Summer of Supernovas (18 page)

I hand Grant a stack of liners. “Well, I disagree. It’s called making
informed
decisions. And it isn’t random—it’s science.”

“So science dictates everything? Right down to who you go out with?
Pssh.
” The dismissive noise is the icing on his smug tone.

I freeze. “Just what are you insinuating, Walker?”

“Look, all I’m saying is I’m not the one who showed up in a club with a blueprint for who I can and can’t date. Wil…” His eyes bore into me. I refuse to engage, but my blood does. Oh, it boils. “Can’t you see how much power you give this? Hard truth: You need to
own
your choices.”

The injustice of his oversimplification sparks flames in my cheeks. I take my prepped tin, letting it clatter on the counter beside the stove. “Well, if your whole faith-in-people system’s so superior, then why don’t you have a girlfriend? Hmm? Or will that be arranged by your parents, too?”

He drops in the last liner before facing me. His eyes dance with the flames from my face, or perhaps they’re of his own making. “Maybe I don’t
want
a girlfriend. Maybe I
like
playing the field.”

“Funny, you don’t strike me as a player,” I blurt, despite the inclination to sling another insult. But it’s the truth. He doesn’t strike me as the type who preys on the innocent. Or uses cheeseball lines to get in a girl’s pants. Nothing about him says love ’em and leave ’em. But then there’s that stupid rumor Iri told me knocking around my head.

“Plenty of girls who would argue otherwise, Wil.”

Our eyes meet. I steady a hand on the counter because the room has gone all topsy-turvy. “Then…they don’t know the Grant Walker I do.”

The timer buzzes. The Key Limalicious are done.

So is this conversation.

I push past Grant, stopping the timer and pulling out the cupcakes. In my distracted and irritable haste, my forearm grazes the top rack.

“Aaah!”
I yelp, barely getting the cupcakes to safety. “Shi—” I shake my arm; the burn feels like it has a mini heartbeat that
tha-thump
s down my entire limb.

Grant rushes over and turns on the tap. “Lemme see.” Before I can say anything, he grabs me by the waist and plunks me on the counter. And now my waist burns where his hands were. I will have to bathe in a vat of burn ointment by the day’s end.

“It’s nothing,” I mutter as he stretches my arm under the cold rush of water. The inch-long burn is furiously red. “Grant, seriously, I’ve got a boatload of those marks on the other arm.” I hold it up. Thin white lines scatter here and there across my skin. “See? Cupcake battle wounds. That’s why Gram keeps that monster aloe plant in the garden window.”

“I’m sorry, Mena.” My breath catches. He continues cradling my arm under the cool stream. But I don’t really register the cold. How can I, with him touching me and calling me Mena?
Mena,
it feels like its own caress. Is it wrong I want to hear him say it again and again?

I swallow. “You…you called me Mena.”

“I did?” With me on the counter, our faces are level. I nod. “Well”—he shuts off the water and grabs a clean dish towel—“must be from hearing your gram say it over and over.”

Drying off, I risk another glance. “And why are you apologizing? It isn’t your fault I was careless.”

He rubs his neck. “It is. I upset you. What I said was…harsh. Obviously, you have your reasons for believing the things you do.”

I shrug. “Well, likewise. I mean, you’ve got your reasons, too…for wanting to make your parents happy. They sound like good people.”

“They are.”

I stare down at my bare feet. The red polish is chipped, and completely missing on my pinkie toe. “Hey, and for the record, that ‘hard truth’ thing was your idea.”

He cringes. “God, it was, wasn’t it?” Grant rests against the counter and stares at his own feet. He has nice feet, no hammertoes or other foot deformities. “I’m full of bad ideas. Well, except for the one about us being friends. That was one of my better ones.”

The lightbulb clicks. Suddenly my horoscope is startlingly clear. Stating my intentions was never about Seth—
it’s about Grant.
Because relationships can include friendships, too!

