“I . . . I just wanted to see if you’re okay.” She wondered how many times she’d been asked that very thing. It felt strange to be standing here, practically begging for his response.
Grady watched her, and for a moment Violet thought he wasn’t going to answer at all. Then his face softened, transforming into the old Grady, the boy she’d climbed trees with in the fourth grade, as he smiled at her. A slow, wistful smile. “I’ll be okay, Violet,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Thanks for . . .” Emotion choked his words. “Thanks for coming by.”
After dinner, which was takeout from her favorite Thai restaurant, and dessert, cupcakes that her dad had picked up from the bakery in town, Violet retreated to her bedroom. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate the extra effort her parents were making in the wake of what had happened at the lake house . . . especially their attempts to bribe her with baked goods. But it was too much like a flashback of the days following her return home after the kidnapping, when every conversation had had an edge of forced cheer, and when an almost endless stream of neighbors and acquaintances had come to the door, bringing with them cookies and pies and casseroles.
Like she’d died rather than survived.
Even her friends had been awkward around her at first, not sure how to act when she’d finally relented and invited them over for a girls’ night to watch a movie. Like everyone else, Chelsea seemed to think that food solved everything and had shown up with a grocery store cake decorated with pink and yellow roses, and pink piping that spelled out the word Congratulations on it.
Congratulations. Violet had stood there staring at the cake Chelsea had thrust out to her, wondering what she was being congratulated for exactly. Congratulations on being the lone survivor of a serial killer? Or just your average, everyday congratulations-for-killing-a-guy?
If it hadn’t been for Jules, who’d shoved Chelsea and called her an “inconsiderate A-hole,” and then scooped up a piece of the pretty white cake with her bare hand and smooshed it in Chelsea’s face, it probably would’ve stayed awkward. As it turned out, it’s not food that fixes things, it’s food fights.
Violet had been more than happy to stand in the corner of her kitchen and watch as Jules and Chelsea, and even Claire, had demolished the cake, smashing and shoving and squishing it all over one another, until they’d all had to change clothes, and had spent the rest of the night digging frosting out of their ears and noses.
That had been the first time Violet had laughed—really laughed—after coming home.
This wasn’t quite the same, but there was still that strange awkwardness about it. So, for now, she much preferred the less awkward peace of her bedroom.
The first soft ping blended in with the sounds of her imprint, and was easy enough to ignore. But it persisted—the pinging that struck the side of her house—once even hitting her window with a sharp crack.
Violet didn’t have to look to know who it was, or that if she didn’t stop him, her parents would.
She opened her window, leaning over the windowsill on her elbows. “You’re either going to break the window,” she whisper-shouted down to Jay, whose arm was cocked behind him, ready to launch another pebble, “or get arrested for being a nuisance.”
He wiped his hands on his jeans and grinned up at her, a grin that was equal parts wholesome and predatory. “Come down here and I’ll stop throwing rocks at your house,” he taunted.
She didn’t answer, just shut her window and stole out of her room. Jay was probably the only person who could’ve coaxed her out tonight, the only person she actually wanted to see.
Violet shook her head as she hopped down her front steps. “What are you doing here?” She stopped just before she reached him and put her hands on her hips. She didn’t tell him that perched against his car like that, he took her breath away, or that she was thrilled to see him. Instead, she tried to glare. “It’s kinda late, isn’t it?”
Jay grinned, looking for all the world like he had no place better to be than standing there, in her driveway, waiting for her. He shrugged at the same time, his easygoing stance never shifting. “Violet,” he explained, reaching out and looping his finger into the top of her jeans. He tugged, dragging her the rest of the way to him. The feel of his chest beneath hers made it even harder to breathe. “It’s only nine.”
“But it’s a Sunday,” she offered.
“Mm-hmm . . .” he responded, his voice distracted as he leaned down and nuzzled the side of her neck. His lips brushed playfully over her earlobe, as the soft stubble on his chin grazed the sensitive skin of her shoulder.
“It’s a school night.” She almost didn’t get the words out as she stopped caring what she was saying. As she stopped caring about anything but his touch. She closed whatever space remained between them, and her fingers curved up to his shoulder and around his neck, slipping into the back of his hair so she could anchor herself. Everything inside of her reacted to him, like he’d flipped a switch, awakening her in all the right places as she ached for more. The evening air was thick and warm, and smelled like grass and cedars and Jay.
Whatever spell they were under didn’t last nearly long enough, however, and with a shaky breath Jay drew his mouth away from her neck, resting his cheek against hers. It seemed to take all the effort he had just to stay like that. “If we don’t stop now, your parents are going to make the driveway off-limits too.” He remained frozen against her, his breathing harsh and uneven for several long minutes.