Summer of Supernovas (12 page)

He finishes chewing. “Nah, won’t matter, really. I’ll be eighteen and have access to my trust fund.” He catches my raised brow. “Damn. Did that just sound as obnoxious as I think it did?”

“Yup. On a scale of one to ten on the Obnoxious Meter, I’d give it an eight.”

“Yeah, well, my grandpa Walker was a pretty heavy hitter in the stock market. Everything—I mean
everything
—the man touched turned to gold. My family inherited a pretty sizeable chunk of his fortune.”

That explains the spanking new Lexus. And expensive clothes. And Euro-bumming. I smirk. “Okay, ten, I give it a ten. Maybe even an eleven.”

He nudges my foot under the table.

Curiosity commandeers my tongue. “So, Grant’ll start college this fall? Or will he travel like you?”

“College. He’s headed out of state—University of Michigan. Guess they’ve got a good business program.”

“Business?” I croak. The dumpling plops to my plate shy of its destination. I pick it up again. “I…I would’ve thought music.”

Seth wipes his mouth. “Well, Grant’s a genius with numbers, just like Grandpa and Dad. And Mom has this thing about not living up to your potential, so she’d probably string Grant up by his nuts if he didn’t carry on Dad’s CPA firm.”

I snort.

“Yeah, and you thought the Greeks were bad.”

“She sounds terrifying.”

“I’m kidding. She’s actually pretty cool—when she’s not in overprotective-Mom mode. I swear, sometimes she still thinks I’m a little kid. I keep waiting for her to bust out a wet rag to scrub off my juice ’stache or something.”

I giggle. “Pretty sure they
all
do that. It’s a parental thing. Gram would’ve probably frozen me at ten if it weren’t for the sea-monkey incident.”

“You had a
sea-monkey
incident?”

“Doesn’t everyone?” I maintain my straight face for all of three seconds before Seth’s grin causes me to crumble.

“Uhhh…no. Guess some of us have led deprived childhoods. But enough about that, let’s go back to talking about the future.” He peers up from his dark lashes. My heartbeat zigs and zags, unclear where this is going. “Wanna be my date to a party next Saturday? Tristan—lead singer from Grant’s band—always has this giant start-of-summer bash the week his parents leave town. DJ, caterers, keg—the works.”

I stop spearing the innocent dumpling and drop my hands to my lap. There isn’t a reason in the world to say no. Yet my vocal cords seem paralyzed by yes.
Snap out of it!

“Come on, it’ll be fun. Some of the guys have even been known to wear loincloths and Viking helmets.”

I smile at this; my vocal cords loosen a smidge. “Are you one of them?”

“I prefer not to incriminate myself. Unless that’ll score me a yes?” Hope wavers in his expression. He runs a hand through his dark hair. “Look, no pressure—come, don’t come—I just thought you might have a good time.”

Deep down I know the true reason I hesitate. It’s the same reason I’m now shredding the napkin on my lap. What if Irina is right? What if I
feel
something for Grant? A big something?

Once again, I’m on the verge of screwing up the cornucopia of awesome the universe has generously placed before me. “I’ll come,” I say resolutely. “I want to come.”

“Yeah? Cool.” But the way he tugs at his earlobe, there’s something else I’m missing.

I start to reach across the table for his hand, but feel pushy and lose my nerve. Instead, I redirect my fingers to the side of the battered teapot. “Was there something else?”

“Maybe.” He rests his fingers on mine. They’re as warm and soft as I remember them from our walk along the river. “That night at Absinthe, when you agreed to go out with me. What would’ve happened if I hadn’t been—”

“Two bibimbap?” The server halts at our tableside. His tray is loaded with two heavy stone bowls of sizzling rice with meat and vegetables. A sunny-side-up egg tops the dish.

“That’s us. Thanks,” Seth says, relaxing back in the booth. He nods at me. “Better dig in, next stop is a good forty-minute drive.”

Taking my cue from Seth, I relax, too. “Can’t you give me one teensy clue?” I plead.

Steam rises from his bowl as he pokes at the mounded egg yolk, stirring it with the other ingredients. “Oh, I don’t know.” He leans forward, and lowers his voice. “I kinda like you breathless with anticipation.”

S
eth’s right. I never would have guessed this in a million, trillion years. And…
I love it.
Even Iri won’t be able to dismiss the epicness of this surprise.

He runs his warm hands up and down my bare arms, making my skin seem chilled by contrast. We’re almost halfway into June, but it isn’t unusual for evening temperatures to have a touch of seasonal dyslexia. Tonight it feels more spring than summer.

“Warm enough?” Seth asks.

The pilot opens a valve. “Hold on, I’m taking us higher,” he calls out.

Propane burners roar overhead, raising our altitude. The city grows steadily smaller. Even the Opal River has shrunk to a thin vein of squiggling greenish blue.

“Who cares? I’m in a hot-air balloon!” I squeal. “This totally puts the view from the water tower to shame. I can see
everything.
”

My greedy eyes gobble up Carlisle from afar as we ascend through wisps of cloud cover. When the burners stop firing, we lapse into silence, floating like a dandelion tuft caught in a gentle breeze. Gripping the edge of the basket, I barely register the goose bumps prickling my skin as I take in the patchwork landscape below.

“See?
This
is why I said bring a sweater.” Seth opens his jacket, wrapping me inside of it. “Although…keeping you warm definitely has its advantages.”

“It does.” I snuggle closer, relishing the heat and the feel of his body at my back. “I still can’t
believe
you set this up. I think this ranks as one of the best surprises I’ve ever had. Exactly how many girls have been completely swept off their feet by this gesture?” I pause. “By the way, that was an accidental pun.”

