After a heart-stopping moment of panic, he kisses me back.
Pulling me gently against him, Reeve takes my face in his hands. Breathless, I find myself clutching at his shoulders, his neck, overwhelmed with the intensity of his mouth on mine, his teeth grazing at my lips . . .
Oh, God.
I’m not sure how long it is before I break it off. I don’t even know why I do it, except . . . it’s too much. I pull away, unsteady, tugging at my soaked T-shirt, which has somehow risen up around my bra.
“We better get back,” I say, when words finally manage to form in my brain.
“Back. Sure. I mean . . .” He straightens up his own twisted shirt, clearly flustered. I’m gratified to see that he needs to recover, too. At least I’m not alone in feeling overwhelmed by this. After a moment, he picks up his bag.
“The rain’s stopped,” he says, sounding anything but casual.
“It did?” I look up. The pine trees around us are thick with dewdrops, but there are no more showers or thunder. Instead, there’s a heavy silence stretching through the forest. “I didn’t notice.” I look at him shyly, and to my relief, he grins back — conspiratorial and happy.
“C’mon, before you freeze to death.” He holds out his hand, and I take it, feeling completely invincible.
25
He doesn’t call.
It’s been three days since the hiking trip. Three days since Reeve kissed me like we were the only people in the world, and my giddy elation has faded to anxious insecurity. He still hasn’t called me.
“Will you stop that?” Fiona snaps as I reach to check my phone for the thirty-fifth time this afternoon. “Who are you waiting to hear from, anyway?”
“No one,” I answer quickly, snapping the display shut. I try not to sigh. “Just . . . Olivia.”
“Your little eco-friend?” Fiona expertly stuffs a down pillow into a crisp pillowcase, gives it a swift pummeling, and then tosses it on the pile. Finally, we found a job to suit her. “What’s up with her? You don’t drone on about her the way you used to.”
“Nothing,” I say, a little defensive. “She’s just . . . busy. I am, too.”
“Sure you are.” Fiona smirks at me. “Those sheets won’t fold themselves.”
I keep folding. Despite what I told Fiona, I’ve been feeling Olivia’s absence even more these last few days. She’s not answering her cell, and I’m sick of leaving messages only to get a three-word text in reply. Moments like this are when I need my best friend the most, to tell me everything will be OK with Reeve, that this is just a stupid boy thing, and not proof that he regrets it all and never wants to speak to me again. Or, worse still, doesn’t even care.
My cell phone starts to ring. I leap for it.
“Hello?” I answer excitedly, but my enthusiasm quickly fades. “Oh, Mom, hey.”
“Is this a bad time, sweetie?”
I look around at Fiona and the stacked laundry room. “Nope, it’s cool.” Leaving the sheets in a warm heap, I wander out into the hallway, barefoot. The screen door is propped open, so I sit down on the step, looking out at the rhododendron bushes in the yard. “What’s up?”
“Oh, nothing new really. I just wanted to check and see how you’re doing.” There’s a strain in her tone, as if she’s tired, but it’s still nice to hear her voice. It’s the first time I’ve been away from her for so long.
“I’m good. Things at the B and B are really coming together, so everyone’s working flat out.” I pause, picking at the nail polish on my big toe before asking, “How’s Dad?”
“Your father’s fine. Isn’t he e-mailing you?”
“Yes. Well, kind of.” I don’t want to tell her how much he’s raving about Swedish food, Swedish art, and all those freaking fjords. But maybe she already knows, because she suddenly changes the subject.
“Your grandmother sends her love. She’s out getting her hair done at the moment, but you should call back later. She’d love to hear your voice.”
“OK.”
“We went out to dinner last night at that Italian place here. Do you remember it? The one with all those actors’ photos on the wall, and . . .”
As she chats, I tell myself I’m being completely paranoid about this whole “summer apart” thing. Her replies are perfectly normal; it doesn’t seem like anything’s wrong.
“How are the kids, in your classes?” I try to sound cheerful.
She laughs. “A handful to say the least. But I’m enjoying it. I might take up some part-time work when we get back.” She pauses. “How would you feel about that?”
“Sure, that sounds cool. What does Dad think?”
There’s silence. “Your father is so busy, I haven’t mentioned it yet.”
“Oh.”
They used to talk about everything.
“Anyway, honey, I wanted to talk to you about something.” Her voice drops, suddenly serious. “About next year. We’ve got to be prepared for some, changes . . .” She trails off, nervous, and there it is again: fear, low in my gut. I can only imagine what kind of changes she means.
“Sorry, Mom — I’ve got to go!” I say brightly before she can say another word. “Things are . . . busy around here, and I’ve got plans. Talk soon!”
“OK.” She pauses, sighing slightly. “You take care. I love you.”
“You too.”
I close my phone slowly and then leap up, restless. I don’t want to sit around, folding laundry and waiting for a call that’s obviously not going to come. Reeve has stayed away so far, so how about I go looking for him?
Or maybe not.
As I cycle slowly down Main Street later that afternoon, the old lady at the gas station shoots me a strange look. I don’t blame her. This is my fourth loop around town, and there’s still no sign of Reeve. There’s barely a sign of anyone at all.
I pull over by the patch of playground and climb off, abandoning my bike and collapsing onto one of the kids’ swings. I can’t help but feel like an idiot. Reeve must have a good reason for not getting in touch yet: maybe something’s happened with his mom, or he’s been pulling extra shifts. And here I am, practically stalking him through town in a pair of denim cut-offs and my cutest blue shirt because of one stupid kiss.
OK. One amazing, earth-moving kiss.