Everything We Keep: A Novel (10 page)

CHAPTER 12

The summer before I started high school, I had known James for six years and no longer wanted to be his friend. I itched for something more.

My thinking wasn’t a sudden change of direction, more a subtle shift over the last school year, like a butterfly ever so slowly unfolding her wings upon emerging from a cocoon and taking flight. I started to notice things about him I hadn’t before, like his scent. He didn’t have that sweaty locker room smell the boys at my school had. His cologne meshed nicely with his own scent, making my insides cartwheel whenever he stood near and I breathed him in.
What a head rush!
It left me dizzy and confused, and on more than one occasion, I had to stop from plastering my nose into his chest. He would laugh and push me away.

But despite my potential embarrassment, I knew him better than anyone else. His endless pursuit to improve his artwork, his frustrations with his parents forcing him on a career path he didn’t want, and his despondency over not sharing his work with anyone outside my family—else his family find out and they prevent him from seeing me—made for a heady combination in my head. I was falling in love with my best friend, and I desperately missed him.

Football practice had started and he had a menu of other activities keeping him busy. I hadn’t seen him much that summer, but he did make a surprise visit one August afternoon. I was baking cookies for Kristen’s birthday and had just removed the cookie sheet from the oven. When I straightened and turned around, I found James leaning against the kitchen threshold, watching me.

He was wearing slate pants and a white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, an outfit suitable for church on Sundays, not a hot, dry Thursday. And definitely not for football.

At sixteen, James didn’t have the lean, gangly stature typical of guys his age. Years of football kept him in top shape. Unruly, sun-burnished strands tumbled on his dark head. He’d been running his hands through his hair. Something was on his mind.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, surprised to find him standing in my house. I shouldn’t be. He had a key thanks to Dad, who’d grown weary answering the door every time James came over, which, before this summer, had been a lot. “Don’t you have football practice?”

He shrugged. “I decided to take the afternoon off.”

My brows lurched up. “And your parents are cool with that?”

He snorted, his forehead crinkling as he tilted his chin, giving me a wide-eyed look. His parents had no idea he was here.

“Dad’s working late and Mom’s at a charity function,” he explained.

“So, you’re playing hooky?” I set the cookie sheet on the granite counter.

He gave me a brilliant, face-splitting grin that made my heart clutch. My cheeks flushed. I ducked my head to hide the blush as I busied transferring cookies to the cooling rack.

“Are you here to paint?” I asked when I heard him approach.

“And to see you.”

I couldn’t stop the wide smile that spread across my face.

He leaned a hip against the counter and snatched a cookie. I grabbed his wrist. The cookie hovered an inch from his mouth. He cocked a brow. My eyes narrowed.

“Those are for Kristen. It’s her birthday.”

He popped the cookie into his mouth.

“James,” I complained. My gaze dipped to his lips, and my thoughts changed to a new channel. How many girls had he kissed with those lips? Did he ever think about kissing me?

My face scorched. He smirked. I gave him an exasperated look and let go of his wrist, returning to my task. “No more,” I warned. He would consume the entire batch, no thanks to his football appetite, if given the chance. “I don’t have time to bake more.”

“One more?” He pushed out his lower lip in a pout.

“Fine,” I said, finding him irresistible. I shoved a cookie in his mouth. He grunted.

I nodded at his clothes. “Why are you dressed like that?”

“What’s wrong with how I’m dressed?” He gave me an appalled look.

“Nothing!” I gasped. “You look nice . . . I mean, your clothes are nice, that’s all,” I sputtered. He had to be dressed up for a reason. “So, where are you going?”

“You mean, where have I been?” He lowered his face and took in his outfit as though he’d forgotten what he wore. His expression twisted. “It’s Mom’s latest scheme to prepare us for a life of board meetings and dinner parties,” he groused.

I swiped my hands together, brushing off crumbs. “What’s she got you and Thomas doing now?”

His lips twitched. “You look cute in that apron.” He tugged the ruffled edge. “Where’d you get it?”

“You’re avoiding the question.” And distracting me. I pushed his hand away.

“So are you.” He snagged my hand and wove our fingers together.

