an uncanny knack for anticipating my wants and needs. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that he still has this same ability.
A sudden gust of wind has me shivering, and I shake out my sweater and put it on.
When my head emerges from the scratchy yarn, he sucks in a breath. “You’re wearing the sweater. You didn’t buy it that day at the mall. Did you go back?”
“This afternoon, after you gave me the khanom krok,” I admit, suddenly shy. Am I revealing too much? It’s just a sweater. How can such a badly stitched pile of eyesore make me feel so bare?
I lick my lips. “You remembered my favorite dessert. And it seemed to bother you that I bought the dress with Taran in mind. I, uh, no longer felt right wearing it, after you were so nice to me. So I went back and got the sweater.”
His eyes widen. “Don’t tell me you returned the green dress.”
“Um, no. You’d have to rip that dress out of my cold, dead hands.”
“Good,” he says roughly. “Because that dress belongs with you. Although I’m glad that Taran doesn’t get to see it tonight. I hope he never sees it.”
A thrill shoots through me, but I opt for the safe response. “Thank you for the khanom krok.”
“Thanks for the sweater.” His lips quirk. “Although, if this big, bulky thing is part of your arsenal, your seduction routine could use some work.”
I narrow my eyes. “Oh, really? For your information, big, bulky sweaters are plenty sexy. They leave something to the imagination. They’re begging to be taken off.”
“My bad.” Mat’s eyes glow, as bright as the stars in the night sky. “Prove me wrong, Winnie. I need to be put in my place.”
“Ha. You wish.”
Our gazes meet briefly, and then we both look away.
I don’t know how to respond to this Mat. The one who’s just as witty as my former enemy—except it’s not at my expense. The one who teases me, same as always—but because he seems to like me rather than scorn me.
Because I can’t chance another collision with his gaze, I look up. I was both right and wrong. Mat’s eyes do shine, but they can’t compete with these stars, which twinkle like diamonds against a jeweler’s black cloth. I draw in a long, icy breath, and it feels like I’m swallowing the stars themselves.
My senses flood with this moment. The music pulsing at our backs. The splintered wood under my jeans. The scent of pine mixed with booze. And last, but not least, those brilliant, burning stars. Dazzling me with their beauty. Showing me that the world is bigger than my thoughts, my problems.
In their starkness, I find the courage to voice the words that have been locked inside my brain, rattling against its bars, since this afternoon.
“Mat, have you been lying to me?”
He leans back on his elbows, as though to get a better view of the sky. But I can tell he’s just stalling. “What do you mean?”
“This afternoon, when your dad and I talked,” I say haltingly. “He said you were both liars. I kinda thought, well…it seemed to be about your mom.”
Mat studies his shoes, although I’m not sure how much of his black laces he can distinguish from the night. He doesn’t turn his head, doesn’t meet my eyes. Maybe this seating arrangement benefits him more than just giving me space.
“It’s complicated.” He picks at the soles of his sneakers. “So many years have passed since she left. My dad has long since told his friends the truth. He was surprised that I had never cleared the air with you.”
“You didn’t have much opportunity.” I don’t know why I’m defending him, but every minute we spend under these stars brings him closer to the boy he used to be. The boy my heart wants to protect. “Every time we were together, we were sniping at each other.”
“Four years.” He yanks at a piece of rubber that’s become detached from his shoe. “I probably could’ve found an opening during that time. I’m sorry I didn’t.”
“Hey.” I put my hand on his shoulder. It’s the first time we’ve touched since our Pretty Woman date. “I’m fairly sure we’re both responsible for being at odds.”
He looks at my hand for so long that I begin to question. I begin to doubt. I start to pull my fingers away, but he reaches up and catches them with his own.