Something of a Kind - By Miranda Wheeler Page 0,62
even sneaking in to do homework at the counter. Most fondly, he remembered sleepovers with Luke, Owen, and Martin Lewis, back when their trio was a quartet – when Luke was the kindergarten giant and everyone called Owen 'Shorty' and 'Munchkin'.
The booths were better than mattresses when they were kids, back in the days were they traded dinosaur view-master cards and tried using purple gas station glow sticks to tell scary stories instead of flashlights. In those days, his classmates fought for his attention because he decided whether or not they could sled down the hill in the backyard on rusty pans.
Back then, a drunken Mary-Agnes meant Mommy was tired and an intoxicated Lee meant Daddy’s grumpy from a long day at work.
Noah set his jaw, moving to her side. Yazzie’s didn’t have to have ghosts and skeletons, not without giggles and glow sticks. The booths were a rainbow of faux-suede reds and blues long before they were upholstered with gray and wipe-away plastic. Both had ripped with age, but at least the former didn’t have sharp corners and jagged edges along the tears. In Noah’s opinion, it was a lot better to fray.
Grabbing the nicest blankets from the foyer’s closet – thin fleeces still wrapped in ribbon and plastic, the family’s two-year-old Christmas gift from MaryAgnes’s resented well-off cousin from Anchorage, Noah returned to Aly’s side after pulling them from a scissors hack-job on the wrap.
Draping colorful stripes across her shoulders, Noah prepared to explain the situation – and the elected arrangement for the night. Aly didn’t comment, instead grabbing his hand and pulling him down at her side.
As he stretched out an arm, she shifted sideways in the seat, pulling her legs up and resting her head on his knees. Subconsciously playing with a lock of her hair, he wondered how a long weekend managed to change his entire life. Noah didn’t know when they had transitioned from wondering if he could touch her hand to taking her into his arms on impulse. It felt natural, like it was ridiculous to question. He just looked at her, impressed and baffled. He found himself trying to etch every detail into his brain. Aly fought her smile, a dimple quirking. “What?”
He shrugged. “Nothing.”
She rolled her eyes, her expression playful. “Seriously… why are you looking at me like that?”
Perplexed, he professed, “You’re just… something, Aly Glass.”
“…of a kind.” She laughed. “Hmm. Have the squirrels been talking behind my back again?”
“You know they sing your praises,” he teased. Aly smiled, eyes fluttering to a close. His fingertips trailed her skin, tracing a shamrock-shaped birthmark on her wrist, moving to brush across her cheek. “I can put in a good word, if you like.”
Amused, she prompted, “Like?”
Noah shook his head, as though it would clear.
Maybe it is clear, finally.
“I don’t know,” Noah murmured. “Something of a kind.”
CHAPTER 15 | ALYSON Aly wasn’t sure what time she had woken. It seemed long before sunrise, the window at her back still covered with dew from the night’s chill. From where she sat, sunlight would have roused her in just a few hours.
Finding Noah’s blanket rolled under her head, she remembered being woken by a warm hand at her back, the other tucking curls behind her ear. He whispered something in her ear as he lifted her head to cushion it.
It felt like the first night in Ashland without night terrors, though she didn't recall much. They left a residue of happiness on her skin, like pink, the texture of art, the taste of Paris on her lips. In the wake of her dreams, she felt the sentiment of sweetness. Grasping for wisps of the images as they faded, she found herself unable to hold on.
Just something much brighter than Ashland.
Sitting up, Aly smoothed her hair, though the protest in her spine suggested she hadn’t moved much. A flicker brought her attention to the counter. An old television mounted in the corner flashed with the news, its volume faint. The aroma of strong coffee penetrated the odors of the diner, one steaming culprit brewing while another resting in his hands. Clean-shaven in fresh clothes, his hair was still wet from a shower.
Curious, she crossed the room without a sound. Melting into his offered embrace, she waved off his quiet apologies for not having a more comfortable place to spend the night. Aly shifted his jacket from where it draped across the seat to the counter, sitting beside him.
Her eyes widened, noticing the array of creamers peeled