I flick on the indicator and put the truck in gear before carrying on down the quiet road.
My thumb burns, the warmth her lip left behind spreading through my body. I’ve spent five years worth of fleeting visits restraining from touching Lola like that but one tumultuous family dinner, one glimpse of her heart breaking, met with her stubborn fire, and all my reserves are down.
This girl doesn’t even know what she does to me.
I doubt I feature in her mind half as much as she does mine. I’m just the private school kid her parents played host to in the holidays, the interloper who meant she had to share a bathroom with one more person.
The boy she doesn’t even remember kissing.
No, my feelings for Lola are not reciprocated.
Except the traitorous, hopeful part of my brain can’t help but notice that she looks a little flustered—the apple of her cheeks flushed pink.
She doesn’t even know she’s playing with fire as she stares straight ahead and says, “Don’t worry, I’ve had a lot of experience using my mouth to get me out of tricky situations.”
My knuckles whiten around the steering wheel, and I swear my jaw pops. “Lola,” I warn, her name little more than a growl.
I catch the corner of the little brat’s lip curling up before she rests her elbow on the door and turns to face the window.
I shake my head and focus on the road ahead hard enough to drown out the images her words conjured. Images of her on her knees making use of that sassy mouth. Of my fingers threaded through her hair, those purple streaks soft on my skin. Of my dic?—
My phone buzzes from its perch in the center console, Mase’s name flashing on screen.
Lola turns away from the window. She looks down at the phone then up at me. Waiting. The space between her eyebrows crinkles. I want to reach over and smooth it out.
Instead, I hold her gaze and click the side button on the phone, sending the call to voicemail.
She lets out a shaky breath and goes back to watching the white pine trees our town is known for pass by. “Thank you,” she says, and her soft voice undoes me.
I don’t answer her, but I think I’d do anything to protect Lola from feeling like that again.
Chapter Five
Roman
Roman,
I have business to attend to and your mother is travelling so I’ve arranged for you to stay with the Fords again over Christmas.
Regards,
Richard Banks
- Email to Roman, age 16, from his father
The hardware storeis right in the center of Main Street nestled between Tea’s Bookshop and the red bricked town hall.
I park at the curb, nodding back as Tea waves at me from inside her shop. I’ve spent so much time in that store, scouring the non-fiction shelves, Tea’s taken to leaving a book she thinks I’ll like behind the desk for me each week. This week’s read is on how plants communicate with each other. So far, they seem to be better at it than people.
Lola climbs out of the truck and stretches up on tiptoes to rifle through one of the pockets in her backpack. She finds what she’s looking for and steps back, a sparkle in her eye and a set of keys in her hand.
I lean against the truck and cross my arms, letting her have this moment.
The door has seen better days, more gray now than white, and the glass windows are boarded up, but Lola runs her fingers over the flaking paint like it’s pure gold. She slides the key into the lock, joy lighting her face as it turns, and the door opens with the ring of a bell.
I find myself smiling, just happy to be an observer, but when she looks over her shoulder at me, my heart flips.
“You coming in?” she asks.
