Paper Mache World by Matilda Mann is playing and Noah is drumming his fingers against the steering wheel while we wait for the light to turn green.
We've made it into town, only about ten to twenty from Tamsyn. It feels like three seconds have passed, though. The thought of time slowing just for us makes me smile a bit. What a wonderful thought.
Noah's humming and I'm silently admiring and wishing I knew this song too.
That thought makes me think of singing and singing makes me think of writing. It's been so long wince I've written a song. All of the ones that fill most of my school notebooks are about my mom and Dad. Mason and being lonely.
But as I'm watching Noah, I realize how much I want to write. About him or for him, I'm not sure. Either way, it's a foreign feeling and I take a mental note to get to the paper tonight.
We haven't spoken a single word since we left, but it's a comfortable silence that I have no interest in breaking.
The sun is going down outside and it's sprinkling outside.
"Pretty." I mumble. So much for not breaking the silence.
Noah doesn't say anything, but I know his gaze flicks to me, even if just for second. I feel it burn my cheek in the best way possible. But I guess it always feels good knowing he's looking at me.
The trees don't wizz by since Noah is driving considerably slow. I like it, though. It gives me time to appreciate everything outside the window in a way I couldn't when I was driving here or when I was worried about Mason.
Oh, right. I need to tell him we left.
Me:
Hey.
Hope u don't mind that we abandoned u.
Should be back soon.
Text or call for anything ❤️❤️
Mason Jar:
I love you.
Also pls stop w/ the hearts.
It's weird.
I mentally flip him off, shutting off my phone and tucking it between my thighs.
All of a sudden, wind brushes my cheek. I look up and Noah has his window down. I reach to put mine down, but the windows are locked now.
Looking over at him, ready to ask him to unlock it, I realize that he's done it on purpose. One of the corners of his mouth is pulled up, but I don't give into the urge to scowl at him.
"You're a child." I announce and he laughes at me. Frowning, I lean my head back against the headrest and roll it until I'm staring right at the beauty that is the side of this man's face. "This isn't funny, Noah."
He clears his throat, wiping his smile away with the back of his hand as he takes a breath. I can clearly see him holding back the now gone smile, though.
"No, no. Of course it isn't."
That corner of his lip is still turned up when I decide I want to take a picture of him. I open my camera and point my phone at him.
Just then I reach to smooth my thumb over that spot, wanting that stupid, gorgeous smug smirk off of his face. He turns his head just slightly and my thumb glides across the side of his lower lip.
My finger slips and I accidentally take the picture. With a frown, I pull my hand away and look down at my phone.
I move to use the hand that was just on Noah to press the image that I just took when I feel a familiar warmth envelope it. My gaze lifts and I watch as he brings that hand back up to his face.
"Do that thing with your thumb again?" It comes out as a mumbled question. Gentle and sweet in a way I don't think I've heard before, but want to hear over and over again for the rest of eternity.
I do as he asks and he hums in satisfaction. My face is on fire, my stomach doing backflips, and my heart taking a lap.
With my free hand, I press on the little square to the left of the button to take a picture. The photo from moments ago fills the screen and I can't help but smile. It was a mistake that I took it, but at least it was a good mistake.
I turn my phone to Noah. His gaze flicks to my phone as I let my thumb run from his lips to his jaw, dragging it back and forth against his warm skin, his stubble just slightly prickly.
He smiles, fixing his eyes back on the road. "Send that to me."
Why does this feel so couple-y?
I hum in acknowledgement and send it his way. His phone chimes, but he doesn't pick it up. Responsible driver. I like that.
She's running her thumb along the side of my lip still as I pull into the parking lot of a diner I've only been to once.
Summer's gaze lifts from her phone, angling her head curiously at the diner. Then she looks at me curiously. God, those eyes.
"They have really good pancakes here." I tell her and she nods slowly. I turn off the car as I frown. "But I could have just been terribly drunk."
That earns me a laugh. I get off of the car and round it to open the door for Summer. When I notice that she's going to open the door for herself, I lock it using the key. She tries to pull up the lock, but I spam the lock button until I make it to her door.
I open it with a grin, loving the little scowl on her face. She isn't scary, she's adorable. Even more so when she thinks she's got the "fuck off" look down.
I hold out my hand for her to take and she does as she hops down out of the car. She thanks me with a grumble as I wrap my arms around her shoulder and give her a squeeze. She shrugs away my hug, still annoyed from before.
