Meet Me at Midnight - Jessica Pennington Page 0,100
looks like a guy who just won a big race. Whose photo will be in the paper tomorrow morning.
I roll my eyes and let out a dramatic breath, trying not to let him see how unnerved I am right now. “Okay, let’s see them.” I wag a finger at the bulge of his pockets and he turns them out, letting the stones clink against each other as they hit the ground. Nine. Apparently I said it out loud, because he laughs before dropping two more rocks he had in his hands.
“Eleven.” Maybe he senses the dread in me, because he doesn’t taunt me, he just smiles and starts to pick the rocks up. “Should I put these back?” His brows hitch up. “Or are you going to make me turn them in for each question to keep me honest?”
“Did I say one question for each rock, because what I meant was—” Asher cuts me off by grabbing my hand. As he does, I watch him slip a rock into his pocket. I wonder which one it was.
We crisscross the park, putting stones back in all the places they were taken. When we’re done, Asher grabs my hand again and kisses me on the cheek as we walk back toward the car.
“Remind me never to challenge you again.”
He laughs. “Never underestimate how much I want to pry your brain open, Sidney Walters.”
The second part of our date is dinner at The Cherry Pit, because Asher told me once that he’s never been there, even though the delightfully tacky cherry-themed restaurant is basically its own kind of tourist destination around here. We’re sitting in a booth, sipping on cherry-ade.
“Maybe tonight we can decide what we’re putting in Nadine’s yard?” We haven’t pranked her in weeks. Well, not together, at least. I like to think my birthday yard show was more of a gift—to both of us—than a prank. I doubt Nadine sees it that way, but still.
“My mom wanted to take a picture of all of us flipping her the bird.” Asher smiles. “Wants to put it in her mailbox as we leave town.”
“Really?” That doesn’t sound like Sylvie at all.
“Oh yeah, she can hold a grudge.”
Sweet Sylvie? Who knew? “I like it, but it seems like the kind of thing that would end up on the internet and keep us from getting a job someday.”
Asher nods but doesn’t say anything. I don’t say anything.
I’m not sure if it’s in my head, or if it’s the looming terror of the questions I know will eventually come, but it feels like silence hangs between us. I can’t take it for another second, I have to rip off the bandage. “Okay, do your worst.” I set my hands on the table, crossing them over the giant red cherry face that serves as the menu. “Let’s get this over with.”
Asher smiles and takes another sip of his drink. He shifts in his seat a little and his hand pops up, his fingers wrapped around a stone. “How long ago did you paint this?” Asher’s fingers peel back and sitting in his palm is a small, pale gray stone, long and thin. I thought he’d start with something a little easier, but no, he’s going right in for the kill.
“I picked that rock because it reminded me of the shape of the lake.” It’s true, I remember holding the delicate boomerang-shaped stone up to the old poster in Lake House A, making sure it wasn’t just in my head. “There’s even a little divot over here”—I reach a finger out to the rock that Asher has placed between us on the table—“where our bay is.” Our bay. The word rings between us like I just struck a gong. “The bay where our house is,” I clarify, hoping I don’t sound as defensive as I feel.
He doesn’t say anything, just raises his eyebrows as if to say, Great, but when did you paint this topographically accurate rock? Asher isn’t stupid; that rock is duller than the rest. Its glossy coat is fogged with age and it just looks … worn. Like paint that has been subjected to the elements for …
“Six years ago.” I take a sip of my cherry-ade, willing myself to sound more confident. “That first summer.” But nothing about me feels confident right now. I gave Asher the challenge of finding the rocks because I needed something to force me to open up with him. I should be able to just do it, but