The Mercedes was like a shadow against the night, black steel blending into the inky sky as it pulled into the lot. As much as I wanted to slow it down, there was nothing I could do against what was to come. The answers that I had promised Dez about the flight but still hadn't quite prepared myself enough for.
Before Lukas could bring the car to a complete stop, Dez was already climbing out of the back seat, rushing toward the hangar's entrance to me. It was close to 8:30 PM by the time my mother had let me know what time the jet would be ready, and I'd called Dez no more than half a second after I found out. There hadn't been time for explanations, only enough time to give him the offer and let him know to start packing—it would be one hour before a driver would be at his house to pick him up.
While Lukas did just that, Ethan drove me to the hangar. Dez was going to know the truth about me soon enough. There was no point in hiding either of my bodyguards anymore.
On the way here, I'd envisioned every possible scenario that might play out once I saw him. What to say when he asked who Lukas was, who my connection to the jet was, or how I'd managed to arrange all of this no more than a few hours after I said goodbye to him at school. And then . . . all of the questions that were sure to follow those. I'd expected some nerves, yes, but I still hadn't anticipated the wave of panic that hit me as Dez approached me now.
That was, until he stopped half a step away, and every question that had burned in his eyes mere seconds ago vanished.
"You've been crying."
My spine locked and my muscles went rigid. With the conversation with my mother draining nearly everything out of me, I hadn't bothered to look at myself before I came—but I knew my eyes were puffy from the tightness I felt with each blink.
I could only think to turn my face away from Dez then, hide any evidence of what the cost had been for tonight's arrangement. But he stepped closer, reaching up with one hand to gently lift my chin so that I had no choice but to meet his stare.
His jaw was tight. "What happened."
I grasped for something—anything to say, but by some miracle, I was saved from whatever mess I was bound to spew as another voice cut in, "You must be the one I owe a big thank you to."
I loosed a breath and turned to my savior.
Like Dez, he was tall, tanned, and had dark chestnut hair—but that was as far as any resemblance between the two went. Handsome in his own right, and yet there was a frigid air to him that, had I not known he was Dez's father, would have made me think they had no relation at all.
He approached with one small suitcase in hand and stopped just within reach of us.
I started, "Hi, Mr. Warren. I'm—"
"Oh, I know perfectly well who you are." Dez's father stole a glance at him. It was brief, but there was something edged in that look that made me hesitate as he reached his hand out to me. "And please, call me George."
With a small nod, I placed my hand in his. He went on, "I don't know how in the world you pulled this off, Lyra, but we really can't thank you enough. I know there's no way we can even begin to repay you, but please at least let me know how much to write on the check. I can't imagine how much this must have cost you—"
"Actually, there's no need. A family friend owns it." I tried my best to keep a calm demeanor while the two words burned like acid in my mouth. Family friend. What a joke.
I continued, "They know that Dez is a close friend of mine, so when I told them that there was an emergency, they didn't ask any questions."
The latter at least was true; my mother didn't ask a single question about it. She didn't care enough to.
"Must be some family friend." George glanced through the fence, where just beyond awaited a small, sleek white jet. He gave me a tight-lipped smile, the creases around his pale green eyes deepening. "Well, if you wouldn't mind sharing their contact information, I would love to thank them personally."
I tried not to wince at the thought of him speaking to my mother. "They like to keep things a little private, but I'll definitely let them know you said thanks."
He straightened the lapel on his burgundy jacket as he nodded in understanding, though this time his smile didn't remotely reach his eyes. "I see. Of course. Thank you."
"Good evening." Another man, maybe in his mid-twenties approached, relieving us from any other awkward conversation. One of the crew members for the flight—guessing from the light gray uniform he wore, the cerulean tie around his collar. He looked to the three of us before addressing Dez and his father directly, "We'll be ready for departure in a few minutes. May I take your bags?"
"No need." George lifted his suitcase to display how light it was. He then said to me, "Thank you again, Lyra. I'm sorry we don't have the time to get to know one another right now, but you have my gratitude. Please let me know if there's anything we can ever do for you in the future. Maybe we can have you over for a thank-you dinner when we get back."
As he turned away, he patted Dez's shoulder, that stiffness in his expression returning for a moment before it was gone again. "I'll see you in there."
The crew member walked after him, and as they boarded together, the engine's hum began to churn the air around us. A gush of warm wind from the turbines swept past, ruffling my unbound hair.
