His Reverie (Reverie #1)(7)

Right now though, locked away in my room, my thoughts are anything but blank. They are full of the boy I met today. The boy I talked to. The boy who talked to me.

I can’t help but wonder what Nicholas’ lips feel like. They were full and looked soft. I’ve never been kissed and I want to be so bad. I read a lot. Scandalous romance books Daddy would flip out over if he ever found out. I watch as many romantic movies as Daddy approves of because I want that. A special love, a boy who will want me and love me above all else, who will do anything for me. Do anything to have me…

4

Reverie: a daydream.

June 27th

I’ve worked at Hale House for four days. I’ve cleaned out stalls, I’ve mowed the back lawn—which felt like a billion acres but whatever—I’ve moved rocks from one pile to another, I’ve weeded the garden, I’ve cleaned out the pool house, I blew up all the toys with an air compressor for the pool party they were having yesterday afternoon for a bunch of screaming brats and I trimmed all the bushes in the rose garden. My arms are now covered in scratches from the thorns and my entire body aches in a way I don’t think I’ve ever experienced. Not even in jail. Not even when I was on the football team my freshman year in high school, which feels like another lifetime.

But the one thing I haven’t done at Hale House is seen my little daydream. Not one glimpse, not a mention of her name, nothing. I’ve seen Harold Hale. I’ve even spoken to him though I have no idea how to address the guy. Reverend Hale? Minister Hale? Preacher Man Hale?

I just call him sir. I figure that’s gotta work best.

I’m starting to wonder if I imagined her. Reverie. Fitting right? Considering the meaning of her name. I don’t wanna ask Michael about her because next thing I know, he’s giving me grief. And that guy loves to dish out the grief, trust me. I’ve learned that quick.

So I keep my mouth shut and my head down for the most part. Only occasionally looking up in the hopes I see Rev.

Reverie.

She’s still not a Rev to me. The nickname feels edgy, tough and it doesn’t fit her. She looked like some sort of fairy princess when I first saw her. The sunlight in her hair, shining through the skirt of her dress and highlighting those endless legs…she was gorgeous. She comes to me in my dreams. Pretty and smiling and laughing. I haven’t dreamed about anything in weeks. Months. My mind is…void. After I lost Mom, I felt like I had nothing. Thought nothing. No emotions. No family. No friends.

I have a job. That’s it. A place to sleep at night and a car to drive. Mom’s old car. I don’t have anything else. I don’t need anything else. That’s what I believed.

Until I met her and suddenly, she’s all I can think about.

“Get to movin’, Fairfield,” Michael says, nudging the center of my back and nearly sending me sprawling. I save myself from falling and send him a dirty look over my shoulder, making him laugh.

“What are we in for today?” I ask as we start walking toward the giant barn that’s behind the equally giant garage. It’s not really a barn, though I guess it was one once and that’s what everyone still calls it. The Hales converted it into a cavernous room where they can entertain people. Like a reception hall or something, with a full kitchen built right in the center. I’ve seen these sorts of things like the VFW hall in town but never on someone’s property.

“They have a ton of Fourth of July stuff they want taken out of storage,” Michael says as he pushes open one of the double doors to the barn. I follow him inside, my gaze snagging on all the art lining the walls. I never noticed it before, but then the last time I came in here, I ran into the kitchen to pick up some extra silverware for Mrs. Hale and then left, too focused on grabbing what I needed versus lingering around checking the place out.

Every single painting is of God, an angel, or Jesus, or some other biblical looking character. They look really old fashioned and I stop and study one of them. It’s of a scary looking Jesus hanging on the cross with a crown of thorns around his head, blood dripping down his face. His eyes are looking upward, thick nails through each of his palms and I can’t help but stare, horror running through me.

Freaking creepy. I thought religion was supposed to give you hope and purpose, not scare the crap out of you.

“Come on dude, help me out over here. We have to carry out all this patriotic crap,” Michael calls.

I find him standing in front of a closet full of clear plastic storage bins on the shelves, every bin stuffed with red, white and blue decorations. We each brought a hand truck with us so I go to the closet and start grabbing boxes, handing them to Michael so he can stack them and we can wheel them out of here.

“So I’m guessing they throw a huge party for the Fourth?” I ask, trying to make conversation. Not that it’s hard to talk to Michael. The guy always has something to say.

Plus, I’m trying to find out information about the Hales. Specifically, Reverie.

“Massive,” Michael says. “Family, friends, their parishioners, and lots of little kids running around and always falling into the pool. My first summer working here, a kid almost drowned. They’ve hired special lifeguards just for the day ever since.”

“Crazy.” I shake my head and lean on the tall stack of boxes I was supposed to take out. “Lots of hot girls show up or what?”

Michael burst out laughing. “Are you kidding? No way. Hale’s a man of God, remember? Not a bikini in sight unfortunately. Everyone’s good and covered up. You’ll appreciate that, bro. Most of the people who attend these parties are around the Hales’ age. You don’t want to see those women in bikinis.” He mock shivers.