Untouched: a Cedar Cove Novella (5 page)

I could be just another
in a long line of summer kisses; one of the millions of girls a guy
like that must have waiting. I don’t know what he wants from me,
and I sure as hell don’t know what I want from him.

Except to kiss him
until the world ends.

I spend the next few
days ignoring the voice in my head whispering his name, and throw
myself into summer activities with mom instead. If she thinks it’s
strange that I suddenly want to hang out with her, she doesn't say
it. She happily takes us off fruit picking, and driving out to the
beach, and browsing the tourist stores in the beach towns nearby.
Whatever free time is left, I spend in the tiny photography studio,
setting up my materials and developing my first rolls of film. I
focus on the tasks in front of me, pretending like it’s not
Emerson’s face I see drifting to me in the dark, quiet room, or his
arms I imagine sliding around me; his lips brushing against my neck…

“Tomatoes?”

My mom's voice cuts
through my flashback. I spin around. We're at the small grocery store
in town, picking up supplies for Dad and Carina's welcome dinner. I
wanted to tell her, the food wouldn't be worth the effort; as long as
there's a full bottle of scotch, he'll be happy. But mom seemed so
excited, and I knew I could use the distraction from Emerson.

Some distraction. Here
I am daydreaming about him in the middle of the produce aisle.

I blink back to the
present. “What?” I ask, trying to remember what she said.

“Tomatoes,” mom
says again. “For a salad, or maybe a sauce.” Her face lights up.
“That’s perfect, I can teach you how to make my marinara. Won’t
that be fun? I'll get the pasta, you find fresh basil, and oregano
too.”

She disappears down the
aisle before I can protest, so I slowly push the cart on. I send up a
silent prayer that Dad and Carina don't stop at a restaurant on the
way into town; too many of mom's special dinners have sat, going
cold, as they breeze late in with bags of takeout.

I maneuver the cart
around a corner. There's a clash of metal as it hits one coming from
the other direction.

“Sorry!” I
apologize, and look up - straight into the blue constellations I've
barely finished day-dreaming about.

“Emerson!” My voice
comes out a high-pitched squeak, and I cringe from embarrassment at
the sound.
Way to go, Juliet. Casual!
“So, umm, hi.”

“Hi.” Emerson
stares at me, frozen by a canned goods display.

Silence.

Everything from the
other night rushes back again, but this time, it’s stronger than
ever because he’s right here. In front of me. The hands that held
me so close, the lips that demanded everything I was all too willing
to give. I can't look away, but I can't think of a single thing to
say. My mind is blank, heart racing, and all I can do is stare up at
his gorgeous face and remember our kiss.

The
kiss.

“I..”
Say
something! Don't just stand there like an idiot.
I look
desperately around, and zone in on the contents of his shopping cart.
“Captain Crunch!” I exclaim loudly.

Emerson looks startled.
“What?”

“The cereal. I like
it too.” I babble. “I have it with orange juice, sometimes,
instead of milk. I know it sounds weird but, it's actually kind of
great…”

Shut up, shut up,
shut up!

“Oh, yeah.” Emerson
glances down. “It's for my sister. Brit. You met her when...”

He trails off, but I
know what he’s thinking. When I was halfway to giving him my
virginity on his back porch.

Emerson clears his
throat. He looks pained, awkward as hell. Like he wants to be
anywhere but here.

My heart drops as I
realize the truth: he doesn’t have a thing to say to me. In fact,
he probably can’t wait to get away.

Damn! Why didn’t I
see, the reason he didn’t come after me, or try to track me down at
all. To him, it was just a kiss. Hell, he’s probably made out with
dozens of girls, right there in that exact same spot.

I’m nothing special.
It didn’t mean a thing. I feel tears sting the back of my throat.
Behind him, I see my mom. I quickly steer my cart around him.

“I've got to go. Umm,
bye.” I speed away as fast as I can.

“Who was that?” Mom
looks past me.

“Nobody!” I
exclaim. “I just ran into him with my cart. Did you get the pasta?
Good, let's go.”

As I steer her away, I
can’t help but glance back for Emerson. But he’s gone. Deep
inside, I feel an ache of disappointment. Call it hope, or maybe just
foolish day-dreaming, but I felt like that kiss was the beginning of
something.