"After you taste these pancakes, you'll forgive me." I say. Her shoulders only lift.
There's this overwhelming need apologize to her and litter kisses all over her face, but we're not there. Yet or at all, I'm not sure. Hopefully the former.
Because I don't want her to stay pissed at me for the rest of eternity, I let her open the door for me. As I'm walking past the threshold, I feel a smack on my ass. I struggle to keep my jaw from falling. Did she just...?
That is the least Summer thing that she could have done. I spin on my heels and she lets out a small yelp when I tug her forward.
"I'm getting you back for that." I say into her ear. She tenses before she speed-walks ahead and slides into a booth. Coincidentally, the booth I sat at last time I was here.
She's already pulled a menu from the stand before I even sit down. Of course, she's pretending not to pay me any attention as she hums to herself. Her face is covered by the menu and when I reach to pull it down just a little bit, I notice the red in her cheeks
"Awww." I lean closer to her, my arms crossed on the table. "Summer, are you blushing?"
With seemingly zero shame, she nods, her teeth tugging on her thin bottom lip. "You're making me nervous."
My bottom lip juts out as I hold back another aw. I lean further into the table so I can sweep hair behind her ear. She doesn't say a word as she watches me sit back.
"I'm sorry. I don't mean to." I apologize and she shakes her head as I pluck a menu of my own from the bright red stand.
Her eyes go back to scanning the menu and she lowers it so I can see her face better.
I know it's stupid, but I'm counting this as our first date. Even if that's not what she thinks this is, I'm going to hold onto this day, this moment and say that this was our first time out with the other.
A waiter about my age comes to take our orders.
I look at Summer. "What do you want?"
"Surprise me."
I blink at her. With all the time she took with her nose in that menu, I would have thought that she found at least one thing that seemed even remotely decent.
I look away and order her the same as what I got: pancakes and fries.
When the waiter leaves, Summer gives me a look that has me narrowing my eyes at her playfully. She smiles and looks down at her fingers as she plays with them on the table.
"What?"
She lifts a brow. "Pancakes and fries?"
"Their fries are bomb." I shrug.
"You keep saying that all the food here is great, and I'm starting to believe that it really was the alcohol screwing with your poor, poor tastebuds."
I laugh, shrugging. "We're about to find out."
"Darn right."
Then she looks away and I think she's upset again. It's so hard trying not to push her, but also being a nosy, love-sick asshole. I can't balance the two so well, especially at times like these when her discomfort is so aparent.
I open my mouth to speak, but she beats me to it.
"Noah?"
I grin. "That's my name."
She doesn't even crack a smile, picking at her nails. I grab one of her hands and tangle our fingers, bringing a stop to her fidgeting.
For a split second, she looks at me curiously, but continues fidgeting. This times, she's tugging at my fingers and not my own and I smile, not minding it as much when I'm playing the role of her stress toy.
"I feel like I don't know anything about you." She whispers.
And it's true. She doesn't. But truthfully, I don't know anything about her either—just that she has a brother, her dad is an asshole, and her mom is dead. Oh, and she's effortlessly gorgeous.
I nod slowly. "You don't."
She looks taken aback by the fact that I just came out and said it like it's nothing. When she recovers I tell her:
"I don't know much about you either."
The corner of her lip twitches in a small smile. "You don't."
"Then come on. Lay on me, Sunshine."
A breath of laughter escapes her and she nods, looking down at my hands as she plays with them still.
"Okay... my favorite color is—"
"Beige." I finish for her. Her eyes meet mine and they narrow just slightly. "Beige and pink. But a pretty pink, like, light pink. Really light. Almost white."
She tugs on one of my fingers so hard that she pops it. Then she starts popping the rest of them.
"Stalker boy." She teases.
I shrug, biting back a smile. "Maybe I'm just good at noticing things."
"Maybe you're just good at noticing me."
"What makes you think that?"
"You look at me a lot.l" Her brows furrow as she shakes her head like she's struggling to fit pieces of a puzzle together. "I doubt you don't take note of habits or little details."
I smile a little. "By the way, you look really good in purple."
She makes this little noise as the warmth of her hand leaves mine and she buries her face in her hands.
"What?" I laugh, reaching to pull her hands away.
"You're being unfair!"