“Friends,” I echo, and offer my hand.

Grant’s hand slips into mine, and we’re both grinning. And then we’re not. Am I making up how he squeezes my hand? How I can feel all of him even though only our hands have made contact? I can’t figure out if he’s leaning closer or if the kitchen’s leaning.

I lick my lips and swear to Venus his mouth is calling mine.

Come closer. Closer.

The doorbell rings and we lurch apart. “I…uh, Gram must have her hands full.” I leap from the counter, racing to the hall. My heart threatens to crack my ribs from its overzealous pumping.

Yanking open the door, I gasp. And just like that, my heart stops.
Stops.

“Seth?” I croak.

He grins crookedly. “Surprise.”

“W
e got rained out,” Seth says, stepping into my house. “I tried calling but you didn’t answer so I took a chance.”

I unstick my mouth from its fly-catching position. “Um, sorry, my battery’s probably dead. I’m terrible about charging it.” Inside I’m reeling; my head can’t seem to catch up to the fact that Seth is standing right here, right now.

He shrugs. “Like I said, I took a chance and came by. Your grandma gone? I didn’t see her car.”

“Yeah, she…”

Seth arches an expectant brow. “So, it’s just you and me? Alone?” His smile mirrors his mischievous thoughts.

“Well—” But I’m cut off as he lifts me up in his arms and squeezes me, his face nuzzling my hair.

“Mmm, you smell yummy.” He sets me back on my feet, but his arms stay tethered around me.

I lay a hand on his chest. “Seth, we’re not actually—”

“Shh.” He presses a finger lightly to my lips. “Don’t leave me hanging here, Wil. I’m dying to know if you taste as good as you smell.” He closes his eyes, lowering his head. His breath heats my lips.

“Ahem.”
And if
ahem
s could be lethal, then Grant’s is a poison-tipped dart that sinks smack between my shoulder blades.

Seth straightens, letting go of me to stare at his brother, who leans casually against the kitchen doorframe, his feet crossed at his ankles.
“Grant?”
Seth’s eyes narrow into suspicious slivers. “What the hell are
you
doing here?”

“That’s what I was trying to tell you,” I say.

“Tell me what?” Seth eyes me, then shifts to Grant. “You give her one ride home and suddenly you’re trying to be her BFF? Or are you workin’ a different angle?”

Grant smirks and gives his head a shake. “Grow up, little brother.”

Seth continues glowering, burning holes in the kitchen door, where his brother has just disappeared.

“Hey.” I jostle his arm. “Look, Grant is here because he offered to help with a last-minute baking order. I went to Absinthe this morning to, ironically, surprise
you,
and Grant just happened to be there when I got Gram’s freaked-out plea for help. So whatever you’re thinking, you’ve got it wrong. We’ve been making cupcakes, Seth.
Cupcakes.
”

Seth gnaws at his lip. “I thought because it was just the two of you—”

“And Gram”—I try to dial back my annoyance—“she was here, too. She just went to run some errands and pick up a late lunch for us.” I watch as all the information sinks in, waiting for Seth to realize the situation isn’t at all sketchy.

“Oh.” Seth rubs his hand over his face, groaning. “God, I’m a total ass, aren’t I?”

“Yes.” I unfold my arms and sigh. Seth’s decked out in cargo pants and a snug orange T-shirt speckled with rain. “But you’re a cute ass, so you’ve got that going for you.”

He drops his hand. “It’s not you I’m worried about, it’s
him,
” he says, casting another venomous glare toward the kitchen. “Still don’t trust him.”

“Grant hasn’t done anything wrong,” I repeat.

Seth mumbles something like “yet” under his breath. Which I won’t dignify. “It’d just be nice if you called
me
when you needed something. Give me the chance to help out, you know?”

I stop rolling my amethyst necklace between my thumb and forefinger. “But, Seth, you weren’t even in town. How would you have helped?”

