And then I see her.
Her picture appears, my stomach drops, and I stop breathing.
Christ.
Slender shoulders under long, light brown hair. Heart-shaped face with full pink lips and a daring look in her bright blue eyes. Glowing skin and a beautiful body.
From what I can see, anyway.
I let my head fall back and draw in a breath. Fuck you, Ryen Trevarrow.
She lied to me.
Well, she didn’t lie exactly, but I damn well got the impression from her letters she didn’t look like that.
I’d pictured a geek in glasses with purple streaks in her hair dressed in a Star Wars T-shirt.
I look back down at her picture, my eyes falling down her back where parts of her skin peeks through the design of her sexy shirt as she looks over her shoulder at the camera. My body warms, and I quickly scan her profile, looking for some clue—any clue—that it’s not her.
Please don’t let it be. Please just be sweet, socially awkward, shy, and everything I’ve loved for seven years. Don’t complicate it by being hot.
But it’s all there. Every clue confirming that it’s Ryen. My Ryen.
The check-in at Gallo’s, her favorite pizza place, the songs she’s listening to, the movies she’s watching, and everything posted from her latest version iPhone. Her most favorite possession in the world.
Shit.
I turn off Dane’s iPad and start weaving around people as I slip through the crowd. The heaters warm the frigid air, and I pass more fire pits, smelling the roasted marshmallows. Music blares from the speakers all around, and I flex my jaw, trying to calm my heart.
I walk up to the bar and set the iPad down, turning and crossing my arms over my chest. Just stay put. If she’s here to see me, she’ll find me. If not, then… What? I’ll just let it go?
“Hi.”
I dart my eyes up, my heart plummeting into my stomach. The fountain girl from the video stands in front of me, a few feet away.
And next to her…
My eyes lock on Ryen, and I know her friend just spoke, but I don’t care. Ryen stands quietly at her side, eyes slightly thinned, looking at me hesitantly.
Her hair is long and straight—not curled like the Facebook photo—and she’s wearing a black, off-the-shoulder sweater and skinny jeans that are torn to near shreds. I can see bits of her thighs.
Ryen. My Ryen. I tighten my fists under my arms, my muscles tensing.
She isn’t saying anything. Does she know who I am?
I hear her friend clear her throat, and I blink, dragging my eyes over to her and finally answering. “Hi.”
Fountain girl cocks her head at me. “So, I need a kiss,” she says matter-of-factly.
I breathe shallow, so aware of Ryen it hurts.
“Do you now?” I say, noticing her long, dark hair spilling around a scarf she wears with a gray tank top. It’s fucking freezing in here.
She gestures to her card. “Yeah, it’s on my scavenger hunt.”
And then her eyes fall down my body, a smile playing on her lips. I guess that means she wants a kiss from me?
She steps forward, but before she gets too close, I take her card out of her hand and skim it.
“Funny. I don’t see it on here,” I say, handing it back.
“I’m doing it for her,” she explains, shooting a look to her friend. “She’s shy.”
“I’m picky,” Ryen retorts, and I quickly turn my eyes on her again, her flippant response goading me.
She cocks her head defiantly, staring me full on in the eyes.
So does that mean I’m not worthy? Well, well… I hide my smile.
“Lyla!” someone nearby yells. “Oh, my God, come here!”
Ryen’s friend turns her head to a group of people to her left and laughs at whatever they’re doing. She must be Lyla then.
She turns back to me. “I’ll be right back.” Like I care. “Just please kiss her. She needs it.” And then she notices Ryen shoot her a glare and turns back to me, clarifying, “For her scavenger hunt, I mean.”
She walks away, laughing. I almost expect Ryen to follow her, but she doesn’t.
It’s just us now.
A cool sweat breaks out on the back of my neck, and I look at Ryen, both of us locked in an awkward silence.
Why isn’t she saying anything? She has to know who I am. Of course, she doesn’t know I formed a band recently, because I wanted to surprise her with an actual old school demo tape for our graduation in a few months, but it’s damn near impossible to be invisible these days. Our names and pictures are on our Facebook page and the rack cards by the entrance. Is she fucking around with me?
She shifts her stance, and I see her chest rise with a heavy breath, like she’s waiting for me to say something. When I don’t, she lets out a sigh and looks down at her card. “I also need a picture of eating something Lady & The Tramp-style with someone.”
I keep my arms crossed and narrow my eyes on her. She’s going to keep up with this charade?
“Or…” she goes on, sounding annoyed, probably because I haven’t responded. “I need a picture of a picture of a picture. Whatever that means.”
I remain silent, getting a little pissed she’s acting clueless. Seven years, and this is how you want to meet, Angel?
She shakes her head, acting like I’m the one being rude. “Okay, never mind.” And she turns to walk away.
“Wait!” someone calls.
Dane jogs up behind Ryen, stopping her, and then walks up to me, scolding under his breath, “Dude, why are you looking at her like she slapped your grandma? Damn.”
He turns back to Ryen and smiles. “Hey. How are you doing?”
I drop my eyes but only for a moment. Does she really not know who I am?
I guess there would be plenty of people here who haven’t heard of us. We’re not a big deal, and this is probably the only thing going on in a fifty-mile radius, so why wouldn’t she be here, if only because there’s nothing else to do?
Maybe she has no fucking clue she’s standing in front of Misha Lare right now. The boy she’s been writing letters to since she was eleven.
“What’s your name?” Dane asks her.
She turns back, her eyes flashing to me, clearly indicating her guard is up now. Thanks to me.
“Ryen,” she answers. “You?”
“Dane.” And then he turns to me. “And this is—” But I shoot out my hand, knocking him lightly in the stomach.
No. Not like this.
Ryen sees the exchange and pinches her eyebrows together, probably wondering what my problem is.
“So you live in Falcon’s Well?” Dane continues, taking my cue and changing the subject.
“Yeah.”
He nods, and they both stand there, falling silent.
“Okay, so…” Dane claps his hands together. “I heard you say you needed to eat something Lady and the Tramp-style?”
Not waiting for her answer, he reaches over the bar and digs in the garnish containers.
He holds up a lemon wedge, and Ryen winces. “A lemon?”
“I triple-dog dare you,” he challenges.
But she shakes her head.
“Okay, wait,” he urges, and I keep watching her, unable to tear my eyes away as I try to process that this is fucking Ryen.
Her thin fingers that have written me five hundred eighty-two letters. The chin where I know she uses makeup to cover up a small scar she got from a fall during ice-skating when she was eight. The hair she told me she ties back every night, because she says there’s no hell worse than waking up with hair in your mouth.
I’ve had half a dozen girlfriends, and all of them I knew ten times less than I know this girl.
And she really has no idea…
Dane comes back with a wooden skewer, the tip holding a roasted marshmallow from one of the fire pits.
He walks up and shoves it at me. “Cooperate, please.”
And then he turns to her and grabs her phone. “Go for it. I’ll take the picture.”