I inhaled sharply. Both our heads dropped to our clasped hands, then quickly rose. We locked gazes. Surprise brightened his brown eyes before a devilish smile spread across his jaw. He lifted our hands, arms bent at the elbow. His free arm looped my waist and tugged me against his chest.

I gasped at the sudden contact. I’d never been this close this way with him before. “What are you doing?”

“Showing you.”

“Showing me what?” I squeaked, my voice shooting to the ceiling.

James chuckled. “I’m showing you what I’ve been up to. Follow my lead. Listen to my count,” he murmured by my ear. He pushed into my chest, forcing me back. I stumbled and his hold tightened. He rested his chin on my head.

My entire body went rigid.

I felt him smile into my hair. “You’re so tense. It’s just me.”

Just James. Holding me. I could feel the heat of his skin through my tank top and grimaced. That observation didn’t help my naive, overactive imagination in the least, though I did notice his heart was pounding just as fast as mine.

We started moving and he began to count, a whisper in my ear. After a few stumbling missteps and several bruised toes, he moved us smoothly around the kitchen. We were dancing, and not the jump-up-and-down kind we did at the middle school socials but the fancy, grown-up kind.

“You’re taking dance lessons.”

He hummed in acknowledgment. I felt the vibration to my toes. “We’re dancing the waltz.”

I leaned back and looked up at him while trying to focus on the footwork. “What does waltzing have to do with meetings and parties?”

He gave me a disgruntled look. “Negotiations. Apparently, Mom wants Thomas and me sharp and quick no matter where we close a deal.”

I imagined James in a business suit dancing with a beautiful woman in a silk blouse and pencil skirt. “You dance while you work?” I had no idea that was what people did when they got jobs.

He threw his head back and laughed. “No, you crazy girl. My crazy girl,” he murmured into my hair and kissed my head, sending sparks of excitement through me. He’d called me his girl.

“Dad attends a lot of after-hours parties and has closed some big deals at them.”

His parents’ careers with Donato Enterprises were so different from my parents’ work at the restaurant. I pictured their glamorous life. Long gowns and men in tuxedos sipping champagne from cut crystal while a twenty-piece orchestra played in the background.

James twirled us around the kitchen island, bringing me back to the smell of baked chocolate chip cookies and his closer-than-ever nearness. “You’re very good at this.” Like he was good at everything else he tried, from running precision plays on the football field to his self-taught painting techniques. His acrylic canvases were stunning.

“You make me look good,” he complimented, adding, “and you’re a fast learner.” His breath ruffled my hair. We were dancing a hairbreadth from each other, prompting a thought to slip into my head as smoothly as he moved us in one-two-three-step circles.

“Do you dance this closely with the girls in your class?” I whispered.

James remained quiet for a long moment. I dipped my chin, feeling stupid and embarrassed for asking. But the thought of him holding other girls this way made me ill.

When did I become so jealous of who and where he spent his time?

Since he confided I was his best friend in the world. Since he held me while I cried after Roxanne Livingston stole my underwear in gym class and flung it like a slingshot to the ceiling, where it snagged on the fire sprinkler and was left for the entire school to see. James had wanted to beat the shit out of Roxanne, and I had wanted him for myself for longer than I cared to admit.

“No,” James finally said. “Not like this. It’s different with you.”

My head snapped up.

His expression sobered. “I’ve wanted to dance with you since I first started lessons.”

He had?

James slowed our tempo so we swayed side to side, and then we stopped moving altogether. “There’s something else I’ve wanted to do.”

“What’s that?”

“Kiss you.” And then he did.

My eyes rounded. I squeezed his upper arm. Our lips touched, once, twice, and again. His tongue traced the seam of my mouth and I gasped. He dipped inside. Then he was gone before I had a chance to wrap my head around the fact James was kissing me. My James!

I gawked at him.

He gave me a shy smile. “Hi.”

I blinked. “Er . . . hi.”

He cocked his head, his expression turning wary. “You OK?”

“Um . . . yeah. I think so.”

“You think so?” He laughed, sounding nervous.

I touched my tongue to my lips. They throbbed. Everything throbbed. New, glorious, and spectacular sensations. I felt like the butterfly taking her first flight.

