly perceptive when it came to his little sister.
He was wrong though. There had been something wrong with the old Cerise.
The old Cerise had been too sheltered. Too naïve. The old Cerise didn't know how awful the world could be.
The old Cerise couldn't handle losing Harper. She'd fallen apart. She'd let herself break. She hadn't been able to deal with the way he'd…
My chest clenched. Pinpricks of tears threatened to sting my eyes. I blinked rapidly and took a swig from my water bottle to wet my dry throat.
"Hey there, Cherry Lips."
I choked, sputtering, as a voice spoke up and surprised me. Droplets of water splashed down my chin and onto my shirt. I wiped at my face with the back of my hand, turning to face the voice.
I was confronted by a man with wavy brown hair and stunning green eyes. He wore a black and whiteOur Lady Peaceband t-shirt stretched tight around broad shoulders. I inhaled a sharp breath. This guy was beyond good looking. I felt like an idiot for having made a fool of myself in front of him. I folded my arms over my chest, as if somehow that would hide my embarrassment.
"What did you call me?" My words came out strangled, still coughing water out of my lungs. So much for not looking like an idiot.
The man shrugged easily. "Seemed appropriate. Your lips are cherry red." He scanned me up and down, from the top of my newly dyed hair, to the toes of my black boots, to the ends of my bright red nails. "I'm sensing a theme."
That was two guys commenting on my fashion choice in one day. Maybe I was taking it too far.
"I like it," he continued. A hint of amusement glinted in those green eyes. "It's cute."
My heart did something I hadn't felt it do in a long time.
It fluttered.
My grip tightened on the water bottle, crushing it. I pretended to wrinkle my nose in disgust. "Don't call me cute."
"Wait, let me guess." He tapped his finger to his mouth as if he were in deep thought. His own nails were tipped with black nail varnish. "Dyed red hair, combat boots, thick black eyeliner… You're aiming for cool, powerful, and fierce, right?"
I scowled to cover up the flush on my cheeks.
His shoulders shook with silent laughter.
"And what would you know about cool?" I shot back.
The smile on his lips didn't fade. "I know that trying to look cool on purpose doesn't work."
I cast my eyes down, avoiding his gaze.
