Why was she carrying around a picture of him?
He glanced at her, but she hadn’t seemed to notice what happened as she ducked her head, reaching into the depths of an interior pocket. He quickly tucked the picture back into the oversized bag as she emerged triumphant with a package of peppermint gum.
“Here.” She pulled out a stick, handed it to him. “You never answered my question about which part of time you’d change, by the way.”
He took the piece, unwrapped it. Popped it in his mouth as he eyed the bag where the photo lived. A rush of warmth spread through his chest. “Maybe I wouldn’t change anything after all.”
Oh, man. Hadn’t meant to saythatout loud.
Zoey shot him a quick look, brow furrowed, and he quickly chomped into the gum. “I mean, like you said…it’s a good sign Amelia wanted us here.”
Disappointment—was it disappointment?—briefly flooded her expression, then was gone. A passing cloud. She smiled, loosely, the shine not quite meeting her eyes. “Exactly.”
Aye. What had he done? Did she know what he had really meant? Had he freaked her out? He’d promised nothing would change, and yet here he was, reading into something as simple as a photo in her purse. It could have been anyone. She probably just was proud of the shot.
He was such an idiot.
Linc scrambled to keep the conversation going, away from the truth. “I mean, even if Amelia just meant this whole thing as a trick to punish us, she’s obviously not embarrassed by us enough to hide us from her new friends.”
“We could fix that, you know.” Zoey wiggled her eyebrows. “Throw some slang her way.” She twisted to look over her shoulder, her body angling toward Linc’s.
He caught his breath, held it, as she shifted back forward, her gaze locking with his. “What? Too far?”
She meant the slang idea. But the scent of her perfume, the warmth of her side, the memory of her body next to his in the dimly lit kitchen as they danced…He swallowed. Nodded. “Yeah. That would be going too far.”
Maybe time for him to pull back a little. Before he ruined this very fragile thing he’d created.
* * *
Everything with Linc lately felt like two steps forward, two steps back. Not regressing, exactly, but definitely not progressing. At least not in the way she kept daring to imagine.
Zoey stood in front of a portrait in the New Orleans Cabildo museum, the polished wood floors gleaming under the sneakered feet of two dozen eighth graders. The kids had poured off the bus like a pack of hungry wolves earlier, but to their credit, most of them had been properly awed by the ornate historical building on their way in.
Linc had reluctantly taken a group down the other end of the museum hall at the teacher’s request, much to Zoey’s surprise. But maybe he was trying to avoid her after that—whateverthat was on the bus. For a minute, she’d thought he’d meant he wouldn’t change anything about them. But that was silly. After their kitchen dance and that random comment about time, she was obviously reading into things that simply weren’t there. Getting her hopes up.
She knew better.
She turned her attention to Amelia, who had hung back from the group near Zoey, taking in all the paintings with twice as much interest as the rest of her class. Her thin arms wrapped around her T-shirt-clad waist as she gazed at a landscape, so intently Zoey half wondered if she might try to run straight into it, like Harry Potter boarding the train at 9 ¾.
Zoey couldn’t help it anymore. She leaned in close. “What do you see?”
Amelia jerked, as if she forgot Zoey was there. She frowned a little. “I was just thinking that some of these are not very good.”
Zoey blinked and straightened. “Oh.” Not what she’d expected her to say—though Amelia had yet to be real or vulnerable about anything yet.
Took after her father that way.
She started to move to the next portrait, give her space, when Amelia spoke again, her voice smaller. “Kinda makes me feel like maybe I could draw something that was important one day too.”
Zoey paused, turned. “I bet you could. You seem to have a natural gift.”
A flush tinted her pale cheeks. “You’re just saying that because you’re my stepmom.”
Stepmom, wow. That felt like a promotion from their earlier conversation. “I mean it. I’ve seen your backpack, all your doodles.” Zoey nodded toward the framed hillside speckled with flowers. “Personally, I’d much rather come to a museum with drawings of turtles and cupcakes.”
“That would besomuch more fun.” Amelia glanced over her shoulder, to the museum guide and the rest of their class farther down the hallway. “Why are the paintings in museums sometimes so…boring?”
“Art is subjective.” Zoey shrugged. “A lot of people like this style. The good news is there’s plenty of room for all kinds of art.”
