Gregory’s gaze is soft and direct on mine. He takes a deep breath. “Every memory of my dad is like that.”
Oh. My lungs deflate as I breathe out, my heart squeezing on his behalf. I have the urge to hug him, but I’m not sure he’d want me to, so I don’t. I wish I knew what to say when he brings up his dad.
He faces the wall again. “My mom says someday they might turn happy again, but I’m not sure I believe her.”
I swallow, my throat tight. “I hope she’s right.”
“Me too.”
He continues his tour of my room, asking about certain things, and his tone turns back to playful. I’m leaning against my dresser, watching him with a half smile on my face. He holds up a name badge hanging from a lanyard, citing me as a volunteer for the shark education program at a local conservation organization. “You would.”
I’m not offended because he sounds strangely affectionate when he says it, and also because yes, I would. And I did. And I’ll do it again next year.
He gingerly picks up a paper crane, which sits with a collection of origami creations. A frog, a turtle, a butterfly. He cocks one eyebrow and looks at me quizzically.
“Kat made them,” I explain. “She used to spend the night every Friday night, but she’s an early riser and I like to sleep in. I got tired of waking up to her all pissed off that she was bored just waiting for me to get up, so one day when I saw an origami kit at the bookstore, I bought it for her. Every Saturday morning after that she had something to do, and I’d wake up to her perfecting a new animal. She always left me the best ones.”
“Kat’s origami collection,” he murmurs. “Interesting.” He moves on and touches the corner of a school play program I have pinned to a corkboard. “Were you in this?”
“Yup,” I say proudly. “Townsperson number three.”
He gives me a look. “Ensemble? That was worth keeping the program for?”
“The ensemblemakesthe performance!” I cry, indignant.
“Sure. Keep telling yourself that.” He gingerly taps a dried rose petal from a corsage. “School dance?”
I nod. “It was, um… memorable.”
His brown eyes meet mine. “Why?”
I immediately realize my misstep, and my cheeks flush.
Gregory grins. “Ooh, what is it? Something good happened at this dance, huh?” He adds flair to the way he says “good,” like I did something obscene.
“I had my first kiss that night, okay?”
“Mmm,” he murmurs. “First kiss, huh?” His gaze flickers to my mouth, and my heart takes off at a sprint. I’m suddenly extra aware that his entire upper half is bare, all that smooth, lightly freckled skin taking up space in my room. “It was a good one, then. For you to want to remember it.”
“Yeah,” I manage, my face hotter than the sun. “It was.”
He nods, expression thoughtful. “I wish mine had been like that.”
“It wasn’t?” I don’t know why I’m so surprised. I suppose it’s possible Gregory’s first kiss was awkward or fumbling, because lots of them are. But I’d bet my entire summer’s worth of tip money that he mastered the art pretty quickly. I’ve spent a lot of time with him lately, and I know he’s a fast learner. He’s also a guy who watches, listens, and pays attention. He knows when to move slow and with intention, and having someone like that kiss you…
“It was my best friend, Wren,” he finally says. “And it was a mistake because we didn’t really like each other like that. I think we both just wanted to get the first one over with. It wasn’t bad, but it was super weird and we never did it again.”
I’m immediately jealous of Wren—only because he’d probably never describe me as his best friend. It’s not the kiss thing. Nope.
“Are you still friends?”
“Yeah. I think she’s the reason my mom’s letting me go back for the school year. I put Wren on speaker, and she told my mom she wouldn’t survive junior year without me. I keep hoping she’ll come visit before the summer’s over, but her parents aren’t going for it. Yet.”
“That’s cool.” I reach out to flip the switch that controls the ceiling fan. I don’t really want to talk about Gregory leaving at the end of the summer.
He turns to continue his inspection of my room, then suddenly freezes. I go on high alert. What is it? Did I leave a bra out? My secret stash of romance novels? Did my notebook fall open to an old page where Kat and I listed requirements for our future husbands?
“Amelia Madden.”
