All the Inside Howling (Hollow Folk #2)(29)
“Will you just wipe that look off your face and say thank you? It’s just money.”
“Just money.”
“Sorry, that was a stupid thing to say. But I mean, it’s not a big deal. And I’d kind of like you to be alive.” His hand tightened on my knee. “Will you say something?”
“Thank you.”
“Come on.”
“No, I mean it: thank you.”
“What’s going on today? This is like talking to a brick wall.”
“Nothing’s going on.”
“What do you—” He cut off with an explosive breath, pulled his hand from my leg, and slumped against the Charger’s leather. When the girl passed him a white paper bag, he handed it to me without a comment, and then he urged the Charger back towards his house.
“Are we ok?” I asked as the Charger glided to a halt outside his house. The lawnmower was waiting, along with a good swath of grass that still needed mowing.
“Yeah,” he said, and he smiled, but the smile looked tired, and Austin looked tired, and once again the worry swelled in my head like giant smoke letters, like skywriting: he’s going to figure it out, he’ll see the real you, and he’ll leave. “About last night.”
“You already apologized, even though you don’t need to.”
“That’s not what I was going to say. I want you to know I meant what I said, at the end. About you needing to decide. I like you. Maybe it freaks you out, I don’t know. I honestly can’t tell. I can’t tell anything with you half the time. But if this is going to work, you have to be there, where I can reach you and talk to you. You can’t always be hiding. You can’t always stay behind your walls.”
“Last night, you told me not to call until I knew what I wanted. I know. I’m here.” But I felt the sharp sting in my side as I turned to face him, a reminder of another lie between us. “I would very much like to go out with you, Austin Miller.”
I waited for that Austin Miller smile, the one I’d come to expect: slow and unstoppable and heart-skipping, like an earthquake or a sunrise. But instead, when he smiled, it was that tired, faded smile, and again I thought: he’ll leave, it’s just a matter of time, he’ll leave. When he kissed me, though, there was nothing tired or faded about it, and so I forgot about that tired smile and I forgot about the cut to my side and I told myself I wasn’t lying, not really, not if it didn’t hurt him.
The kiss ended, and I peeled myself off him, and Austin laughed at something he saw on my face. It was a bright, genuine sound.
“I know I missed your birthday,” I said. “And I’m going to make it up to you. I promise. But for now, I have a favor to ask?”
“A favor?” he asked, and his blue-green eyes sparkled, an ocean sparkle, like summer never ends and everything is sand and beach and skin. His hand returned to my knee and drifted up my leg. Voice deepening he said, “What kind of favor?”
“A party.”
“What?”
“Would you go to a party with me? Tonight?”
“You want to go to a party? You?”
“For God’s sake, will you just answer the question?”
“Whose party? Why do you want to go, you who are the most antisocial person I know?”
I growled, “I am not antisocial. Anyway, you love parties, so what do you care?”
“I do love parties, but maybe tonight I just want to stay home, watch TV.”
“You don’t,” I said. “You’re full of shit and you’re trying to get a rise out of me.”
He pulled back, a bemused smile floating across his face. “You really want to go. You really want me to go. Why?”
“Yes or no?”
“Maybe.” He must have seen the surprise on my face because he laughed and added, “I do like parties. And I like you. But I want something too.”
“This town is like a freaking flea market. Everybody wants something.”
“What?”
“Nothing. What is it?”
“Dinner. With my family.” I opened my mouth, but he went on. “Tomorrow night.”
“Austin—”
“Nope. No arguments, no explanations, no if’s, no buts. Sunday dinner with my family, and I go to the party.”
“We’ve talked about this.”
“I know. That’s why it’s easy. How did you say it? Yes or no?”
I groaned.
“I’m taking that as a yes,” he said. “And one more thing?”
“What?” I yelped. “This isn’t fair.”
“My birthday. If you really want to make it up to me, I get to decide how. You are quite possibly the most unromantic person I’ve ever met. I think I’ll figure this one out on my own and then you just have to show up.”
“Unromantic?”
Austin nodded.
“Me?”
“Last week.”
“Yeah?”
“I said I wanted to go somewhere romantic.”
“Yeah?”
“And I left it entirely up to you.”
“You’re trying to tell me you didn’t like the park?”
“A waterpark is not romantic. It’s probably not ever romantic, but definitely not when the park is closed and there’s ice on the roads.”