I turn back, and
tighten my grip on the shopping cart, telling myself it doesn’t
matter, it never could have worked anyway.

You’d think I’d be able to lie
just fine, with a family like mine, but it turns out, I can’t. Not
when I’m lying to myself.

“Ugh, I’m so
bored.” Carina flops beside me on the back porch and pulls out her
phone. She taps away at the keys, ignoring the gorgeous beach spread
out in front of us, the sea grasses rippling in the evening breeze.
“There’s like, nothing to do here.”

“You could go into
town,” I suggest, putting my book aside. “Or take a walk.”

Carina fixes me with a
look. “Seriously? Whatever. We don’t even get cable TV. I’m
going to demand we get it installed, I can’t believe mom thinks she
can keep us here all summer like this.”

“You didn’t have to
come.” I reply, already annoyed by her whining. Ever since the car
pulled up, she’s done nothing but bitch about the house (too
small), the town (too dead), and the “like, criminal” lack of AC
and decent cell reception.

Carina flips back her
glossy blonde hair and rolls her eyes. “Please, mom practically
begged. You know what she’s like, it’s so pathetic.”

“Now, now,” my
dad’s voice comes, amused, as he strolls out onto the porch,
carrying a bottle of wine. He’s wearing a rumpled Oxford shirt,
open at the neck, and a pair of his threadbare corduroy pants. “I’m
sure your mother has a whole program of fascinating activities
planned. She wouldn’t drag us out here for no good reason now,
would she?”

Carina giggles at the
sarcasm in his voice, but I just feel a twist of betrayal. He always
does this, cutting her down, making snide, witty comments about her
when she’s not around. Carina doesn’t seem to realize, and I’ve
long since given up trying to defend her, so I look away, out at the
ocean horizon.

Dad pulls up a rocker
and opens the wine. “Jeanette?” he calls, without getting up.
“Glasses, if you will.”

“I can get them,” I
start to get to my feet, but he waves me back, and a moment later,
mom appears with two wine-glasses. She passes them over, out of
breath.

“Dinner will be ready
in just a second,” she tells him, waiting for approval, but he just
pours wine into one of the glasses and holds it out to me.

“Honey?” My mom
speaks up, looking concerned. “Do you think we should…?”

“They serve wine to
children all the time in Europe,” Dad replies dismissively.

“It’s OK,” I
interrupt quickly. “I don’t want it.”

Carina rolls her eyes
again and snatches the glass. “Honestly, mom. Grow up. I drink all
the time at college.” She takes a long sip.

Mom gives a nervous
laugh. “You’re right, sweetie, of course.” She pauses another
moment in the doorway, then heads back into the kitchen.

I watch dad pour
himself a glass—all the way to the brim—then set the bottle down.
Not on the table, but on the stool beside his chair. Within reach.

Suddenly, I feel an
ache in my chest so strong, I have to move. Get up, get away, do
something.

I leap up. “I’m
going to take a walk.”

“Where?” Carina
snorts.

“Just down the
beach.” I pull on my battered Converse sneakers and grab my camera
from beside my chair. “I’m not hungry, so don’t hold dinner for
me. I’ll be back later.”

Carina shrugs, and dad
barely looks up from his book, so I quickly head down the steps to
the beach and stride away. The expanse of sand is cool and empty; I
put my hands in my pockets and hunch my shoulders against the ocean
breeze. I dig my feet into the sand with every step, feeling the burn
in my thighs, and focusing everything I have on the mantra running
through my mind.

It’s just the summer. Your last
summer. You can make it.

I walk a mile along
the beach at least, lost in thought until I see the faint flicker of
a campfire further down the shore. A couple of trucks are pulled up
on the sand, tailgates down, and people are gathered nearby, dark
outlines against the pink-streaked sunset sky.

I head closer, curious.
As I approach, I hear music playing, a song I love. ‘Use Somebody’
by the Kings of Leon. The party is around my age or older, couples
and groups drinking beer, hanging out. It looks like a fun time, but
I hesitate on the edge of the crowd. I’m not the kind of girl who
can just march into a group of strangers and make friends. Besides,
I’ve still got this heavy ache in my chest, all these thoughts
whirling in my mind.

