And then I immediately regret it.
It’s not the fact that I’m being extremely uncareful. That’s a good thing. Uncareful is exactly what we’re going for.
Except the person I’m supposed to be uncareful around is Will. Because Will takes me a step closer to Cassie. Reid takes me further away.
But still. My heart is beating so quickly. I open my mouth to speak again but the words fall away. My entire brain empties in a single whoosh. Like driving through a tunnel in a rainstorm.
And now I should probably say something, but that would involve words, and WHAT EVEN ARE WORDS, and he’s looking at me with the hazelest eyes and the softest, most upturned mouth.
I can’t.
But I’m saved. By Deborah, who corners us, smiling. God, she even looks like Reid, sort of. I think their mouths are similar. I don’t know how I didn’t notice this.
“Hey. Sorry to interrupt,” she says, “but I need some heavy lifters. Someone bought that vanity. You guys up for it?”
I don’t know why I feel so nervous.
“Sure. The white one?” Reid asks.
“Yup. She’s pulling her car around now.”
Reid and I head over to the back corner of the store, where there’s a wooden vanity table painted a distressed white, with a big, rectangular mirror. It’s one of my favorite pieces in the whole store.
“You ready?” Reid asks, gripping one side, bracing for its weight.
“Ready.”
We lift it on three and carry it a few feet before setting it down slowly. Then, we lift it again, walk, and stop. Lift, walk, stop. And as it turns out, Reid and I are pretty good at carrying heavy stuff together, even though he’s over half a foot taller than me, and I’m the least athletic human on the planet. I think it helps that we take it slowly.
We set it down again, and he looks at me. “So, your sister’s dating Mina Choi?”
“Yeah. They’re kind of inseparable these days.”
“Oh, that’s cool.”
We pick up the vanity again and walk a few steps.
“So, what’s she like?” I ask when we set it down again.
“Mina?”
“Yeah. Like, should a protective sister be worried about this?”
“Oh, I don’t think so. She’s pretty cool. She’s artsy, I guess? I don’t know her that well.” He shrugs.
We lift the vanity again, and this time, we get it almost to the door—and then it takes two more lift-walk-stop cycles before we reach the woman’s car. She has a big, open SUV with all the back seats folded down, and the three of us manage to wedge it in there somehow.
Then the woman drives off, and Reid brushes his hands on his jeans.
“Okay, that was really impressive of us,” I say. “Right? Like, as a feat of strength?”
“It was a feat of strength,” he agrees, smiling, and I think he likes the way I phrased it. Then he pauses. “Okay, question.”
“Yup?”
He tilts his head. “Are you serious about this cookie dough situation?”
“You mean the situation of extra cookie dough existing at my house?”
His dimple flickers. “Yes.”
“Oh, I’m serious. I am dead serious.”
“That is very good to know.”
“And there may also be vanilla ice cream,” I say, “if you’re willing to help me with my moms’ wedding centerpieces.”
“I see.” He grins. “Okay, but I’m not very artistic.”
“I can talk you through it,” I say—and there’s this quiet little yank below my stomach.
When our shift ends we take the back streets to my house, and Reid tells me about this fireworks-viewing party he went to at his parents’ friend’s condo. Which has a rooftop. Because of course Deborah and Ari go to rooftop parties downtown.
“And it was interesting,” he says, “but it was basically a bunch of adults drinking craft beer and asking me where I’m applying to college.”
“Oh my God. Why are adults so obsessed with that?”
“I know.” He shrugs. “Anyway, my friend Douglas lives near Capitol Hill, so my brother and I snuck off to his house to play World of Warcraft.”
“You missed the fireworks?”
He looks sheepish. “Yeah . . .”
“Not very patriotic, Reid.”
“I know.”
“But hey—you’re wearing red, white, and blue today.”
“I am?” He looks down. He doesn’t remember what he’s wearing. I love that. “Oh, I am.” He pauses. “But where’s the white?”
“What?”
“On my outfit. I’ve got a red shirt, blue jeans . . .”
I grin up at him. “Your sneakers.”
“Ohhhh.” We step into the crosswalk.
“They’re very white,” I tell him.
“Yeah, that’s actually funny,” he says, “because one of the only real conversations I’ve had with Mina Choi was about that.”
“About your sneakers?”
“Yup.”
“Really? What did she say?”
“Oh, you know.” He blushes. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
Okay. So now I’m curious. What in the world did Mina say about Reid’s sneakers?
“This is your house, right?” he says.
“Yup! Are you ready to paint centerpieces?”
He looks slightly unnerved. “I think so,” he says, with a serious nod. Then he pushes his glasses up. “Yes.”
“All right. Let me give you some newspapers, and maybe you could cover up the porch? And then I’ll run in and get the supplies.”
“I can do that.”
“And I’ll also grab your cookie dough,” I add.
He beams. “Awesome.”
I set Reid up with our recycling bin, and by the time I return with the mason jars and paint, he’s got the whole porch covered with newspapers.
“This is great,” I tell him. “It’s the perfect workspace.” I set the first batch of jars down on top of it.
“And you’re painting these?” he asks, brow furrowed.
“Yup. And then I’ll fill them with flowers. It’ll be really cute and simple.”
“So, I don’t want to throw you off your game or anything,” he says, “but you realize they’re already painted, right?”
“Yes.” I make a face at him. “They get a second coat.”
He settles cross-legged onto the newspaper with his cookie dough, while I pick up my paintbrush. And somehow, it’s this perfect sigh of a moment. It’s cloudy and sort of breezy. I line up my brushes and begin squeezing different colors of paint into an egg container. And the funny thing is, I know Reid’s not looking at me. But I sense him looking at me. It doesn’t line up.
I should say something, though, before the silence takes on its own life force. Silence does that sometimes.
“So you’re really not going to tell me what Mina said?”
“What Mina said?”
“About your shoes.”
He laughs. “It was really nothing.”