“Why did you kiss me?” I blurted.

“You don’t know?” he asked, and I shook my head. He’d mentioned I was his best friend, but that was it. Just a friend.

“You’re my best friend, Aimee,” he said, echoing my thoughts. My shoulders sagged in disappointment and he curved a finger under my chin, tilting up my face. “Actually, you’re more than that to me.” His voice lowered, sounding shy. “I’ve told you before, you know me better than anyone. I’ve really grown to care about you.”

My lips formed a small circle. “Oh,” I breathed.

His face split into a grin that glowed brighter than the August sun. He bear-hugged me, lifting me off my feet. “God, I’m glad we’re at the same school again. We’ll get to see each other more.”

“Like we don’t see each other enough already?” I teased.

“We haven’t seen each other enough this summer.” He lowered me to my feet but didn’t let go. “Hey, you can slip me notes again in between classes.”

I turned crimson.

“I liked your notes. I’ve missed them.”

I smiled shyly. “Then I’ll be sure to write you more.”

James released me and popped another cookie in his mouth.

“Hey! Stop eating Kristen’s cookies.”

“Stop making them taste so good.” He grabbed my face, cupping my cheeks. I sucked in a breath, the move catching me off guard. He stared at me as if he were in awe. “God, your eyes are beautiful this close up. So blue. Like the Caribbean Sea. Can I kiss you again?”

“Yes, please,” I breathed. This was all so new and I was hungry for more. The butterfly in my stomach flapped her wings, ready for another flight. James grinned, and I grinned back, and then we were both laughing and kissing.

“You sure you’re OK to be here?” I asked after a few moments, thinking how upset his parents would be when they learned James ditched football practice.

“Don’t worry about me. They’ll never know. I’ll get home before them.” He kissed my nose to appease me.

The house phone rang and I jumped away from James. He laughed. “It’s the phone, Aimee. Not your parents walking in on us.”

“Ha, ha,” I smarted, my cheeks turning brighter than an oven heat coil. I answered the phone, watching James roll up his sleeves and empty his pockets onto the counter—wallet, a receipt, change, and keys to the BMW 323ci his parents had bought for his sixteenth birthday. He wandered into the sunroom, where his art studio was set up in the corner.

I listened to Thomas on the other end of the line, looking for James. As Thomas spoke, my smile fell, and when he finished, I hung up the phone, noticing James had been watching me.

He frowned. “You OK?”

“You have to go. Your mom’s on her way home. Phil’s with her.”

James swore. He didn’t get along with his cousin. Once, he had caught Phil snooping through his desk. I knew James kept all the trinkets and cards I’d given him in the bottom drawer. He also kept the notes and letters I’d written him, too. Had Phil read them? James wasn’t sure, but he did remark that a picture of us was missing. James and I were eating Popsicles, his arm casually draped across my shoulders. I was twelve and wearing my first bikini, which I’d cajoled Mom into buying on the condition Dad would never see me wearing it. The sight of his little girl in a scrap of material would be too much for him. So, when Kristen’s mom gave me the picture for my scrapbook, I gave it to James. I didn’t want Dad to find the photo, which didn’t seem as big a deal now that I worried Phil had taken it.

James glanced around the kitchen, rubbing his forearms, thinking. “I should go.”

“James, your dad—”

He rolled his eyes my way. “What about him?”

“He’s home. And he’s asking for you.”

All the color drained from his face.

“James?”

“Gotta run. I’ll call you later.” He grabbed his keys off the counter and bolted for the door.

“James! Your wallet.”

The front door slammed. I grabbed the wallet, which had his driver’s license. He would need it on him if he planned driving anywhere besides the two blocks home.

I raced out the front door in time to catch his BMW turning the corner. I sprinted to his house, hoping to reach him before he went inside. I caught him on the walkway to his porch.

“James!” I huffed.

He whirled, eyes rounding as I came to a full stop on the sidewalk by his car. I bent over, hands on knees, and sucked in air. Lifting my head, I held out my arm. “Your wallet.”

He blinked, his hands automatically going to his back pockets and finding them empty. He approached and took the wallet. “Thanks,” he said, his gaze tracking a car behind me.