Holding On (34 page)

My guess was that he was an attractive man. However, it was hard to see past the wonky ties and the gaudy glasses.

Both Jamie and Tristan took after their mother. No thick-soled sneakers, wonky accessories or gaudy glasses for either of them.

The Jacob’s house was easily one of the largest in all of Secluded Pines. It was nestled back, far off the tarred road that looped around the entirety of the development. The large red brick structure stood out against the snow. I traipsed down the driveway, stamping the snow off of my boots the last few feet
.

I rang the bell to announce my arrival. After a few seconds I let myself into the Jacob’s house because that’s what I’d been doing for years. I was greeted with the sound of classical music. It was so glorious, so perfect, so incredibly breathtaking that if I hadn’t known better, I’d think it was floating through the speakers as a CD played.

But I knew better.

The haunting, beautiful and now-familiar chords of
Moonlight Sonata
floated down the hall to greet me. I wouldn’t have known what the piece was called if Tristan hadn’t told me. He had been practicing one day last summer and for some reason, the piece had gripped me. I had asked him to play it over and over again.

He had, without complaint.

I slid my outdoor gear off. Instead of heading up to Jamie’s bedroom, I followed the sound of the melody.

I stood outside of the music room for a minute, just listening to Tristan. The way he played always amazed me. It wasn’t just because
I
had the musical ineptitude of a preschooler. It was because
he
was truly phenomenal. I loved to hear him play.

I waited for a break in the music before poking my head around the door.

“That was beautiful,” I said as I made my way into the room. I loved this room with its cherry flooring and burgundy, faux-suede painted walls. There was a mocha colored overstuffed sofa off to the side of the room. It had been placed there for company when Mrs. Jacobs insisted Tristan play for them. I never used it.

Tristan grinned at me, his hand frozen on the page he was going to turn. “Hey, Britta. Thanks. I can play it again,” he offered as he put his hand down in his lap.

“Okay,” I accepted, grinning back.  I crossed the room, bypassing the leather couch. I slid onto the bench next to him. As always, I probably made it harder for him to play. He never complained.

He leaned toward me, reaching up to push a strand of my wind-blown hair off of my face.

I was freezing from my walk and I could feel the heat coming off of him. I was tempted to lean into him. Instead, I shivered.

“Cold?” He didn’t wait for an answer to the rhetorical question. He pulled me into a sideways hug.

“Just a little,” I said. He rubbed my arm, warming it with the friction. My other arm was tucked cozily between us.

A smile tugged at my lips because as always, he looked like a complete contradiction. From the doorway, where I could only see him from the chest down, he looked so stuffy and proper behind Anna’s baby grand. But sitting next to him, I had a clear view of his ripped up jeans and his vintage Cinderella t-shirt. Cinderella as in the rock group, not the Disney movie. Obviously.

“Britta! You were supposed to come upstairs!” Jamie called from the doorway. “How was shopping?” she asked as she came in. Willow was right behind her.

“Did your mom go crazy?” Willow wanted to know.

“Yeah,” I said with a laugh. “She did.” My mom was a notorious shopaholic.

“Well, come on,” Jamie urged. “We were just heading into the kitchen.”

I glanced at Tristan. He shrugged as his arm slid away. “I can play it later.”

“Okay,” I said with a nod.

I got up and followed my friends out of the room. I heard Tristan get up as well, though he was probably headed off to his bedroom.

“You know he plays that piece just for you,” Jamie told me. She started peeking inside of holiday containers as Willow and I took our usual seats at the granite bar.

“He does not,” I scoffed. “Why would he? He has no idea how much I love it.”

“That sappy smile you get on your face every time you hear it tells him exactly how much you love it,” Jamie said as she rolled her eyes at me. “Cookie?”

She slid a snowman tin our way. Willow and I each plucked out an enormous, glazed molasses cookie.

Willow flipped her long, curly white blond hair over her shoulder. She took a bite of her cookie as she gave me a wary look. Jamie was leaning across the counter from the other direction. She was watching me, too.

“What?” I finally asked after I swallowed my own bite. “Why are you both staring at me like that?”

“She doesn’t know,” Jamie said decisively.

“Know what?” I wondered. My gaze darted back and forth between my two best friends. They finally settled on Willow. “What don’t I know?” I cautiously demanded.

“About Corey.”

My stomach did a painful little twisting-into-a-knot feeling. I shrugged as I ignored it. “What about him?”

“He’s dating Tara Richards. We saw them last night.” Jamie informed me. “At the movie.”

“Oh.” I shrugged. “So what? I don’t care. I’m over him.” It wasn’t considered a lie if I was
willing
it to be true. Was it?

Willow let out a disgusted sound from beside me. “He didn’t any waste time did he? When Corey said he wanted to see other people, I guess he must’ve meant it.”

“Guess so,” I muttered. I stared at the cookie in my hand, no longer wanting it.

“I was just glad you weren’t there,” Willow said with a grimace.

“Yeah,” Jamie tacked on. “It worked out well you had to do a belated Christmas with your grandparents. Because the two of them were really—”

“Not important!” Willow interjected.

Jamie blinked. “Oh, right. Yeah.
Not
important.”

“We need to find you someone new,” Willow decided.

“I don’t want someone new,” I reminded her.

“Ugh, I know, sweetie. You just want Corey,” she said sympathetically.

