Wild Reckless (Harper Boys #1)(69)
The knock on the door was faint, but I heard it. I was awake, listening for the sound of Owen’s truck, waiting for him to be awake too. Instead, the only other person awake at this hour near my home was whoever left this package on my doorstep.
I know it was Gaby.
There was no return address, only my name and house number. More than suspicious—it was obvious. Yet, I brought it inside with me anyhow. I tried not to open it. But I’ve never been good at ignoring impulses. The pull—it was just too much. I had to know what was inside.
Digging my nails into the taped sides, I pulled the flap of the cardboard free, then pulled out the layers of tissue paper hiding my gift. I recognized the dress as soon as I saw the blue fabric of the sleeve. I’ve coveted Gaby’s blue Alexander McQueen dress since the day her mother bought it for her. She let me wear it to one of my performances, and it was the one that caught the attention of recruiters from Tisch and Julliard. She never let me borrow it again—and now, part of me thinks she was jealous of the attention I received when I wore it.
Gaby was always in it for our school dances our junior year. And now, sitting here, looking at it resting in crumpled tissue paper—in a non-descript brown box, borrowed from something else—I can’t help but wonder if she wore it for my father.
“I’m going to burn you,” I say to myself, to the dress, a small smile inching up my lips.
There’s a letter in the box—a letter I have no intention of reading. I don’t even bother to tear the small seal on the envelope; instead I stuff the letter into the crinkles of the tissue paper surrounding the dress.
The incessant faint knock that’s happening at my door again feels different this time, and I welcome being pulled away from Gaby’s sad attempt to erase the damage she did to our friendship. I toss the box to the floor, leap to my feet, and patter down the stairs quickly, opening the door to a rush of cool air and faint flakes of snow falling behind Owen.
“Looks like it’s a white birthday for you,” he says, his hands held behind his back awkwardly. I step up on my toes and kiss his cold lips, then tug him into my house by the collar of his shirt. “So pushy,” he teases.
“What’s behind your back,” I say, pulling on his elbow now.
“Wow, you are like…all about the presents, aren’t you?” he says, his playful smile curling one end of his mouth as he unwraps his neck from his scarf.
“Maybe,” I smirk. “Now, gimme, gimme, gimme!”
I pull the bag from his hand and rush to the kitchen with it, Owen trailing behind me, his feet dragging and his hand running along his chin. “I was kind of hoping you would open it later,” he says, his brow pulled in as he looks from me to the front door and back again. “I saw Willow pulling up out front, and now just feels weird…”
He trails off, his shoulders slumped, and his spirit deflated. He’s embarrassed, and as much as I’m dying to crack open the bag with his gift, the fact that giving it to me alone is important to him means a hell of a lot more.
“Okay, I’ll put it in my room. Won’t peek; I promise!” I say, crossing my heart and zipping past Owen in my socks, gliding along the floor and up the stairs. When I get to my room, the box with the blue dress immediately confronts me, and its presence pisses me off. I kick it under my bed, and then pull my comforter down on the side, completely hiding it from my view.
The doorbell rings loudly as I set Owen’s gift in its rightful spot atop my pillow. I race back downstairs, trying to reach the door before Willow has a chance to push the bell again, but I’m too slow.
“Jesus Christ, you’re impatient,” I say, flinging the door open to a shivering group of four.
“It’s cold. My hand slipped,” Willow says, somehow still managing to pop a bubble between her lips despite the rapidly dropping temperature on my porch.
“My mom was sleeping in,” I explain, before my mother cuts me off and finishes for me.
“She was. She’s up now,” my mom says through an irritated yawn. “Who wants pancakes?”
“Oh, do you have more of that bacon?” Owen says, surprisingly not shy. I’m a little less upset about the bacon-sharing with my mother now that I know their early morning meeting was all about getting me a set of wheels for my birthday.
“You got it. I’ll grill up the rest of it,” my mom says, winking at Owen. My belly grows warm seeing her accept him so completely.
Willow, Jess, Elise, and Ryan start slipping out of their coats and hats and gloves in my front room, leaving a pile of winter clothing gathered around our front door, and this scene makes me even happier. I love their mess.
“We’re still carving pumpkins, right? We have to carve pumpkins! I brought my tools and everything,” Elise says, and I can’t help but quirk an eyebrow at her odd pumpkin fascination.
“It’s her favorite holiday. And she’s kind of a bad-ass pumpkin carver,” Ryan says, shrugging.
“All right then, pumpkins it is!” I say, looking over Elise’s shoulder, out the window that is growing frostier by the second.
“Oh, don’t worry about that snow. It’s not real snow. It’s supposed to stop in an hour or two and clear out until next week,” Elise says, very insistent that weather does not detour us from our pumpkin mission.
“It’s just going to be freezing-ass cold. Awesome time to walk around a field and pick up wet pumpkins,” Jess says, rubbing his eyes as he passes me and heads straight for the pot of coffee brewing on the counter. “Can we stop this mid-cycle so I can get a cup now?”