Until There Was You(23)

Posey went in the front door of the restaurant for a change, rather hoping to make a grand entrance, delight her father and possibly dazzle Liam into seeing her as a woman. It was still early, only three, so most of the staff wouldn’t be there yet. As she approached the doors that separated the dining room and kitchen, Posey paused at the sound of some voices. Liam’s. And Rick’s (she could identify his because he’d called her—twice!—and also from all the times he’d blocked her locker). There were other voices, too, an explosion of male laughter. Posey peeked through the crack in the door.

There they were. The popular boys, who occasionally swung by when Liam was working. No sign of an adult, which made sense, since it was early. Liam often opened the restaurant for her folks, which Posey thought showed how trustworthy and wonderful he was.

Suddenly shy at the thought of encountering them en masse (they were seniors, after all), Posey stepped back a little. But she could hear them.

“Dude,” one of them—Luke Mayhew?—said. “You’re killing me by still being with Emma. God, she’s beautiful! Give someone else a chance, right? I mean, come on! Just the way she walks down the hall, you can tell—”

“Shut up,” Liam growled, and Posey felt a flush of pride. Liam Murphy, defending his woman. He had class, juvie or no juvie. Someone else said something—the water was running and she couldn’t quite hear. Then Rick, or possibly Luke, said something, but it was lost too, and the guys all hooted and hollered.

The water shut off.

“Here’s what I want to know,” Liam said, and Posey couldn’t resist another peek. He was unloading the dishwasher, stacking the plates just the way Stacia liked, and the other guys were grouped around him. “Rick, my man, Posey Osterhagen? I mean, I know I work for her parents, but were you that desperate? She’s nothing but a bag of bones. Built like a ten-year-old boy.”

Their roar of laughter drowned out the little squeak that escaped Posey’s mouth. Her hands flew up to cover any more noise, and silently, so carefully, she backed away from the door, her legs watery with shock, heart twisting and convulsing. When she was far enough from the door—from them—she turned and tiptoed to the front door of the restaurant as fast as she could, colliding right into her mother.

“There you are, sweetie! I went to the salon to get you! Did you forget? Or were we supposed to meet here? Oh, look at your hair! It’s so beautiful!”

Mom didn’t notice that Posey was quiet…or she did and assumed it was nerves. A floating feeling settled over Posey as they drove home. She went through the motions—makeup, dress, jewelry—and smiled as her father took pictures. Henry was home for a rare weekend, and he looked up from his textbooks, acknowledged that his little sister was growing up and smiled, which was lavish praise for him.

When the doorbell rang, she was somewhat shocked to see that Rick had actually shown up. And he was nice. Polite, attractive, looking somehow younger in a tux than he did at school. He shook hands, posed for a few pictures. There was no limo; Rick had driven his latest Mercedes, and Max asked the usual fatherly questions and issued warnings against drinking and driving.

Posey barely heard. “Bye!” she called as her mother dabbed her eyes. Rick held the car door for her. Got in the driver’s seat. Maybe this won’t be so terrible, Posey thought. Maybe Rick really likes me, no matter what Liam said. At the thought of his name, pain speared her heart. It was still so shocking that Liam—her Liam—thought of her that way. So vicious, those words, that she flinched at the thought of them.

She swallowed and looked at Rick, biting her lip. Maybe he, too, had hidden depths, and she could fall for him, instead of…the other one. Rick’s pretty brown eyes were on the road, his blond hair ruffling in the breeze.

“You look really nice, by the way,” she said.

He didn’t answer.

“Are you excited?” she asked.

Rick still didn’t answer. Didn’t look at her, either. Stupid question, Posey! her brain hissed.

Years later—heck, hours later—Posey would berate herself for not standing up for herself. She should’ve said, “Hey, idiot, I’m talking to you.” Surely her older self would have. But at barely sixteen, having no experience with boy-girl stuff whatsoever, terrified at the thought of offending one of the cool kids, she just…pretended. Pretended it was okay that her date drove in silence, even as her stomach ached and her hands went clammy. Pretended not to notice when he didn’t open the door for her when they pulled up at Whitfield Mansion, didn’t wait for her, didn’t even look back.

Don’t go in, her brain warned. But what else could she do? He drove. She was here. People were swarming inside. Maybe he just wanted to find his friends. Maybe he’d be nicer once they were, um, settled.

She went in, knees twanging with nervousness.

The place was mobbed. Whitfield Mansion was utterly gorgeous, high ceilings, black-and-white tiled floors, chandeliers and French doors. Posey looked around. It seemed like her trick of being invisible had worked brilliantly, because no one acknowledged her, no matter how nice Emma had been in the past month. Still, Posey fake-smiled at no one in particular, praying to see a familiar face, a friend. Rick was nowhere to be seen, and her heart raced with humiliation and fear. The smell of too much perfume and hairspray was making her sick, and, dang it, she hadn’t eaten since lunch, which meant there was a very good chance she’d faint. But who could eat with Liam’s words echoing in her heart?