I shook my head, realizing, to my surprise, it actually wasn’t true. I didn’t like the thought of him with Tara. Yet, I wasn’t sure I wanted him back, either. Things had not ended well.

“No. That’s not it. I just think I need a break from the whole dating thing.” It was true. I’d started dating Corey junior year. He’d dumped me nine months, one week, two days later. Sadly, I could probably figure it down to the exact hour but thus far, had been able to refrain from such obsessively neurotic behavior.

“You’ve had a break,” Willow informed me. “Now you need to quit moping—”

“I’m not moping!” I interjected. She shot me a look and then her green eyes narrowed at me. “Not anymore,” I muttered as Tristan came into the kitchen. He seemed to be ignoring us as he started checking out the contents of the fridge.

“Good. Then you shouldn’t be opposed to us finding you a new boyfriend. The winter dance is going to be here before we know it,” Willow said as she sat back. A conniving smile spread across her face.

“I’m available,” Tristan offered as he shut the fridge. He threw us a teasing grin as he twisted the top off of his bottle of iced tea.

“Over my decomposed, rotting corpse,” Jamie told him. “Besides, Britta’s so far above you that you’d need a rocket launcher to get there.”

“Hey, be nice,” I said as I scowled at her.

Tristan didn’t look the least bit offended by the insult coming from his sister. I assumed he was used to it. I just didn’t want to be the reason for it. He winked at me and grinned before turning to leave. “Whatever,” he called over his shoulder. “Don’t ever accuse me of not offering to help out a friend.”

Before anyone had a chance to respond, he poked his head back through the archway that connected the kitchen to the front hall. “You know Jamie…I do actually
own
a rocket launcher. So—”

“No!” Jamie snapped at him.

I giggled, remembering all of the homemade bottle rockets we’d launched in the back field when we were kids.

Jamie didn’t find it as funny as I did. Her hand dove into the fruit bowl that rested on the countertop. Before I could blink, an orange was soaring through the air at Tristan’s head. He easily caught it. “Now go away!” she commanded.

He went. But not before making another face at me. I couldn’t help but laugh.

“You know, that’s really not a terrible idea,” Willow said as she raised her eyebrows at me.

“It’s a horrible idea! Nerd boy would just drag her down with his intrinsic nerdiness. I mean, his GPA is almost perfect without him even trying. There’s just something a little too perverse about that,” Jamie fumed.

That wasn’t true. He did try. Tristan, I knew, studied. Constantly. He deserved his good grades. There was a good chance he would be next year’s valedictorian, or at least salutatorian.

Willow smiled sweetly. “See, then he’s perfect for Britta. Her grades are disgustingly high, too.”

At least she didn’t say it came easy for me, because it didn’t. Mom had high expectations as did my teachers. I think it was a result of having a parent with a doctorate. But like Tristan, I studied a lot. I was the first to admit I should attribute my GPA more to study habits than any sort of brilliance.

“No,” Jamie said, cutting into my thoughts. “This isn’t even up for discussion.” She looked at me.

I shrugged.

I hadn’t started this conversation. I hadn’t even participated in it.

It didn’t really matter to me what Jamie’s thoughts were. Because I wasn’t interested in Tristan. Furthermore, I was pretty sure his interest in me was nothing more than a scheme to annoy Jamie. It was only logical that since Tristan excelled at everything, he’d also excel at that.

“But he’s cute,” Willow pressed. “I think that boy grew a foot since last year. He also grew some biceps and his—” She stopped when Jamie cut her off with a glare. “Hey, I’m just saying…”

“Well, don’t,” Jamie calmly ordered. “We’re not having this conversation because there is nothing to discuss. Tristan doesn’t even really like Britta.”

“
Hey
!” I said. I’d known Tristan as long as I’d known Jamie, since back in grade school. We’d always gotten along just fine.

“Not like
that
,” she clarified. “You know he only pretends because it annoys me.”

I nodded. She had just mirrored my thoughts from moments ago. I wasn’t sure then, why it stung just a little to hear her say it out loud.

2

“Why are we still talking about me?” I grumbled. “What about you? Do you have a date for the Valentine’s dance already?” I demanded of Willow. They’d let the subject drop briefly but now they’d thrown it at me again. “I mean, there’s lots of time. It isn’t for another two months.”

As usual, Willow was busy knitting away. She swore that knitting was an underappreciated and nearly extinct art form. Considering that her parents were actual artists, I took her word for it. I figured if anyone would know, it would be Willow. The girl knit constantly. It had started as a hobby but she’d gotten incredibly good at it. Now, she had a display in the corner of her parents’ gallery where she sold her work. Unique scarves, mittens, hats, slippers, baby blankets. If it could be knit, Willow had probably tried it. It was like a portable part-time job that she brought with her everywhere.

I was watching her knit and watching Jamie paint her toenails. I had tossed myself on the bed because I had nothing else to do.

Willow shrugged. “I’ll just go with Grant. If I have to.” The guy was head over heels for Willow. Everyone knew it but she just considered him a friend. A friend who was constantly on standby in case she ever needed a date for anything. “And it’s not two months away. It’s only like six weeks or something.”

“We need to go dress shopping,” Jamie chimed in. I could swear her dark eyes sparkled just at the thought of shopping for shoes and dresses. “Maybe Friday? We could take a shopping day before school starts. Does next Friday work for you two?”