“I know I was gone, but…Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that anything was…” He tucks my hair behind my ear. “I’m sorry, okay? I swear I’ve evolved past primate.”

My shoulders drop. “It’s all right.”

“Yeah?” He smiles with a playful glint in his eye. Suddenly he’s beating his chest and making ape noises. I giggle. “Me
like
pretty girl.” He resumes the chest beating, and lumbers toward me.

“Wha…hey, what are you doing? Seth!” I squeal, diving for the living room and hiding behind a stuffed chair. He squares off across from me. I point at Ape Seth.
“Behave.”
But it’s clear behaving is the last thing on his mind.

His nostrils flare as he sniffs the air. “Me
want
pretty girl who smells of cupcakes. Must have pretty girl.” He lurches around the chair to grab me.

“Aah!” My feet slap the hardwood as I race into the hall. Where I promptly collide with Grant.
“Oof!”

Grant’s hands are wrapped around my arms, holding me up; his mouth is tight. My smile evaporates as he quickly lets go, like I’m toxic.

Seth lunges, grabbing me by the waist and dragging me backward. And I’m giggling once more.
Not
because it’s funny.
Nothing
is funny about the granite lines on Grant’s face. But my tickle tolerance is low, so all the while I’m laughing, inside…I’m…destroyed.

Finally relenting, Seth slings a proprietary arm over my shoulders. I stiffen. “Leaving so soon?” he asks Grant.

“Yup.” Grant tugs on his flannel shirt. “Manny wants to practice some new stuff we’ve been working on. Tell your gram I’m sorry I had to take off. You’ll be good with the last batches, right?” He avoids my eyes as he bends to slip on his Chucks.

I duck from Seth’s arm and move toward Grant. “Sure. But…you’re not going to stay for lunch? Valentine’s has the best prosciutto and provolone sandwiches. The olive oil alone is…”

“Nah. Besides”—he slaps a hand to his hard stomach—“I think I killed my appetite on that fifth cupcake.”

“Oh.” I wilt like a flower without water.

“Well, my appetite’s alive and well,” Seth adds, slapping his own hard stomach. “And prosciutto and provolone sounds pretty mouthwatering. That is, if it’s all right I stick around? I don’t mind if you put me to work.”

Grant holds my gaze for the briefest moment. In that flash, I see disappointment, a disappointment that has nothing to do with deli sandwiches. I blink, and the emotion has evaporated, leaving me to question whether I’d really seen it to begin with.

“Of course,” I say to Seth. I swallow. “Well…goodbye, Grant. Thanks again.”

“Bye.” His reply is flat. He turns and pushes roughly past his brother, knocking back Seth’s shoulder.

“Watch yourself,” Seth growls, despite having blocked Grant’s exit and not budging an inch to let him pass.

I don’t like this storm that’s brewing between them. Nor do I know how to go about quelling it.

But I do know this.

I won’t spend another minute alone with Grant.

“Ready, set…
go
!” I leap from the changing room. My eyes round and so do Irina’s. I point a finger and double over in hysteria. I wheeze, “Dear God, you look like a carpet!”

Iri laughs so hard she snorts. “No,” she gasps. “I look like a
couch
!” She holds out her arms so I can take in the full effect of the paisley jacket and skirt—circa 1968. “And it’s corduroy!”

I wipe the tears from my eyes. “I don’t know. This one might be a coin toss.” Then I turn to check out my own reflection. Or not. The velour jumpsuit
is
a fairly nauseating shade of green. Adding to the heinousness, I’ve paired it with a purple fedora—complete with feather.

Iri works to compose herself. “Okay, you win the Butt Ugly Award. Paisley can’t beat out pimp. Lunch is on me. Now”—she unbuttons her jacket—“it’s time to get serious and find me a sexy something for that art-gallery thingy.” Irina pulls an outfit that’s covered in flowers from a nearby rack. Wrinkling her nose, she adds, “Why I said yes to Jordan and an evening of self-important blowholes is a mystery.”