I tucked a wayward strand behind my ear as I faced Dez. "Your dad is . . . very different from you."
"That's one way to put it," he responded flatly, but said nothing else about it.
Fair enough.
He surveyed the jet before casting his gaze back to where Lukas was parked in the lot. A ripple of silence echoed between us, somehow louder than the noise coming from the engines.
I didn't know how many seconds passed until he spoke again. "This was more than just a family friend, wasn't it?"
My stomach clenched. Denial had been my armor up to this point—but I reminded myself of the promise I'd made, both to him and to myself.
So I answered truthfully, "Yes."
All I could do was stand there and watch as the realization settled like a veil over his sharp features. Everything clicking together, piece after piece: The private jet. "House-sitting" for Gina's neighbor in one of the wealthiest towns in the state. Sending a driver in a luxury car to pick him up . . .
He didn't take his eyes off the Mercedes as he said, "You don't live in Lincoln Valley."
I managed a nod. His gaze drifted over to where another black car was parked on the opposite corner of the lot, twin to the one Lukas drove—where Ethan was sitting behind the tinted glass.
I knew Dez couldn't see him. But he didn't need to.
I shut my eyes as I braced myself for his next words. What felt like minutes passed until—
"Thank you."
What?
"Not just for putting all of this together," Dez went on, and I lifted my gaze to find him staring at me. His attention was fixed on my eyes—the puffiness there. "But I know how difficult it must be for you to share all of this with me."
I found myself gaping up at him. It was hard not to feel like an idiot now, spending the past couple of hours freaking out about how to explain any of this to him, anticipating all of his reactions. Because—I should have known. I should have known that Dez wouldn't push, wouldn't judge or demand anything I wasn't ready for. That he'd want me to do this at my own pace. My own time.
The humming from the jet's engine reached its maximum, signaling that the pilots were ready for takeoff. But I didn't want Dez to think that my tears had anything to do with him, that I had cried because of how hard this was for me. Far more importantly, I wanted to tell him that sharing this with him wasn't difficult in the slightest. Sharing this with him turned out to be incredibly easy—and that was what scared me the most.
But that was all too heavy for the little time we had left with each other now, so I forced a smile, hoping to lighten the mood by at least a sliver before we said our goodbyes. "Consider it an apology gift for how I acted when we first met."
The door to the jet opened then, and the crew member from earlier stood at the bottom of the steps, waiting. I added reluctantly, "You should get going."
But Dez didn't move. His attention remained on the taut skin around my eyes. His mouth opened for a moment, before it closed again.
He fisted his hands at his sides as he nodded. "I'll call you when we land."
"Okay."
I thought that would be the end of it, but even as the seconds passed, his feet didn't move from where they were planted.
"Dez—'
"Promise me you're okay, Peacock."
I wasn't. But I said, "I will be."
I knew it wasn't the answer that he wanted, but it was the only one I could give without lying to him. Once he saw that, he finally turned away and headed towards the gates, but not before I glimpsed the flicker of restlessness—restlessness and frustration in his eyes.
He didn't want to leave me like this.
I almost let him walk away. I didn't want to delay their flight more than we already had, but . . .
"Dez, wait."
I ran after him before he could take the stairs into the jet and leaned up to the tips of my toes as I pressed my lips lightly against his cheek.
The kiss lasted all but a second, but I knew I'd feel the heat of his skin on my mouth for days.
I told myself that my breathlessness was from running. "Have a safe flight."
I lowered back down to my heels, but before I could step back any further, Dez lightly wrapped his hand around my wrist and stopped me.
This time, there was no denying why I couldn't breathe.
His face was so dangerously close to mine that I could almost taste the mint on his tongue. But it was the way he looked at me that snatched the air from my lungs. There was something different in it this time. An awareness that wasn't there before. An emotion I couldn't place but still somehow made my heart roar in my ears.
"Peacock, I . . ." His chest moved up and down tightly. Deeply. And as his voice trailed off, a different kind of restlessness seemed to take hold of him.
His gaze slid down to my mouth, and I didn't lie to myself about what I wanted in that moment. What I'd wanted in so many moments leading up to now but had fought against for so long. There was too much left that I had to admit to him, truths that would change everything between us. Small as it might have been, there was still a chance he would hate me after all of it.
Yet I nearly closed that space between us anyway—consequences be damned.
