I look out to the loch, the moon resting just above the Munros in the distance. The manor is surrounded by water and green forests, and it’s kind of relaxing.
I close my eyes as the nicotine burns my lungs, releasing it in a cloud of smoke.
The sound of splashing has me frowning, nearly dropping the cigarette from my mouth when I see the mystery girl is still here. She’s perched on her elbows, casually chilling at the edge of the pool, still admiring the stars in the sky.
I shouldn’t feel a rush of excitement, but I do.
What do I do? Talk to her? Walk away? Hide?
“Who are you?” I ask, taking another drag as I walk towards her.
She doesn’t acknowledge my existence, and I really want her to look at me. I try again. “Hello? Who are you?”
I don’t like being ignored, especially by a random person who resembles a ghost with freckles all over her body. I wouldn’t usually try to socialise but colour me fucking intrigued.
From her side profile, I can openly admit she’s pretty. The thought smacks me upside the head because I’ve never thought of someone as pretty before.
I assumed I was defective in that department, but since I like the way she looks, perhaps I’m not. It’s hard to study her the way I do others, but I’m more than happy to just… look at her.
Getting annoyed with the silence, I huff. “You should go back inside. It’s too cold out here, Freckles.”
Grimacing, I mentally punch myself in the dick. Freckles? Really, Kade?
Still silent.
If she ignores me one more time, I’m shoving her in the fucking water.
I shake my head.
Sitting on the bench next to the diving board, I inhale, unsure why I keep talking. I never talk. “You don’t go to my school.”
I freeze when she looks up at me, and fucking hell, her eyes are insane. Coughing out the rest of my smoke, I lean my elbows on my knees as she stands, shaking off the water from her legs and slipping on her shoes.
I don’t get it. Or her. Or why she’s walking around the pool towards me.
Wait.
She’s walking towards me.
Oh shit. What the fuck is she doing? Go away.
My breath is slowly being ripped from my lungs as she draws closer. In fact, I don’t think I’m breathing at all .
Her hair flows down her back in curls, freckles dusting over her skin, and those eyes are fucking killing me. They aren’t blue, maybe a light green mixed with silver, like a forest in winter.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
She sits beside me and takes the cigarette from my lips, then places it between her own. The touch of her fingers against my lips doesn’t make me uncomfortable.
I try not to show how much she’s affecting me by looking away, but my insides are somersaulting.
I clear my throat while she smokes my cigarette like it’s hers. There’s a breeze and fuck do I inhale the sweet vanilla – she smells good.
I turn my head and watch as she rests back, the end of the cigarette bright orange. Then she blows a cloud above us, eyes closed as the smoke dissipates in the air.
Her eyes open, and now she’s looking at me. I’m stuck gazing right back at her beauty.
Fuck.
Once she’s done, she places what’s left of the cigarette back in my mouth. Her fingertips graze my lips and send a spark to my chest, and I’m not sure what that means. I toss the finished bud aside.
“My name is Stacey.” Her voice is soft, quiet and calming. Colour me even more fucking intrigued. “I joined Luciella’s dance class a few months ago.”
I wouldn’t mind watching her body move, to see her in her element. I bet she moves beautifully too.
Stop.
I light another smoke since she finished mine, eyeing her every few seconds as we sit in silence.
Stacey.
A name for the mystery girl.
“What age are you?” I ask.
She smiles at me, and shit, I’ve never liked someone’s smile before. I find myself faintly smiling back at her.
“I just turned fifteen. Same as you.”
Same as you.
The three words have me wanting to know more about her.
Her grin grows when I hum, a dimple denting deep in her cheek, and she looks away and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.
Butterflies, I think.
I wonder if she feels them too?
I must be ill. I’ll need to ask Mum what the fuck is wrong with me.
“You sound American and Scottish,” she says. “So does Luciella.”
We spend a lot of time in America visiting our father. It was only natural we picked up the accent over the years. Mine is a lot stronger and deeper.
Hearing people yelling for Stacey, I sigh, knowing our meeting is about to be cut short.
As much as I’d love to sit here and stare at her like a creep, I need to leave before she thinks I’m a weirdo trying to chase some girl I don’t even know.
“Giving you a heads-up,” I begin, flicking the cigarette into the grass as soon as I see my sister’s blonde head. I narrow my eyes. Even though I don’t want to say the next words that leave my mouth, my impulsiveness wins. “Just because you’re my sister’s friend doesn’t mean you can speak to me. Stay the fuck out of my way. ”
As I turn to leave, she lets out a mocking laugh.
“Funny,” she snaps back, and I halt in my tracks, brows knitting together as I glance over my shoulder at her.
She pops out her hip and crosses her arms. “And cute. I was just about to say the same thing to you. So why don’t you stay the fuck out of my way, Kade?”
I like the way my name sounds on her tongue.
I smirk, loving this side of her. “Or else what?”
Ah, fuck. Freckles is even prettier when she’s mad.
The butterflies are going fucking wild, and I have no idea how to repress the feeling.
She barges into me with her shoulder, and I can’t stop the grin pulling at my lips as she marches away with my sister.
Her scent lingers, her dark hair bouncing down her back, but she keeps facing forward, refusing to give me that one last look at her I’m desperate for – until she’s about to vanish down the pathway among the trees, when she turns and gives me the middle finger.
Fucking hell. Why am I smiling?
1
STACEY
SIX YEARS LATER
Ipull the duvet away, slowly and quietly, and slide my legs out of the bed first. He stirs and reaches across the mattress, but I’m out and on my feet before he can touch me.
My dress and underwear are scattered across the floor, my heels probably on his stairs or in the living room. A Tinder date that began in the pub, something to keep me busy. After a few drinks and endless flirting, he invited me back here.
Is it bad that I can’t quite remember his name? He’s either Bryan or Byron. They do sound the same. I’ll need to check his profile before I delete the app.
I notice a few missed calls on my phone from my best friend Lu, one from my other best friend Tylar and several messages from my stepbrother, demanding to know my whereabouts.
I groan, rubbing my temples to try to ease my headache, then open Luciella’s contact and type out a message.
Me: Can you pick me up? I’m at Branchton. There’s a row of houses across from a church. Do you know the place?
I tiptoe down the steps with my heels and jacket to hand until I reach the bottom, sitting on the bottom step.