That was when everything changed.
As sure as the sun rose in the east, Caleb turned toward her and walked with confidence until he reached her. Without removing the blindfold, he lifted her into the air. Her squeal turned into giggles. He had found her. Whistles and catcalls rained on them.
“You’d better be Didi, or I’m genuinely screwed,” he said, planting a kiss on her cheek.
“Good thing.” She yanked off the scarf so she could drown in the blue of his eyes. “How did you do that?”
“I have my talents.” He grinned, blinking repeatedly as if to clear his vision.
“You totally cheated!” Nathan accused when he reached their side.
Caleb shook his head, never taking his gaze from her face. “I told you. I can find her in under five minutes. What was the time?”
“Just under three,” Nathan grumbled.
“Be ready to pay up.” His eyes burned bright. “I’m taking my girl shopping.”
His girl.
Those words haunted her for the rest of the afternoon until the sky darkened enough for the fireworks. The party winding down did nothing to alleviate the critters of energy crawling beneath her skin. Nothing seemed to calm her racing heart. She knew she needed to come down, but she didn’t want to. The conviction in Caleb’s words had worried her. She suspected he hadn’t been playacting when he had said them.
When he insisted they walk along the lakeshore, she didn’t resist. How could she when he looked at her like she was the only girl at the party? The way the blue of his eyes seemed to shine almost like liquid metal twisted her insides. She let him take her hand. They left their shoes on the grass. The water reaching her ankles cooled her too-hot skin. Today had been too much. More than all the other events combined.
The first spear shot up into the sky. Reaching its peak, it exploded into spider legs of light. Caleb stopped and looked up. She did the same. The next spear quickly followed and spread like a dandelion. The third one popped and sparkled. A kind of choreography emerged. A symphony of blues and whites and reds interspersed with dazzling gold. Soon the entire night sky lit up, blossom upon blossom of pyrotechnic light. The show drew enthusiastic oohs and aahs while children clapped and laughed.
Since leaving her painting room, he had been different. Less guarded somehow. She couldn’t explain the change exactly.
Then, at the height of the show, he faced her. Cupping her cheek, he ran the pad of his thumb over her lower lip. Her breath hitched. She knew she shouldn’t. That giving in would be reckless . . . for the both of them. But she tilted her head up in response to his touch. This was the biggest mistake they could make in their fake relationship. She saw it in his eyes too, yet no one spoke of rules when he bent down and took what she offered.
He kissed the way he smiled when he looked at her, slow and easy. Gentle but still demanding a response. And respond she did, tasting the tartness of the raspberry iced tea he’d favored all afternoon. He cradled the back of her neck, tracing the line of her jaw with his thumb as if he wanted to remember its shape.
When he took her bottom lip between his teeth, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders to keep from falling. For a first kiss, amid the fireworks exploding above them, it was amazing. Each pass their lips made tugged at her, begging her to draw him closer. It was as if an invisible string bound her heart to his, and no matter what happened nothing could cut the connection between them.
For the briefest instant, as he whispered her name against her mouth, and she whispered his back, she caught a glimpse of the future. Just a glimmer, not clear enough to see properly. Like a mirage in the desert. It frightened her enough to remind herself their time together was finite. So, after a final brushing of her lips against his, she stepped out of the circle of his arms and looked up at the riot of color bursting in the night sky.
Eighteen
DIDI STARED AT the canvas. Her mind was as blank as the white space staring back at her. Mocking her. It had been a couple of days since the Fourth of July party, and already she had rejected two of the paintings she had finished. One was of Caleb lounging on a picnic blanket under the shade of a tree. The other was of him leaning against his beloved car. None of them would do. They were dull. Flat. Lifeless. Not her usual quality of work. Certainly nothing she was willing to give him for his birthday.