Stay With Me (24 page)

“And make sure we have
Jane Eyre
in there. I love a dark, broody man.”

“Ew. Rochester is totally a dick. He locked his wife in a tower!”

I look at her in disbelief. “Totally warranted. She was completely mad!”

“Dude, wouldn’t you be if you were married to Dicky McDick as a husband?”

“Well, he’s not bad as Heathcliff who drowned a puppy.”

“Heathcliff is a total psycho,” Daphne easily agrees. “Actually most of them are.”

“Not Darcy though.” I say.

“Never Darcy.”

We get our nails done, eat bad, greasy food, and watch a bunch of movies late into the night.

As to who won the Darcy off . . .

Well, we called it a tie.

But Firth is still the
only
Darcy in my book.

Chapter 29

M
Y PAINTING IS FULL OF
bright, happy colors that dance along the paper. My fingers are covered in oils, and I’m sure my nose has a streak of rosy pink going down the center.

“Mmmm,” Professor Rodrigo says, pausing at my easel. “Mmmmm.”

And then he walks away. I really wish I could figure out the difference between the good ‘Mmmm’ and the bad ‘Mmmm.’

“It drives me crazy when he does that,” a girl says to me. She’s delicate-looking, her features fine, porcelain skin with long blonde curls that tumble romantically down to her waist. She has soft periwinkle eyes, and she’s covered in paint. “I never know if it’s good or bad.”

“I know,” I whisper back. “He’s always cryptic. And then when he calls you up to his desk after class . . . it’s . . .”

“Frightening,” the girl next to me says. “Last time he told me I was holding myself back. That I had to find my voice.”

“Like that’s so easy to do.”

“Exactly,” she says. “I’ll just snap my fingers and I’ll totally get it. And what’s worse is that I thought I wasn’t holding back. But I see what Professor Rodrigo—er, Manuel—means. I make sad imitations.”

“I’m sure you don’t.”

The girl shakes her head and turns her easel so I can see her painting. “See what I mean? It’s all a poor mish-mash of a Georgia O’Keefe flower. But I don’t know what else to draw. He says ‘be you, just be’ but that makes no sense whatsoever.”

“He wants me to do the showcase.”

“I know,” the girl says. “I overhead him talking to you about it the other day. You’re really good. You should do it.”

“Maybe.”

“If I was as good as you, I’d do it.” She frowns at her easel. “But maybe that’s the problem. I’m good but not good enough.”

“Don’t say that.” I study her painting and point to the right side. “Look at how you mix yours colors, where you make your dark ones soft and fluid. You didn’t smudge the paint with your brush; you swept it along the paper, so that the colors blend seamlessly together. It’s not even blurred—no definitive line between the varying hues. It almost feels like it’s a waking dream. See what I mean? See what you did there?”

She tilts her head, narrowing her eyes. “Yeah.”

“That’s not in any Georgia O’Keefe painting I’ve ever seen.”

“Yeah, it’s probably in a Van Gogh,” the girl jokes.

“No, Van Gogh didn’t paint like that. This is you.”

“Maybe.” The girl is quiet for a moment. “I’m Katelyn, by the way. But everyone calls me Kate.”

“Hailey.”

“I know.” Kate smiles. “Do you want to get some coffee after class?”

“Sure, as long as you don’t mind that I prefer tea instead.”

“Oh God. You do? Thank God. I hate coffee.” Kate wipes her hands on her yoga pants. “But everyone consumes the stuff here. I know a good place off-campus for tea—it’s actually up the street. No more than five minutes away.”

“Sounds great to me.”

T
HE PLACE IS CALLED SCONES
‘n’ Such, and it’s a small café that has only a few tables inside. We get our teas and scones, then sit down at a table by the window.

Kate Donovan is also a freshman like me, and she lives in the dorm across the way from Daphne’s. She tells me her roommate transferred after a few weeks, so Kate now has the room to herself. Kate is soft-spoken and has a dreamy quality about her that makes her seem like she’s a walking piece of poetry.

“I’m an art major,” she says. “My parents despair that I’ll ever find a real job, but the economy is horrible anyway. There’s no guarantee I’d find a job with another major, so I might as well study what I love, even if I’m not good at it.”

“You’re good,” I say.

“And you’re way too nice.” Kate breaks off a piece of a blueberry scone, dunking it into her green tea. “Do you know what you want to major in yet?”

