Rebel at Spruce High (Spruce Texas Romance #5) - Daryl Banner Page 0,154

all of Spruce High was suspended in insurmountable anticipation for the end of the school day, the hallways seem to explode when the bell at last rings. My nerves are in a knot as I head off. My heart is dancing around my head like an imaginary cartoon bird. I am taking measured breaths by the time I push through the back doors and head down the dirt path toward the baseball field, the same path I took with Kelsey when we blew off yearbook that one day. I spot Vann next to the bleachers by a tree, leaning against it with his cowboy-boot-wearing foot kicked up and his fingers hooked in the belt loops of his jeans. He also apparently swiped the cowboy hat out of his car, because he’s got it on now, casting half his face in a mysterious, sexy shadow. He was already a sight to behold before, and he’s quite a sight to behold now.

But I’m up to here with anticipation, my heart fluttering with uncertainty, and so it’s without any grace that I march right up to him and state: “Alright, Vann. What is it? Why are we here?”

Vann, appearing amused by my clear lack of patience, tilts his head. “You look really cute today. Did I tell you that yet?”

I’m fidgeting. A lot. “No. You didn’t.”

“Well, you do. Honestly, a little part of me worried you’d talk yourself out of meeting me here over your last three periods. I’m really glad … and deeply relieved that you came.”

“Th-Thanks.” I cross my arms, then uncross them.

“Can I hug you?”

I lift my eyebrows. “What? Hug me?”

“Yeah. You look … stressed. Anxious. I don’t want you to feel like that around me. I want you to feel good. And I don’t want to cross another boundary with you ever again, so …” He shrugs at me and smiles. “I’m asking permission.”

Something inside me that’s been wound up for hours at once loosens. It might be the gentle way he’s speaking to me, or those words he just used—‘I’m asking for permission’—or the sheer look of sincerity in his warm, dark eyes.

“Yeah,” I finally say, softer. “Yes.”

Vann pushes away from the tree, whips off his hat, and comes up to me. When his arms slip around me, just like they were when I nearly crashed into him outside of our chemistry class, all I feel is deep affection, safety, and assurance in his embrace. A breeze runs its teasing fingers through the trees around us and picks up our hair. I don’t think I’ve ever appreciated a hug more than I do now.

“Are you ready?” he asks me.

I lift my head from his shoulder. “For what?”

“My big romantic thing to win you back.”

I pull my face away completely to look at him, confused. “You did a big romantic thing? You mean your Reverse Sandy-from—”

“—Grease wasn’t it, no. That was just the start.”

“Just the start …?”

With an arm still around my back, he faces me toward the big outer wall of the gymnasium near us. He lifts his hat up in the air, seeming to signal something. A few spaced-out heads pop up over the top of the roof, then something is tossed over its edge: a very wide banner attached to the top of the wall that, upon dropping down, rolls open to reveal an enormous, beautiful illustration of a winged demon embracing his lover. It is artful, tasteful, and sweet. Around the two are coils and swirls of abstract vines and roses, all of it drawn in Vann’s signature black charcoal.

All I can do at first is stare. The whole display must be ten feet wide by twenty feet tall at least. I can’t help but be awestruck by its sheer magnitude, let alone the beauty of the artwork itself.

“Had a little help from Hoyt and his friends to arrange this,” he quietly explains. “Oh, and a connection in town who helps make the big banners used for the pep rallies. Blew up a sketch I’ve been working on for quite some time. I was planning on doing something smaller—framing it, giving it to you, whatever. But Hoyt talked me into doing something … bigger.”

“Wow.” I’m still picking out details as I take it all in. “Well … that’s … that’s pretty dang big.”

I don’t realize Vann is studying the side of my face. “The truth is, Toby, what you said that one night at Biggie’s was right. All of my work is colorless. Something’s missing.”