ballerina no longer twirls. She stares up at me with pinpoint black eyes.
Wyatt stares at me, too, his mouth hanging open.
“Wyatt,” I whisper. “What just happened?”
His grin spreads slowly. “That was some kiss. I didn’t know you cared.”
“Yeah . . . um . . .” I swallow. “Wyatt . . .” Ohmygod. Heat shoots through me as I remember the soft warmth of his lips against mine and how nice it felt. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“No, it’s okay. I liked it.” Amusement tinges his voice.
“But I didn’t mean for it to happen. It was an accident.”
Wyatt laughs. “Yeah, like you fell forward and landed on my lips.”
My gaze is drawn to his mouth, and when I realize I’m staring, I look up quickly. What have I done? I’m feeling things for Wyatt that I definitely shouldn’t be feeling for my best friend.
He stops laughing. “Hey, not everyone hates the way I kiss,” he says, jamming his hands into his pockets, his face beginning to turn red.
“I didn’t say that I hated kissing you,” I blurt out.
“You didn’t have to.” He starts for the door.
“Wait, Wyatt.” I go after him. “I’m just freaked out. It’s just—we’re not like that. You know what I mean.”
Wyatt stops and looks back at me. “Yeah, I guess I do.” He tugs off his hat and drags his fingers through his hair. “Where did that come from, anyway?”
“Good question,” I say with a shaky laugh, my mind searching frantically for an explanation that will make sense to him. “Things have been crazy, and I’ve been really confused. You’ve been so great, and I guess—”
“It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything.” Wyatt shrugs a shoulder. “I won’t lie, though. I’ve thought about it before. Haven’t you?”
“Maybe.” My blush burns hotter. “But we grew up together. I shouldn’t have kissed you. We’re—”
“Just friends. I know . . .” Wyatt trails off.
Numb with embarrassment, I return the jewelry box to the tool chest. For the first time in my life, I’m self-conscious with Wyatt, and I don’t like it. Walking quickly to the violin on the worktable, I close the case and put it in the chest, too, then lock it.
Wyatt watches me closely. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I manage a smile for him. “Let’s get out of here before Mom and Addie get back.” He crosses to me, and I hand him the key ring. “Would you make me a spare set when you go into town on Monday?”
“Sure.”
Determined to act as if nothing happened, Wyatt and I drag the tool chest into the storage closet without uttering a word. He locks the closet, then we go outside, and I secure the door.
I’m glad he can’t see my face as he follows me to the cabin because I’m furious. Not at him, at myself. What was I thinking, kissing Wyatt of all people? I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t instigate that kiss any more than I pushed the brake on my four-wheeler to avoid hitting the deer. Iris is guilty on both counts; I’m furious with her, too. Why would she do such a thing?
Suddenly, I’m certain her reason has something to do with the vision I had of the guy with black hair. And sad eyes the color of a bluebird.
6
The outing worked wonders for Mom’s attitude. When she and Addie walk through the front door, they’re chatting and Mom is smiling. I’m sitting at the kitchen table doing physics homework. Our eyes meet and a silent truce passes between us.
“How’s Cookie?” Mom asks, moving toward the open pen by the fireplace where he’s resting on his bed.
“I’m sort of worried about him. He’s mostly been sleeping since we got home.”
“Rest is important for healing,” she says, reaching into the pen and petting Cookie.
Addie closes the front door, a sack of groceries propped on her hip. “We had the tastiest chicken salad at that new café on Main.” She makes her way into the kitchen and sets the sack and her purse on the counter.
“Don’t rub it in—I had a PB and J,” I tease.
Addie glances toward the hallway. “Where’s Wyatt?”
“He went home so I could finish this assignment. I don’t want to fall behind.” I hope she doesn’t notice my red face.
“You’ll have plenty of time to catch up,” Addie says. “No need to hurry just yet if you don’t feel up to it.”
“I’d still like to graduate next week like I’d planned.”
Turning to Mom, I ask, “Do you think that’s possible? Me graduating next week, I