Seth laughs. “None. This is my first time in a hot-air balloon, too.”

“Really?” I reply with a note of surprise. Given Seth’s resources and sense of adventure, I wouldn’t have guessed that he was a virgin ballooner. “So, where’d you get the idea?”

I feel his shrug at my back. “You. Listening to you talk. You belong up here, Wil.”

My head rests against his chest while I gaze at the setting sun. And it’s so quiet, I swear I hear the moment that great orb hits the curve of the earth, unfurling into a thousand ribbons of yellows, oranges, and reds. “Amazing, isn’t it?” Silence. “Seth?” I tip my head up to see he’s not at all looking at the spectacular horizon.

He’s watching me.

I swallow. “This must’ve cost a small fortune. And you’re missing it.”

“You’re happy?” he asks. “I mean, really happy?” His heart is racing, prodding mine to do the same.

“
More
than happy,” I breathe.

He lowers his head, brushing a featherlight kiss on my lips. My eyes flutter open when Seth draws back. “Then I’m not missing anything. Because from right here”—he purposefully gazes down at me—“the view is perfect.”

We arrive at Absinthe just as the opening act leaves the stage. Seth and I are inching our way through the packed crowd.

The air is thick with warring body sprays and pheromones. Nomadic eyes flit from person to person in split-second dismissals or appraisals; the judgments are instantaneous and binding.

Seth shouts or nods or lifts his chin to a number of people as we pass. Never once does he let go of my hand, not until we reach our destination in front of the stage.

“Thanks, man.” Seth claps the back of a beefy guy holding a spot for us.

“No sweat. Nice to get out from behind the bar and into the action.” It’s Nico. I’d recognize those prolific sideburns anywhere. “You see Tessa? Girl is on the prowl tonight.” He whistles through his teeth. “Jesus H, wait’ll you see what she’s wear—”

“Uh, Nico,” Seth coughs. “You remember Wil, right?” He reaches back, pulling me in front of him through the crowd.

“Hello again,” I say.

Nico blinks and quickly recovers with a predatory grin. “Please, Seth, I never forget a pretty face.” He grins a little wider. “Sugar, you sure you’re with the right Walker?”

And…I’m so stunned I can’t articulate a response.

Seth slugs his arm.

Nico chuckles, rubbing his bicep. “Ow, hey, I’m just yanking your chain. Besides, Grant was the one who gave the green light to give her whatever she wanted at the bar. When I saw ’em dancing, I figured they were together. It’s not like he makes the rounds like he use—”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Seth’s tone is arctic.

Nico’s grin holds, but his eyes have gone flat and hard. “Yeah, I do. But lemme give you a little advice, friend.
Ease up.
You don’t do jealous; don’t start now.”

Seth’s posture remains ramrod even after Nico’s disappeared into the throng of bodies around us. And it’s ridiculously trivial, but my mind’s tripping over the fact that Grant bought the ginger ale, which means…Could Seth’s sudden departure last Sunday have been provoked…
by Grant
?

The silence hangs between us. It’s gotten louder in the club, but somehow our silence is all I hear. I need to get us back on track.

Banishing Nico’s idiotic words, I lace my fingers in Seth’s and pull him closer. “I thought we were having a great time. Is my company boring you already?”

Seth’s mouth twitches.

Bingo.

He motions me closer. Blood thrums in my veins as his lips hover at my ear. “You and boring don’t share space in the same universe.”

I’m about to object. As a matter of fact, I can be
quite
boring. Like when I get sucked into a special on the Discovery Channel, and sit catatonic on the couch with a bag of potato chips that disappear faster than a falling star from the sky.

The emcee’s voice cuts through the crowd’s dull roar. “So, how bad do you want them?” Cheers erupt. The emcee grins. “I don’t know if that’s bad enough. You’re gonna have to try a little
haaaarder.
” He thrusts the mic toward the crowd and their deafening cries. “Ah, that’s better. Now let’s give some love for tonight’s headliner, Absinthe’s very own…
Wanderlust
!”

Wanderlust? It’s the band from the flyer at Inkporium.

The stage explodes with bright, glittering lights. And the crowd goes…absolutely nuts.

Manny raises his drumsticks, clicking them in quick succession.
“Three, two, one!”
he shouts. The beat grabs everyone’s attention and doesn’t let go. Manny thrives under the spotlight during the opening drum solo. He wields two sticks, but the fast blur of motion makes them look like hundreds.

The keyboard and guitar come in next. Each instrumental layer compounds the musical spell. There are whistles and cheers. People bounce and move to the fast rhythm.

The blond, shaggy-haired lead singer leaps to center stage. So this is Tristan. Whoa, his jeans are snug. I can count the change in his pockets from the front row—all two dollars and seventy-five cents in compressed coins. But my awareness of his shrink-wrapped lower half instantly disappears when he begins to sing.

Tristan’s pitch-perfect voice has just the right amount of grit—smooth with rough edges—as he pours raw emotion into the lyrics.

The keyboardist hammers the keys in tempo with the drums. His newsboy cap is slightly cocked as he nods to the music.

Finally, after my eyes have explored
every
band member, I give myself permission to look at Grant.

Grant’s probably the least flashy of them all in his plain gray T-shirt, frayed jeans, and duct-taped shoe. Under the bright lights, I see I was right. The tattoos on his arm are music notes.

And I’m mesmerized by the way his fingers work the guitar strings. The tendons in his forearms pop and release as he plays. Grant is dreamily lost in the music. He rocks to the beat, a euphoric almost-smile touching his lips. And I want to go to that place. Blindly follow wherever it is he’s gone. Even if just for one solitary song.