“Not yet. I’m still deciding.”

“Really? I thought for sure you’d major in art. You’re talented.”

“I don’t know,” I hedge. “I like it a lot, but I’m not sure that’s what I want to do for the rest of my life.”

“I get that,” she says. “But who knows what will happen? My dad was a pre-med major, but he ended up as a lawyer.”

I eat the rest of my scone. “Yeah. I know I have time. And maybe I will end up majoring in art . . . or something else.”

We finish the rest of our tea and get ready to leave.

“Are you headed back to the main campus?” I ask as we walk back to the art building.

“I am. I’ll just wait for the bus.”

I look at her like she’s grown two heads. “Please. I’ll drive you. I’m headed to the library to get some work done before my next class.”

“Oh, thanks. I was actually headed to the library anyway.”

She follows me to my car, and I drive to the main campus and pull into an empty space by the library.

“See? No problem. You should hang out with Daphne and me this weekend. I think we might do some shopping on Main Street. You’ll love Daphne.”

“I’d love that,” she says, unbuckling her seat belt. “Want to grab a table together inside?”

“Definitely.” My cell beeps. “Let me just take this. I’ll be there in a few.”

“No problem.” Kate leaves and heads to the library, her bag slung over her left shoulder, her blonde curls blowing in the wind.

It’s a text from Caleb.

Caleb: Dinner? Tonight?

Me: Yes.

Caleb: See you at 7.

Me: Ok.

By the time I arrive in the library, Kate has found a table near one of the bookcases. Griff is working behind the counter and waves at me when I step inside. Kate waits for me until I sit down, and her gaze flickers over to Griff briefly.

“Do you know him?” Kate asks as I sit down.

“Yeah. He’s a friend of my boyfriend’s.”

“Oh.” She opens a book, reading it. “He’s kind of cute.”

“Griff?”

“Yeah.”

I look over at him. “Sure. If you like them quiet and sexy.”

“Quiet and sexy works for me.”

We both laugh, then get to work.

Chapter 30

I
GET A TEXT FROM
Caleb as I pull into the parking lot at my apartment building.

Caleb: Change in plans.

Me: ???

Caleb: Taking u out, birthday girl.

Me: You remembered?

Caleb: Of course. Happy Birthday, Hailey.

Me: Thx! Where are we going?

Caleb: That’s the surprise.

Me: Fancy or casual?

Caleb: Nice.

Me: That’s not an answer!

Caleb: Not ball gown fancy. But not jeans.

Me: You’ve got me curious about tonight.

Caleb: :)

Me: No hints?

Caleb: None.

Me: You’re no fun.

I smile as I text this last one and unlock the door to my apartment. I have more than enough time to shower and get ready. I have no idea what to wear, so I decide to search my closet.

Jeans. No. Tees. No. Stretchy black dress. No, wore that at Thanksgiving.

I want something Caleb hasn’t seen me in before. Something that will blow him away.

Something special.

I find what I’m looking for in the back. A dress, black. But it’s not the standard little black dress that most girls have.

It’s a little fancier than my stretchy one and not as short. This dress comes to just my knees and slightly flares out at the waist. Black rhinestones edge around the hem, and cluster in dashes across the skirt. It dips a little in the front, and for the most part it looks safe.

That is until I turn around. There is no back to the dress. Not unless I count the beaded strings that swing across, swaying lightly. The material swings low to the small of my back, leaving the rest of me bare.

It’s sexy. Hot. And something I’ve been saving for a special occasion. Turning nineteen is definitely a special occasion.

I find a pair of sparkly heels in the back, then look outside. It snowed this morning, and the ground is slick with sleet. I lay the shoes and dress down on my bed. I could bring my winter boots with me, and if there’s a lot of walking involved, just wear those and then switch into my shoes. Or I’ll just wear the shoes and do my best to not get my feet too wet.

Winter really messes with a girl’s plans for looking fashionable.

Satisfied with my outfit choice, I quickly take a shower. My make-up is soft except for the bold red on my lips, and my long, dark hair is pulled into a low bun. I leave my ears bared and wear no jewelry. My dress is sparkly enough that I can get away with it.

I’m slipping on my heels when the intercom buzzes.

I hurry over. “Caleb?”

“Hey.”

I buzz him in and quickly switch my purses, opting for a small clutch that is just big enough for my ID, some cash, lipstick, and condoms.

