Page 104 of Eye of the Beholder
“I think you do,” she says, smiling softly, completely unaware of where my mind is trying to go. “I could be wrong, of course. But I think you’re just nervous.”
I pick up the éclair she’s been talking about and take a bite. She’s right; it is good. I nod. “All right,” I say when I’ve finished chewing the first bite, raising my voice slightly to make myself heard over the strains of music starting up near the dance floor. “I’ll just tell him congratulations.”
“I think that’s great,” she says, watching me. She takes her hand off my knee, and I push away my disappointment.
“Right,” I say. “Congratulations. That’s easy.”
She nods. “Very easy. Do you want me to come with you, or would you rather I stay here?”
“Come with me,” I say without having to think about it. “Please come with me.” Then—also without thinking, I might add—I push a wayward strand of hair off of her face, tucking it gently behind her ear. She stills, her eyes intent on mine. I let my fingers trail slowly down her cheek. “You look beautiful tonight,” I find myself saying. My voice breaks as I speak. “Really beautiful.” In every way. Inside and out. I keep that part to myself. But I’m allowed to tell her she looks nice, right?
She just looks at me, and I can’t interpret the expression she’s wearing. “Thank you,” she says quietly.
“What’s this?” I say, touching her necklace. The charm is nestled into the hollow of her collarbone.
“Um,” she says, her wide eyes still locked on mine. “A necklace.”
My lips twitch, and I embrace the feeling. Somehow I’ve made this conversation more serious than I meant to. “I see that,” I say, letting a smile ease onto my lips. Then I realize that I still haven’t moved my hand; in fact, my fingers are trailing over her collarbone, back and forth. I yank my hand away. No wonder she’s looking at me like I’m crazy.
She smiles. “Compliments? Touch? Flirting again?”
I’m so far past flirting, but I can’t say that. I just shrug instead and go along with it. “You said you’ve been flirting with yourself in the mirror. I thought you could use some help.”
Her smile widens. “So thoughtful. Now are you going to go talk to your dad? Get it over with. Then you can finish your food.”
I sigh. “I’m going.”
“Good.” She straightens my tie again, giving it a few tugs. Then she runs her fingers through my hair. “It really just stands up all the time, doesn’t it?”
“Yep,” I say. “All the time.”
“That’s not such a bad thing. I love your hair. Well, let’s just…” she says, trailing off and looking intently at my hair. She musses it with her fingers again, sending tingles down my spine. Then her hands slow, moving to the back of my neck. I’m reminded forcefully of our kiss—
“Whoa,” I all but yelp when I realize what’s happening—she’s flirting with me. I pull back, shaking my head like a dog trying to get water out of its ears. My eyes snap to hers, and I’m not surprised to see her grinning at me. “I fell for that,” I say, starting to smile. “I completely fell for that.”
“I know,” she says, her grin widening. She leans forward, her elbows propped on the table. “Your jaw was sort of hanging open.” She touches my chin with one finger and then trails it down the length of my jaw and to the hollow just below my ear.
“Stop,” I say, swatting at her hand and laughing as I pull away again. “I get it.” Inside me, a traitorous little trickle of hope is trying to emerge.
She’s not acting at all like someone with a boyfriend.
“See?” she says, shrugging and smiling as she takes a drink. “Practicing worked.”
“You’ve proved your point.” I shove the rest of my éclair in my mouth, mostly so I don’t say anything stupid. I don’t know how to ask her about Jack; I need to wait, even though I want to just blurt it out. Now’s not the time. When I’m done eating, I look around the tent for my dad. He’s still in the receiving line.
“Are you ready?” Mina says, following my gaze.
“I guess,” I say, even though I feel nerves clenching in my stomach.
“Still want me to come with you?” she says, looking back at me.
“As long as you’re done flirting,” I say, standing.
“You started it,” she says.
“You never told me what the necklace is,” I say as we make our way to the receiving line.
“Oh,” she says, her hand jumping to the charm. “Right. My parents gave it to me when I turned seventeen. It’s a little flower.”