His throat bobbed, and his voice strained a bit as he said, "You don't know how much this means to me."
I wondered which part he meant it about.
I tried to ignore the disappointment that flooded me as he stepped back, but it was short-lived—as I watched a small kind of peace settle into him.
I stayed there until the doors closed behind him. Until the jet ascended from the runway, swallowed up by the clouds, and Dez was gone.
***
"Rudy is driving me insane." Wild, crimson curls greeted me as Hannah flung her hair over her shoulder in a dramatic fashion. I'd hardly walked into the bookstore and clocked in before she dragged me to the Children's section, where we were now standing in between towering stacks of boxes. "Seriously, look at this. These aren't boxes, Lyra. They're walls! How in the world am I supposed to stock all of these books before the end of the day?"
A soft snort sounded from the other side of one of those walls.
Hannah huffed. "What's so funny, Liv? You're going to be stocking just as much as I am."
"What's funny is that half of these boxes don't even have any books. They have toys." Thick-rimmed glasses peeked over one of those boxes as Olivia moved it with surprising ease. Flipping the top open, she pulled out a fluffy pink panda with animatedly large blue eyes. "There are only seven stuffed animals in this box."
"Oh, thank the almighty heavens!" Hannah extended her hands above her head and jogged them towards the sky. She then glanced to the front of the store, where the manager was busy meticulously organizing what appeared to be light-up Star Wars pens. "Rudy, you lucky sir, will not be losing an employee today."
Laughing, Olivia shook her head as she turned to me. "I didn't know you worked weeknights."
I hauled down one of the other boxes between us to better see her—light enough that I knew it was also probably full of toys. "I usually don't. I picked up Tyler's shift last minute, so I'm on register duty tonight."
Hannah jumped in, "Someone here has been feeling a little stir-crazy since her fake-but-not-fake boyfriend left town."
"Not actually my boyfriend, Han," I said. Though it didn't seem to matter how many times I told her that.
It certainly didn't help my case as, not a moment later, my phone chimed with a text. I didn't get the chance to hide my screen from Hannah before she gave me a smug little smile. "Blue heart, huh? Could that be your not-boyfriend?"
I rolled my eyes as I silenced my phone and headed to the front of the store, maybe a little too hurriedly. "See you guys later."
It had been two days since Dez left, and though he'd called me once they'd landed in Florida, we hadn't spoken much since. It wasn't by any means radio-silent between us, but it was a far cry from seeing him everyday at school. In the few times we did speak, we didn't bring up what had happened between us before he left—whatever that had been. I was glad for it, if only because I still didn't know what to make of it.
The image of the blue heart on my screen now sent my thoughts racing. The last thing he'd said to me was that he'd reach out when he had an update on his brother—but I couldn't read his text yet, not with Rudy standing by the register.
For a Wednesday evening, it was moderately busy at Crooked Shelves, with not many breaks in between the customers at check-out. It wasn't until an hour later that Rudy went back into his office and the lines had died down. My fingers worked over my screen quickly as I opened Dez's message.
Can you call me after work?
I shifted on my feet.
I'm not done until 9. It'll be pretty late for you with the time difference.. is everything okay?
His reply came seconds later.
For the most part. Nothing to worry about. And 9 is fine, we won't get back to the hotel until late anyway.
For the most part? I bit my lip, but I kept myself from prying more for now.
Okay, I'll call you as soon as I'm home.
I started to put my phone away, unable to help the worry now seeping in anyway, but another text from Dez suddenly had me shaking my head—and like a switch, had me laughing:
Chemistry must be terribly boring without me. My poor Peacock :/
"Hi."
I nearly jumped out of my skin as a guy around my age appeared, his obsidian eyes bright with amusement. He was tall, holding at least seven books in one arm, all thick and heavy enough that I wondered how he managed to hold all of them without struggling.
My cheeks flushed from being caught on my phone at work. How long had he been standing there? I opened my mouth to apologize when he placed the books on the counter between us and chuckled. "No need for that. I do it all the time at my job."
He then peered over his shoulder to where Rudy had emerged from his office and was making his rounds down each aisle. The lines around the manager's eyes deepened as he squinted at every single one of the titles on the shelves, searching for any books that were out of place.
The boy in front of me added with a wide grin, "Definitely no need for the boss to know."
"I appreciate that." I smiled gratefully as I slid his books closer to me and began to scan the barcodes. "Did you find everything else okay today?"
