Say You Still Love Me(41)

“They’re in comas. They’re not waking up—”

“But what if they do?”

“Then you take them! It’s right there!” I gesture over my shoulder in the direction of the restrooms, not bothering to hide my annoyance. “I’ve got to go. I’ll be back in a bit.” I turn to leave.

“Don’t hook up with him,” she blurts, as if unable to keep it in any longer.

So this is really about Kyle. I sigh. “Why? Because you don’t like him?”

“No.” She closes the distance. “Because you don’t know him.”

I can’t help it. I laugh. “And you do?”

Her brow tightens. “No. I just know things, okay?”

My curiosity gets the better of me. “Like?”

“Like . . .” She looks ready to swallow her tongue, keeping whatever’s on her mind from spilling out. “You have to be around him for the next two months, you know.”

Something tells me that’s not what she was going to say.

Now it’s my turn to fold my arms over my chest. “And?” Two months of seeing Kyle every day doesn’t sound like a hardship. It’s what happens after those two months that should worry me. What happens when we both go home? I guess we can drive back and forth to see each other. I’ll have my shiny new car . . .

Christa interrupts my daydream with, “What happens if it doesn’t work out and he hooks up with someone else?”

“Oh my God. Okay.” I laugh, raising a hand. “You have got to learn how to chill, Christa. I’m not gonna think about ending things when I’m not sure if we’re even together yet.” Though hopefully that will change tonight. If Christa would just go back to sleep.

I turn to leave again.

“Ask him about his father!”

And I’m reeled back in. “What do you mean?” I frown. “What about his father?”

She lifts her chin in an indignant way. “No one else around here knows, but I do. And that story about the robbery? That was the real lie. Well, technically it was the truth, but he left out the important details . . .”

Something small cuts through the air behind Christa’s head and swoops past the cracked door into our cabin, distracting me completely. “What was that?”

Christa pauses. “What was what?”

“I think a bird just flew into our cabin.”

“A bird . . .” Two beats pass and then Christa’s eyes widen. “No! No no no no no . . .” She bolts inside. I run in after her, just as the interior of our cabin is bathed in light. Her sharp gaze searches the ceiling’s corners. “There!” As sleeping bags begin to rustle and squinty-eyed faces emerge, she points to the far corner, where a small, wiry black body clings. “It’s not a bird. It’s a bat!”

In those few seconds of calm before reality registers and mass pandemonium explodes, I let out a disappointed sigh.

So much for seeing Kyle tonight.





Chapter 9



NOW


“No!”

“Come on . . .” David’s on my heels as we enter the building after an industry breakfast meeting. “Just lend him to me for the day!”

“Mark is not a damn pen to be passed around!” I take a calming breath as my gaze settles on the cluster of people loitering around the front desk. Visitors, waiting to get signed in. Kyle sits somewhere behind them, taking down information, handing out badges. Offering them polite smiles and banal greetings, with no more familiarity than he has shown me these past two weeks since he started working in the building.

My intelligent, mature self keeps telling me to let it go. That what we had was thirteen years ago. We were teenagers then. Stupid kids, really. We’re adults now, and complete strangers. If Kyle wants to keep it that way . . . fine.

Except he was the first boy I ever loved—my first in many ways—and he crushed me. How can he keep treating me like I mean nothing to him?

I have to stop thinking about the mischievous, playful guy from Camp Wawa. The one who was chasing and charming me from the moment he first laid eyes on me. The one who grabbed my attention from forty feet away and seized my heart not long after.

Clearly, that guy is long gone.

Plus, Kyle’s involved with someone else. I’m not getting in the middle of that.

“Piper!” David’s annoyed bark startles me. He asked me a question. What, I have no idea.

“What was wrong with that lady from a couple of days ago? The one with the thick glasses. Carla said she was perfect.”

“Who? Grandma Ethel?” David snorts derisively. “She called me dearie three times during her interview.”

I mock-gasp. “Oh, the horror!”

“And she flat-out refused to do dry cleaning or coffee runs, or work past four P.M.”

The crowd ahead dissipates. As much as I want to stroll right past without glancing, it’s impossible. My eyes veer toward Kyle, sitting in his chair—to his chiseled jaw and high cheekbones and his full lips, noting how much thicker and more stylish his hair looks now. He was attractive as a seventeen-year-old boy; he has become dangerously handsome as a man.

And his steady gaze is on me.

“Come on, Piper . . . help me out,” David whines. “Just for the week.”