I roll my eyes playfully. "How am I being unfair?"
That makes her go quiet. My mouth falls open in an are you kidding kinda way. She rolls her eyes and I start playing with her fingers.
"Fine, fine." She says. "You're being unfair because you're..."
"Because I'm..." I trail off mockingly and she pouts, smacking away my hand.
"Because you were being cute. But I take it back; you suck."
My head falls back and I laugh at her.
"Summer."
She gasps dramatically, mocking my tone. "Noah."
"Okay. I'll tell you a secret." I lean forward and she does too, curious. "You're always being cute, you know that?"
"Really?" Her eyes sparkle with something I can't place.
"Fucking adorable."
She smiles to herself, popping my thumb. "Thanks."
I wonder if she really means thank you, or if she thinks I'm just being nice. I don't reiderrate, though. Because if she doesn't know how wonderful she is now, she will. She doesn't need me to realize how absolutely ethereal she can be.
"Okay." I clear my throat, leaning back into the leather booth seat. "My favorite color is green. Like sage green."
She makes a face before clearing her throat, scratching the back of her neck. I gape at her.
"You don't like green?" I ask, incredulous.
It's the prettiest color. Pale and soft. How could someone not like that particular shade of green?
Biting back a laugh, she shakes her head with a slight grimace. I blink at her a few times to make sure that I'm not hallucinating this conversation. She doesn't like green.
"Your parents." She changes the subject. "You know about mine, right?"
Ouch. Should probably save sore subjects to until the end.
I scratch the back of my head. "Aged out of the foster system."
Her mouth forms and 'O' and she leans forward, apparently interested in talking about what that was like. It's not like I don't want her to know, it's just... the only person I've really talked to about that whole ordeal is my old therapist.
"Can I ask what happened?"
"My mom was an addict. She locked me in the bathroom, left me. My screaming finally got a cop's attention. Blah, blah, here I am."
She doesn't say anything about the vagueness, only frowning.
"She really just left you in a bathroom?"
I would have rathered she left me outside a strip club. Anything but that bathroom would have spared me of so much PTSD.
Maybe if she hadn't left me in the dark, I would be able to walk into a bathroom without turning on the light first. I'm also a little afraid of the dark, but whatever.
"Yep."
"Was the system bad?" she questions and I don't have to even think about that. I snort at her question.
"All the kids that I met were either sexually or physically abused at one point. There was even this one kid that had been through so much from the time that she entered and aged out, that she couldn't speak. I think she had autism or something. The trauma definitely didn't help the kids with stuff already going on, that's for sure.
"Not all the parents were bad, though. Some were only in it for the money, others because they wanted to go shopping. Some just felt the need to let a bunch of random kids into their house."
She hums, setting her chin on the back of my hand as she considered saying something.
The last thing I want is for her to hesitate now that she knows a fraction of what I've been through. She wouldn't before and I don't want her to now. I like her too much to let her pity me like I'm still a little kid pining for their parent to come back.
I ask, "What?"
She shrugs. "I always used to wish that someone would take me and Mason away from my dad. But hearing stuff like what you just said... I feel stupid for ever wishing something like that."
Reaching out for her hand comes just as easy as before. I lace our fingers together and tug, squeeze, trace them.
"Don't feel stupid, Summer. It's normal to have wanted out in anyway. Wanting an escape is natural and the real stupid thing is thinking otherwise, all right?"
Her eyes gloss over and I frown. "You know, I've never had anyone really, like... validate the way that I feel. And I like it a lot. It makes me feel normal."
I playfully roll my eyes. "Come on. You know better than that. Normal is subjective."
She gets up from her seat and comes to sit down next to me. I give her a look. She frowns at me and gets up to move back to the other side when I tug her back down by her bra strap.
"That was mean." She mumbles.
I wrap an arm around her, hugging her to my side and pressing my nose to the crown of her head as I apologize for what feels like the ten thousandth time in the last hour.
That's when the waiter comes and leaves us our food and waters.
As I bring a fry up to my mouth, I ask how her mom died. When she makes a face, clears her throat, and basically dives head first into the tray of fries, I realize that sore subjects are going to be the topic of the night.
"She, uh... I think I told you she took her life, right?" I don't remember, but I nod because she's telling me now. "When I got home from school one time, Ifoundherdeadinhercarinthegarage."
Our lives are just amazing, aren't they?