"Almost."
I paused from my scanning to look up at him. He jerked his chin towards the Mystery/Thriller section of the store, his raven hair falling along his brows with the movement. "You guys are sold out of one of the books I was looking for. I was really hoping to get my hands on it before a road trip I'm going on this weekend, but I haven't been able to find it anywhere. Sold out online, too."
"I'm sorry to hear that. What book is it?"
"The Artist's Price. Have you heard of it? It's by—"
"Helena Burns is arguably one of the best mystery writers of this century," I said. A simple fact.
His dark eyes shone with pleasant surprise. "That's exactly what I was telling my friend the other day."
"Well, I can see why it's sold out everywhere." I half-smiled as I went back to scanning his books. "It's amazing."
"You've read it?"
I nodded, almost feeling bad that the book would be left untouched on my shelf now that I was done with it. And here someone was, pining to get their hands on it.
"Wow, I am jealous." He folded his arms across his chest, a swirl of tattoos peeking through the cuffs of his brown leather jacket. "Nice to see other people my age appreciating a good author though. I'm Gabriel, by the way."
"Lyra," I introduced myself in return. And then I added, "I'm sure we have other books here that you would like based on your interest."
I proceeded to suggest five other titles that were similar to The Artist's Price. When I was done, Gabriel smirked as his gaze fell to the counter—where four out of the five titles I'd given him were already sitting.
God, I was really out of it this week.
And as for the fifth one—"I read it last month. But a great recommendation."
I gave him an apologetic look as I finished bagging his books, handing it to him while I waited for the receipt to print. "I'm sorry we didn't have the book you wanted."
"That's alright." He shrugged. "Maybe I can pick it up somewhere along the trip."
"Fingers crossed for you," I said as I handed him the receipt, which had nearly been cut off, having reached the very end of the roll. "Thank you for coming to Crooked Shelves. Oh, and have a safe trip!"
"Thanks, Lyra. I'll see you around." With a wave, he headed to the door.
Making sure no other customers were approaching the register first, I crouched behind the counter as I searched for a new receipt roll. After rummaging through several boxes, I'd managed to find the very last one, making a mental note to place an order for more as I rose back to my feet—only to find Gabriel standing at the counter again.
"Did you forget something?" It wasn't unusual for customers to come back right after they'd left, whether it was because they changed their minds about a purchase or forgot something in the store.
I pressed the little open button on the receipt machine to replace the roll in case he needed to make a return, but it was stuck. Great. I tried again—and again. Nothing.
"No, I actually wanted to—" He paused, clearing his throat as he straightened. "Listen Lyra, if you're available, I would love to take you out sometime."
My hand froze on the jammed receipt button.
This was . . . the last thing I'd expected.
Gabriel rubbed the back of his neck, and I realized with a beat of guilt that I'd made him uneasy with my silence.
I began, "Gabriel, I'm so sorry if I gave you the wrong idea—"
"You didn't." Though his shoulders lowered a fraction, his smile remained warm. "It's no worries. If you ever change your mind, I work at the coffee shop on 75th street."
He stopped before he turned away, his gaze flitting to my phone—which was still sitting on the counter. "He's a lucky guy, you know."
I stood frozen for at least another minute after he left, my fingers still hovered over the jammed button as I replayed our interaction in my head.
And I guessed . . . in a normal world, where I didn't have to fear going out, the old me might have considered going on a date with someone like Gabriel. He wasn't bad looking in the slightest, and in fact, he was the kind of guy most people probably found handsome. Pleasant, respectful, and we clearly had at least one thing in common. But there was one gaping problem, and it was the problem that had struck me speechless the moment he'd asked me out. The problem I realized I would have regardless of who asked me out:
He wasn't Dez.
When I was sure Rudy was out of sight, I picked up my phone and reread Dez's text. Without giving myself enough time to overthink it or change my mind, I wrote back:
And if I told you that Chemistry actually was boring without you?
A risk but—there. Calling his bluff. All the arrogance and teasing that I, infuriatingly, had been missing these past couple of days.
Then I would tell you that life is boring without you.
Ha-ha. Very funny.
I'm not laughing, Peacock.
I swallowed at his response, struggling perhaps a little too long with what to type back, when Rudy approached.
I'd only managed to put my phone away before his smiling, round face came into view—and to my dismay, stayed there for the rest of my shift.