An Optimist's Guide to Heartbreak (Heartsong #1)(52)

“Cider will warm you up,” he tells me.

“Great. Thank you.” I notice the pendant on his necklace chain outlined through the front of his shirt and clear my throat as we stroll away from the line. “I like your necklace,” I say, licking a finger. “It’s a heart woven into a treble clef, right?”

He glances at me as we walk side by side. “Yeah, I had it custom-made years ago.”

My mind races with memories of teaching Cal how to play guitar on my bedroom floor, and of watching his fingers press piano keys with Emma in the finished basement while I sang I Will Follow You Into the Dark by Death Cab for Cutie. “Do you still like music?”

It feels like a ridiculous question.

Who doesn’t like music?

But Cal takes a long time to answer, biting into his Oreo and chewing while he thinks it over. “I like your music,” he says. “You’re good. Really fucking good.”

I grin brightly and blush. “Maybe we could play or sing together some time.”

“Probably not.” He answers quickly, dismissively, then takes a big swig of his cider. “Let’s do the games. Ferris wheel last.”

Sipping on my own, I nod. “Sure.” The wheel both beckons and deters me as we pass, and the shrieks from riders have my heart teetering in time with the swinging buckets. “Have you been to a carnival since…?”

My voice trails off when his eyes flash. Still, he answers after another draw of cider. “No.”

“Me, either.”

Swallowing back the rest of his beverage, he tosses the empty cup into a passing trash can, and then reaches over to palm the back of my neck, squeezing gently. It’s an affectionate gesture that has me chugging my own cider until a telltale buzz mingles with the buzz of Cal.

Adventure swims through my bloodstream, revving my pulse.

He gives me a small smile, then drags his hand down my spine, only releasing me to saunter ahead. “Come on. I see some pink, fuzzy shit up ahead with your name on it.”

I skip up alongside him, grinning ear to ear. We play a few games, shooting water guns, whacking timeworn mole heads with hammers, and tossing balls at bullseyes. We don’t win anything, but it feels like every second that ticks by is a tiny victory.

Laughing, I even swerve the water gun in his direction, squirting the front of his shirt. He retaliates with gusto until my hair is matted to my cheek and water trickles down my neck and underneath my sweater.

He laughs, too.

He laughs.

And I’m convinced that laughter from that one person you don’t expect it from is like a symphony. The perfect marrying of chords and notes; a composition that causes the heart to dance.

My heart is dancing.

Cal makes two separate pitstops to order us more cider and a handful of ride tickets, and as an hour rolls by, I’m positively vibrating.

I’m still sipping on my third cider when Cal hands me a piece of chewing gum. I eye it warily. “Hmm. I don’t know.”

“It’ll give you a little buzz, especially after you eat or drink something. Up to you.”

I’m feeling frisky, so I take the gum and slowly chew.

It tastes like there’s a wasp family caught in my throat, so I cough and splutter. “This is awful. How do you chew this all the time?”

“I’m used to it.”

His smirk brightens, reaching his eyes, and his eyebrows even turn up with a touch of playfulness. God, I could get used to this side of him. This walls-down, delightfully vulnerable version of Cal Bishop I was beginning to think I’d merely made up and written into a song.

Sure enough, my eyes dilate to giant saucers when the nicotine buzz ignites. I’m giddy, wound, high on everything. I link my arm through his and drag him over to the basketball game I know he’s been eyeballing. “Ready for this?”

“Well, fuck.” A big hand scrubs down his face. “No pressure or anything.”

My grip on his arm tightens in time with the knot in my belly. That tingly, warm knot travels lower and lower as the childhood nickname ripples through me. I play it cool, looking up at him with my glazed nicotine eyes. “Nervous?”

“A little.” Cal slips from my arm-link and does that hand-to-neck grab again. He lingers this time, massaging my nape and dragging his fingers over my scalp. “Think I got this?”

My balance wavers, and I sag against him as we move into the line.

As long as you’ve got me.

Almost as if he hears my internal dialogue, he wraps an arm around me, tugging me closer, his fingers grazing down my bare shoulder where the jacket slipped. The cider is making him bolder, the nostalgia making him looser. He keeps his hold on me as we inch forward, like we’re a happy couple out on a date. Sound fades out, dwindling into a drone of background noise, and I can’t help my eyes from fluttering closed as I breathe him in.

I allow him to fill that black hole that hides inside me until there’s nothing left for it to take.

When it’s Cal’s turn at the hoop, he’s tossed a basketball by a young brunette, and I swear he does look nervous. Almost like this moment means more to him than winning an overpriced teddy bear. He takes a deep breath and throws the ball. I watch as it coasts through the air, teases the rim, then bounces back out.

He curses under his breath and tries again.