Then my heart skips. I
see him. Emerson. He’s over by one of the trucks, drinking beer,
laughing at something one of the other guys has said. He’s wearing
jeans and a dark hoodie, but even in the fading light, I can
recognize those broad shoulders and the angle of his jaw; the dark
hair curling at the nape of his neck.

I remember what
Emerson’s hair felt like under my fingertips. A shiver runs through
me.

He looks up.

I freeze, unable to
look away. The music drifts out into the night, wistful chords on the
wind. About wanting someone, feeling so apart from the rest of the
world. The moment stretches between us, unbearably tense. Part of me
wants to turn and run back to the house, but the other part… It
wants to run right to him. Into his arms.

Then he breaks away
from his friends, and slowly walks towards me.

“Hey. Again.” I
gulp, nervous, as he comes to a stop a few feet away from me. His
expression is inscrutable, eyes burning into me. “I promise, I’m
not stalking you. I was just, walking. I saw the fire, and…” I
gulp, lost for words.

How can he do this:
make me forget everything but the sexy curve of his lips? I stare at
them, my stomach twisting into knots as I wait for a response.

Emerson finally clears
his throat. “I’m sorry.” he says in a low, throaty voice that
sends sparks shooting down my body.

“For what?” I
pause, confused.

“What happened, the
other day,” he explains. He looks away, shoulders hunched. “I
didn’t know what to say to you, in the store. I was out of line. I
should never have…” he swallows, glancing back at me. For a
moment, his face is unguarded, vulnerable. Ashamed. “I’ll
understand if you don’t want to see me again,” he adds quickly,
looking at the ground again. “I just wanted to come over and say…
Well, I’m sorry. You deserve better than getting mauled by a
fuck-up like me.”

He meets my eyes again,
full of regret. Then he turns and walks away.

Confusion crashes
through me.
He’s
the one who’s sorry?

“Wait!” I call, and
start after him. Emerson doesn’t slow, so I grab his arm and pull
him around to face me. “What are you talking about?” I demand,
“You’re not a fuck up, and you didn’t maul me. Why would you
say that?”

Emerson blinks at me
slowly through his long, dark lashes. “But, what happened, on the
porch…”

“I wanted it!” The
words tumble out, and even though I blush to hear them, so blatant
and true, I don’t stop. The guilty expression on his face is
cutting right through me, and I can’t bear to have him think what
we did was wrong. “I was there too, remember? I kissed you back!”
I exclaim, still holding onto him. “I could have stopped you, any
time I wanted, but I didn’t. I wanted it. I wanted you!”

Emerson’s expression
slowly changes as my words sink in. The dark shadow in his eyes melts
away, and then he’s looking at me with an intensity I’ve never
seen before, like I’m something precious and pure.

“I thought… you
must hate me,” Emerson mutters again, still not certain. “The way
you took off like that…”

“Only because your
sister pretty much saw me naked!” I exclaim.

His expression softens
into a small grin. “Half-naked.”

“Like that’s any
better.” I laugh, and just like that, the tension and uncertainty
between us melts away.

We both catch our
breath, and suddenly, I realize that although we’re right by the
party—the fire blazing, music playing loud—nobody is even looking
in our direction. We’re alone, in the middle of a crowd.

Together.

It’s like Emerson
reads my mind. He glances around, and then looks back at me. “Do
you want a drink?” he asks, “Or…”

“Or…?” I wait. My
pulse is kicking, playing out a nervous symphony in my veins.

Emerson gives me a slow
smile. “Or, we could go somewhere.”

There’s no mistaking
the look in his eyes. My breath catches, but even as the voice in my
head screams out, “
Yes!
” I have to force myself to stop
and think a minute.

You know what’ll
happen if you go with him. You know where those kisses will lead.

I feel the shiver of
danger, but I can’t look away. My blood is running wild through my
body, and already I can feel his hands on me, the memory of their
sweet caress.

I nod.

Emerson leads me out
past the party, towards the dark shadow of the dunes. I walk beside
him, but I can feel the heat of his body blazing just inches away
from me.

“Are you cold?”
Emerson asks, frowning. “Here.” He unzips his hoodie and pulls it
off, draping it carefully around my shoulders.