From my bag next to the bedside table, my phone buzzes.
I roll over the side of the bed and pluck my phone from the neatly folded clothes Linden brought over for me. It’s a text from Quinn. My heart leaps. With the time zone jump, it’s already tomorrow in France. I’ve been dying to hear from her. She must have made it back to basecamp.
I bring the phone back to the bed. The message opens to a breathtaking picture of her on a snowy summit. Her colorful mountaineering garb pops against the cerulean sky, and though her face is completely covered by a balaclava and dark, round glacier glasses with side flaps to keep out the sun, her grin is electric.
It must be windy because tendrils of hair from beneath her climbing helmet are blown sideways and her layers are pressed against her lanky frame.
QUINN:
14 hours, 6 minutes. Stairmaster from hell but I made it!
I type out a congratulatory reply. That she’s back safe settles gently into my heart, and I exhale a soft breath.
QUINN:
How was the party?
I glance out the window, considering my answer. Thinking about Darienne’s actions still stings. I don’t know what I’m going to do yet. And I don’t want to spoil Quinn’s moment of glory with my stepmother woes.
MEG:
Fun! I think everyone had a good time
QUINN:
Including you?
I can’t help the smile tugging at my lips. Or the sudden rush of heat dropping through my core.
MEG:
The kiss was a success.
Whitney Houston’s “Dance With Somebody” echoes through my mind. Was that the moment I started thinking about him asmysomebody?
MEG:
We even danced.
She replies with a string of hand clapping emojis
I laugh out loud.
QUINN:
Did you take home any party favors?
Downstairs in the kitchen, a spatula scrapes across a cast iron pan. Scents of grilling bread and something salty are wafting into the bedroom. Hunger for whatever he’s cooking mixed with the insistent craving for his warm body wrapped around me makes me sigh with longing.
MEG:
There may have been fireworks
The little dots on my screen start dancing immediately but I place my phone face down on the bedside table and peel back the covers. Because how do I explain what’s happening over a text when I don’t even have words for it?
Chapter Twenty-Three
When I pullup to the high school football field to meet Greta, the tightness in my chest climbs into my throat. The last time I set foot here was a Friday night in October during my seventh grade year.