Because a girl should always be prepared for seduction.

My doorbell rings. I smooth my hands down over my dressing, and look in the mirror to make sure I look good. It rings again, and I take a deep breath, and let it out. I hope Caleb is blown away. I open the door. And just stand there.

Because
I’m
the one who’s blown away.

Caleb is wearing a suit. Black suit, white dress shirt, and slim black tie. His inky black hair is swept off his face, and he’s freshly shaven, his jaw line free of stubble. He has his coat draped over one arm.

He is so damn sexy.

And mine.

And . . . and he’s holding a dozen red roses. I have to hold onto the door. So I don’t melt into a puddle of lust at his feet. His eyes eat me up.

“Wow,” he says. “You’re so beautiful. Hot. Sexy.”

“You, too,” I say, feeling shy all of a sudden.

“Happy Birthday. These are for you.” Caleb hands me the roses, and I step back, letting him in my apartment. I turn to head to the kitchen, to put the flowers in a vase, and then Caleb’s hands are at my hips, his face pressed into the side of my neck. “You smell good. So good.”

“It’s a new perfume,” I manage to get out, squeezing my eyes shut as he inhales, then licks my pulse. “S-something that has v-vanilla in it.”

“Delicious.” He kisses my neck. “Why don’t you put those in some water?”

“Yes. Okay.” I hurry to the kitchen, grabbing a vase from one of the cupboards. I turn on the faucet to fill the vase and notice Caleb leaning against the wall, just watching me. “Where are we going?”

“Still not telling you,” he says, smiling.

I huff out a breath and turn off the faucet. “I’m too curious. I want to know.”

“I know, but good things come to those who wait.”

“Patience is highly overrated.” I arrange the roses in the vase, the velvety red petals brushing my fingers, the scent heady, intoxicating. “Thank you for these. They’re beautiful.”

“You ready?”

“I just need my coat.” I glance down at my heels. “Um . . . is there a lot of walking involved?”

Caleb follows my gaze. “Not a lot. You’ll be fine. And if not, I don’t mind carrying you.”

“Is that just your way to get me in your arms?”

“Busted.”

I take a black pea coat out from the closet, grabbing a soft, red scarf and gloves. Caleb helps me put my coat on, and I button it closed.

“Wait,” he says. “You’re missing something.”

I look around me. My clutch is on the small table by the door. I have everything. “I don’t think I am.”

“No. You are,” he says.

I frown. “I don’t—”

And then he takes out a small box from his coat and opens the lid.

I gasp. “Caleb.”

“You like them?”

Earrings. Small, light blue gems, round in shape, that sparkle and shine and catch every facet of light.

I reach out, my fingers trembling to the box. “I
love
them. But you shouldn’t have.”

“I saw it and thought of you. Your eyes. It’s not—” Caleb swallows, looking suddenly unsure. “It’s not anything—”

“It’s
everything
,” I say, holding the box tight. “And I love them.”

“Really?”

I lean up, kissing him on the lips. A smudge of red tints them, and I swipe the color off with my fingers. “Really. I can’t believe you did this. That you—”

“I love you, Hailey.”

My heart squeezes tight, and my fingers shake around the box. I clear my throat. “Caleb.”

“It’s okay,” he says. “I’m not expecting you to say it back. You say it when you’re ready. But I’m here, loving you until you are.”

“Caleb, I don’t deserve you.”

“Stop being crazy.” Caleb’s green eyes are warm. “I’m the lucky one.”

“No, I am.”

“Nope. I am.”

“Caleb.”

“We can go on like this all night. But I’ll win. And you know I don’t play fair.”

My blood heats. “Let me put these on, and then I think we need to go wherever we’re going to.”

I put the earrings on, and the blue gems are so pretty on my ears.

“Ready?” he asks, holding out his hand.

“Yes.”

C
ALEB TAKES ME TO CHURCH STREET
and parks in one of the lots a block away from the main shopping area. It’s freezing out, and it’s starting to snow again. I shiver and pull my scarf up so it fully covers the back of my neck.

“This way,” he says, holding my hand, and points to the left.

We walk up to Church Street, and there are fairy lights covering the potted trees and white lights streaming across the street from one building to the next. In the center, a huge Christmas tree is decorated with various balls and lights that the town comes together to see—it’s a beautiful sight.