“Uh-huh.” She glances at me from the corner of her eye.
“Like what about?”
She shrugs. “Just things. He’s curious. ?at’s his personality.”
“Like a cat, huh?” So this is nothing out of the ordinary. She doesn’t offer anything more, so I say, “Well, anyway. ?at’s all there is. He was just teasing me with these muffin things on the Bees, and—”
I feel rather than see Grace’s head swing in my direction. “WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?”
“Oh my God, Grace. My ear holes. I didn’t know you could be so loud.” We still have a line, so I plaster a fake smile on my face and pass tickets through the tiny hole in the window. “?at actually hurt my eardrums.”
“But that’s what you said, right? You said you were on the lifts with Porter? Why were you on the lifts with Porter?”
“It’s a long story.”
“We’ve got six hours.”
I sigh. Between customers, I give her the short version of the story. I don’t tell her about my ongoing hunt for Alex, because that seems too personal—I just tell her that I met Patrick and didn’t realize I was barking up the wrong tree.
“Patrick Killian?”
I sigh. How small is this town, anyway?
“He should have told you,” she says.
“I should have picked up on it.”
Grace shakes her head. “I still say he should have made it clearer. No way both of you got signals crossed. Shame on him.”
“I don’t know about that,” I say, but I appreciate her show of support.
She gives me the hurry-up signal.
I keep going with my story, leaving out most of the details, especially any details with secret feelings and legs touching. “He was just trying to cheer me up,” I say, when I tell her about Porter and the Bees. “It was no big deal.”
“Hmm,” is all she says.
“What does that mean?”
“It means, that’s all very interesting.”
“Why?”
Four quick raps on the Hotbox door. I startle. Grace squeals. Four knocks only means one person. My nerves go crazy as Grace opens the door.
“Ladies,” Porter says.
“Why, speak of the bloody devil,” Grace says, giving me a smile that is so wicked, I can hardly believe it’s on her sweet little face. I immediately regret I told her anything and try to signal back with my eyes: IF YOU GIVE AWAY ANYTHING, I WILL STRANGLE YOU IN YOUR SLEEP.
Porter glances at her, then me. I catch his gaze and try to look away, but it’s like honey. I’m stuck. I can feel my insides melting and my heart trying to outrun a horde of zombies. I can’t seem to inhale enough air. Stupid Hotbox. It’s sweltering. I feel physically ill and fear I’m going to pass out.
“Hey,” he says in a soft voice.
“Hey,” I say back.
Somewhere in the distance, I hear a light tap-tap-tapping.
“Bailey.” I really like it when he says my name. God, how silly is that?
