“All right, you’ve got a point. Let’s call it a list of endearing character traits then. No heart pouring involved. After all, I wouldn’t want you to have to reveal why you’ve looked like you’re in pain since the moment you walked in this place.”
I swallow.
No, I do not want to have to do that.
“What if I don’t… have a list of charming ways to describe myself to you?” I cast my eyes down to the floor.
I could tell him I have a habit of sneaking out of my house at four in the morning. Part of me thinks he’d appreciate that. But the other, more sensible part of me believes aneighborshould not know that kind of information.
“Wait!” I shout, thrusting a finger in the air. “The sound of gum chewing repulses me!”
It’s not until the words tumble out of my mouth that I hear how stupid they sound.
“Wow, that’s not charming,” I say, shrinking my neck toward my shoulders.
“Oh, believe me, it is,” he says. “But how about you tell me who youwantto be instead.”
Who I want to be?
Not the kind of girl who squirms under his comfortable and confident stare, that’s for sure. It’s hard to think with him looking at me like that.
“I want to be…”
“I’m listening,” he encourages.
I suck in a gust of air, then let it out as a confession: “Someone who skinny dips.”
My hand lifts to cover my mouth as if I can snatch my words from the air and stuff them back in. Tuck them in a box and lock it with a deadbolt.
Holy crap, I can’t believe I just told him that.You don’t divulge your private desires of swimming in the nude to guys you just met.
His eyebrows lift and then dissolve into a pleased grin that spreads across his whole face.
Or maybe you do? I think he liked it.
Sweat gathers on my palms, and I clench my fists to my sides, praying he can’t see. Then I start spewing the rest of my thoughts like aPrice is Rightcontestant.
“I want to be someone who slow dances in the middle of a crowded room because she can’t help but move to the music. Who eats an ice cream cone with her teeth even if it causes an instant brain freeze. Who jumps from a rope swing into ice-cold waters and doesn’t build her life around other people’s expectations. Someone whofeelseverything, all at once.”
I take a deep breath as Reed drops into the nearest chair, covering his heart with his hand.
“Teddy Fletcher, you might be the most interesting girl who has ever lived.”
CHAPTER SIX
SUMMER, NINE YEARS AGO
“Are you kids having a good summer?” my dad asks Miles and me one night as we sit together around the patio.
He reclines against the back of his Adirondack chair, his flip flops inches from the brick campfire’s open flame. My mom sits in the complete opposite position—perched on the arm of her chair, glasses pushed up high on the bridge of her nose, and studying the amber glow of the coals as she swirls the tip of a marshmallow-trio stick.
“The best,” I mumble.
“Me too,” Miles says.
We both giggle when our lips stick together from gooey s’mores.
My sketchbook lies open in my lap, and I shove the rest of my dessert in my mouth just as a pelican soars toward the water out past our dock. I jerk to an upright position and yank my charcoal pencil from where it’s tucked in the binding. I chew on the tip of my tongue, working the fine point of the pencil with flicks of my wrist to get the snowy feathers just right.
