But it’s Stevie.
And I’ve come to realize that her touch is…different.
My body unstiffens, my muscles turning to putty. I follow her away from the field and send a glance over my shoulder to her mother, who smiles kindly, then goes back to her cow tending or whatever it is farmer types do.
When Stevie releases my wrist, she leaves a tickle behind.
I scratch at the tingly patch of skin. “Your mom seems cool.”
“She is.” Stevie finishes her banana and tosses the peel into what looks to be a compost pile. “My dad is less cool.”
The back of my neck prickles. “He’s mean?”
“Oh, jeez, no.” Her eyes bug out as she glances at me, awareness glowing in her gaze. “I didn’t mean it like that. He’s just a big dork.”
“That doesn’t sound like a bad thing.”
“I guess it’s not. He’s the kind of dad who lives to embarrass his daughters.”
Jealousy nibbles its way through me. “Sounds terrible.”
She looks away, a sad smile teasing her mouth. “Yeah.”
We enter her house that smells like the exact opposite of mine—a home. Vanilla-sugar candles, a trace of must, and half-baked meat loaf. If love had a scent, it would be this house. I think that’s why I keep coming back here.
We make our way to the staircase, and I catch sight of a petite brunette messing with the stove burners from the kitchen. The girl turns to glance at us.
“Oh, hey!” Swiping her palms along a muddy brown apron, she smiles brightly. “You’re Lex.”
Stevie clears her throat, glancing up at me. “This is Joplin, my younger sister. I don’t think you two have met yet.”
“I’ve seen him in the hallways at school,” Joplin says, stepping forward with an outstretched hand. “Stevie has been all sneaky, hiding you in her bedroom, so we have yet to be formally introduced. Dad is sure to give you a lecture soon.”
“Yay.” Stevie’s face reddens against the muted yellow light. “We’re going to practice some lines. I’ll be down for dinner in an hour.”
I shake her sister’s hand and quickly pull away, clearing my throat. “Smells good in here.”
“You should stay for dinner.”
“I can’t. Already have plans.” Those plans include getting home by sunset to avoid my father’s wrath. After he discovered I’d been lying about my extracurricular activities a few weeks ago and unleashed hell on Mom and me, I managed to convince him that these practice sessions were vital to the show. Homework, instructed by our director, even though Mr. Hamlin never said we needed to practice outside school. Now I have a fucking curfew. “Thanks though.”
Joplin gives Stevie an elbow nudge and an eyebrow waggle, which must be some kind of secret girl code.
Stevie looks like she wants to dissolve into the carpet fibers as she gestures me toward the staircase. I can’t help but glance at the closed door we pass on the way to her bedroom. I’m guessing that was her baby brother’s old room. The notion tugs at me, right between the ribs.
“Sorry. My sister’s a dork too.”
“I like your family.” I eye the door one last time before we enter her room. “You’re lucky.”
The moment we’re inside, she hands me a mug of coffee.
Damn.
The ache between my ribs amplifies. But it’s not pain. It’s like my heart grew a couple of sizes and is pressing against my chest, making me feel lightheaded.
She sends me a soft smile that only adds to the strange sensation.
“Thanks,” I murmur, gripping the mug. It’s then I notice she looks different. She’s wearing something long and lacy, almost witchy looking, a contrast to her standard overalls, denim, and baggy T-shirts. The black dress hugs her curves, and the burgundy stain on her lips has her skin shimmering like winter snow, her green eyes looking two shades lighter. “You look nice.”
