Something of a Kind - By Miranda Wheeler Page 0,21
did. He met her this morning, and it already felt like months.
“What do you like to do, Aly?”
“In general?” she inquired, biting her lip.
He nodded.
“I paint a lot. Lately I’ve been drawing. You?”
He smirked. “I like music, but I dowork.”
“Guitar?” She guessed, one eye closed in a feigned wince.
“Yeah,” he said, brow raised in surprise. “How’d you know?”
“Lucky guess.” She sipped her coffee with an expression of euphoria. Setting the cup down, she took his free hand in both of hers. He shuddered as her fingers explored his. “Plus your hands. They’re shaped like a pianist, but your fingertips are callused from the strings. Oh, and the jacket. Leather’s pretty inflexible for the sleeveless drummer type.”
“Wow. You’re a living, breathing Sherlock Holmes. Has anyone ever told you that, ‘with great power comes great responsibility’?”
She wrapped her arms around her stomach as she laughed. The blissful sound filled the air with delight. It was contagious. He joined her, ignoring the nagging thoughts that it looked asinine when it was his joke.
As she caught her breath, wiping her tired eyes, she added, “Isn’t that from Spiderman?”
“Maybe. I think Holmes could have used it too, though. I’ll be Watson.” He teased, poking her ribs. She flinched and recoiled back to his side, careful not to spill her beverage. The abruptness of her reflexes was softened by the happy noises she made, something between a giggle, a squeal, and a threat. When Aly settled back in place, she was closer than before. As they breathed the same air, he felt his heartbeat in his ears.
Aly was too close.
Don’t move.
She was right there, their sides pressed against one another. One of her fists clutched the fabric of his shirt, her knuckles resting against his chest. Her free hand was interlocked with his, tan and porcelain, hot and cold. He hadn’t noticed.
How could I not notice?
She smelled like lavender and vanilla. He knew he smelled like coffee.
She was too close.
Then she started saying goodbye. The doctor was a blaring his horn, just a few yards away. He hung halfway out the driver’s window, looking irritable and confused.
“Thanks for everything. I appreciate you waiting with me.”
A scarlet flush clouded her pale cheeks. He held onto her hand as she stood, unable to register her departure. She squeezed his fingers before pulling away, waving as she disappeared by the passenger’s side of her father’s SUV. Greg rolled up the tinted window, blocking her smile from view.
Alyson Glass was too close.
She was so close. Nothing wrong at all.
~
When Noah pulled into Yazzie’s, he knew there would be trouble if Lee hadn’t already crashed. He had briefly planned to compose an apology or an argument, and to pull over to call Luke or Owen, whichever would prove a stronger alibi. It didn’t happen. Even halfway to the front doors, he didn’t feel concerned that he was totally unprepared.
His thoughts were jumbled, his hands slightly shaking. He ran the entire day in his head like a script he had to memorize, like maybe something would suddenly make sense.
Noah startled at the hand on his shoulder. He turned around reflexively, expecting a slap or a glare. Meeting dazed eyes, he recognized the dark lines amplifying a partially toothless beam.
“So, who's the girl?”
Noah blanched, blinking until he placed Tony Gabriel’s lived-in face.
“You saw her already?” he asked, unable to mask his confusion.
“Yeah, yes, yep. I saw her. Beautiful girl. Doctor's daughter, yes?”
“She says he's not a doctor. Her name's Alyson.”
“Why didn't you bring her to meet the family, aye?”
“Because they're mental?” he answered cautiously, quirking an eyebrow.
“Be careful with her, boy,” Tony warned. “Her daddy's a nut case. Weirdest white man I ever did meet. He”
“Don't be racist,” Noah groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Tony”
“Hey now, none of that,” Tony defended, hands raised. “All I'm saying is, we don't know everyone we trust. That’s all. You've only known ‘er how long?”
“Okay, Friar Lawrence,” Noah sighed. “Man, I’m exhausted. Can we do this later?”
“Who? What now?”
“Romeo and Juliet. Shakespeare.” Noah winced before the words left his mouth.
“Now, that's just disturbing. Talkin’ like girls. Cut that out, boy. You’s a man now,” Tony scolded, shaking with laughter. He smacked Noah upside the head playfully, round hoots popping from his lips.
His long hair slapped at his shoulders, falling away from his face as he rocked with hacking chuckles. Noah wrinkled his nose as the odor of bargain booze permeated the air, the overwhelming stink like cheap cologne.
“Man, you're lit. Go home, you old drunk.”
“Be