“Gift wrap?” the clerk inquired.
I hadn’t worked out how to give River the book except that it had to be done in person. But him tearing open the wrapping paper while I waited would be excruciating.
“No,” I said. “It’s not a gift. It’s just…a thing. Nothing, really.”
The woman raised her eyebrows. “That will be eighty-five dollars for nothing, please.”
A smart-ass. I’d have to remember to come back to this store more often.
James met me on time, back on the sidewalk. “Where to next?”
“I have to drop this off,” I said, hefting the bookstore bag. “Won’t take but a second.”
“Whatever you need, sir.”
“I’m just saying, it’s not a big deal. A quick errand, and then we’re done.”
James frowned. “Is it unprofessional of me to say that you seem nervous?”
“Yes. Highly unprofessional. How dare you.” I ran my hands through my hair. “Have you ever been in love, James?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What’s it like?”
“The sweetest agony. A torture from which you never want to escape.”
“Sounds terrible.”
His eyebrows rose questioningly.
“God, no,” I said, waving my hands. “I’m not capable. I just want to know the warning signs. For…science.”
“The warning signs are part of the thrill, sir,” James said as he opened the car door for me. “It’s like skiing down a mountain. You’re scared shitless, dodging moguls, the wind whipping through your hair, and adrenaline coursing through your veins. Before you realize it, you’re at the bottom, and you don’t remember the fear. Only the exhilaration.”
I gaped. “Good grief, James… You’re a romantic.”
“I’ve been told, sir.”
“A question: what happens if, while you’re racing down the slope, you hit an ice patch, go veering off course, and slam into a tree?”
“In that case, you hope the ride was worth it.”
***
I directed James back to the Whitmore residence where he’d driven me months ago on homecoming night. As I did then, I had him park a short distance away to wait for me. I walked toward River’s house under a heavy sky that threatened rain, my nerves lit up like a switchboard.
He might not even be home. Did you think of that? You’re going to leave the book with his dad, perchance? “Hi, Mr. Whitmore. Your son tongue fucked me at school the other day, and now I’m thoroughly ruined. Here’s a car book. Have a nice day.”
Suddenly, I was at the front door and knocking before I could talk myself out of it. River answered.
He had on jeans and a tight-fitting dark green sweater that was smooth over his broad chest and highlighted every muscle in his arms and shoulders. But it was the smile that automatically came over hisface when he saw it was me that was my undoing. I felt it in every damn molecule of my body.
River Whitmore is one big warning sign.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” I parroted back.
