Love Song(45)

He remains focused on my face, but I don’t know if he’s actually seeing me. It’s that faraway gleam Wyatt gets sometimes, like he’s caught a glimpse of something godly and mysterious that we mere mortals can never tap into.

Finally, my hair is loose. He captures the long strands in his fist and gently moves it aside so it’s cascading over one shoulder.

The silence stretches between us like a live wire.

He stares at my mouth now. I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing I am. That all it would take is an inch, maybe two, and there’d be no more pretending this is just friendship.

“Wyatt…”

The sound of his name doesn’t pull him out of the trance. I don’t think he’s drunk, and I only saw him smoke half a joint much earlier in the day. As he steps closer and exhales slightly, all I smell is the mint of his toothpaste and the scent of his shampoo.

My lips feel dry, so I lick them. The quick motion captures his attention. My heart takes off in a wild gallop when he rubs his thumb over my bottom lip before curling his hand around my jaw. He’s so much taller that I have to peek up at him.

I don’t know what he’s seeing, but he whispers, “Fucking beautiful.”

Our eyes lock. His rough fingertips stroke my cheek.

And then he jerks and releases me.

“Sorry,” he mumbles as my skin weeps from the loss of his touch. “I just… Your hair gave me an idea for a song.”

“My hair?” I echo weakly.

Wyatt visibly swallows. “You never know when inspiration will strike.” He clears his throat. “You going to bed now?”

“Yeah. I guess.”

He grabs his notebook from the desk. “Cool. I’m gonna write on the dock for a while.”

“Don’t forget to set the alarm when you come back in,” I say.

He nods, and then he’s gone.





Description

A graphic depicting a torn sheet of white lined notebook paper with binder holes on the left. Handwritten text in black ink contains song lyrics with some words crossed out and corrected. The title is ‘Stop the World’. The lyrics describe feelings of falling in love and time stopping, with edits showing the creative process.





Description

A graphic of a lined notebook paper page with holes on the left. It features handwritten lyrics in black ink. The text includes phrases like ‘Before you’, ‘After you’, and lines about ‘losing control’ and the ‘world stops’. There is a crossed-out word ‘drop’ replaced with ‘forget’.





Chapter 13


BLAKE





WYATT

Come to the playing field.



THE TEXT APPEARS AS I’M pouring a cup of coffee at the counter. My heart stutters. He wants me to go outside and meet him?

This has to be about last night. The almost kiss.

Because that was totally an almost kiss.

I think.

I still can’t make sense of what happened in his bedroom. His fingers in my hair. His eyes boring into me like he was peering into my soul.

My palms are clammy from nerves as I carry my coffee outside and step off the front porch. A minute later, I find Wyatt standing in the grassy clearing on the far side of the house, staring at a net.

This was not what I expected when he texted to come to the playing field.

We call it the playing field because this is where all the dads go when their competitive instincts kick in, propelling them to play volleyball or croquet or lawn bowling or whatever else allows them to either high-five as teammates or shout obscenities as opponents.

Yesterday, there was nothing in the clearing.

Today, there’s a net. Not a volleyball regulation net but a couple of feet shorter.

Gripping the handle of my mug, I saunter toward him. “Badminton?”

“Yeah, I think so,” he replies, still staring.

“Did you set that up?”

“No. Henry must have done it when we were asleep.”

“Okay, I’m about to put forth a hypothesis, and I need you to seriously consider it.” I purse my lips for a moment. “Do you think Houseman Henry might be one of the Tahoe ghosts?”

“No,” Wyatt says.

“You didn’t even consider it!”

“Because it’s dumb.”

“Here. Hold this.” I hand him my cup and pull up my phone. “I’m texting my dad so he can explain the net.”

Why is there a badminton net outside?



DAD

Oh, we just decided last night. Badminton tourney this summer when we’re all there. Participation mandatory. G’s making up the brackets.



I groan in dismay. “They’re going to force us to participate in a tournament, and there are brackets.”

“Why are there always brackets?” Wyatt sighs.

Did we not learn our lesson from the lawn bowling tournament? You and Dean didn’t speak for weeks afterward.



DAD

Because he’s a fucking cheater.



I’m going now.



I slide my phone in my pocket and give Wyatt a questioning look. “Is there anything else you wanted to discuss?”