Meg’s pulse skipped beats long after Chase left. He’d kissed her… or she’d kissed him. It was all a bit of a blur now. She ran a finger over her lips. They still tingled.
No. No, this wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted school and a degree and a career not kisses that tingled. So she grabbed a canvas and started prepping. Work always centered her. It would take her mind off tingling lips and aching hearts. She glanced outside and decided to re-create the last snow storm when Chase and his little brothers tried to save their snow man. She mixed shades. She needed to contour, to highlight. She dabbed white over green, layered snow over bits of green lawn with —
Her phone buzzed and she cursed out loud. She didn’t want to talk about it, analyze it, dissect it. They were just feelings and they would go away if she could take her mind off stuff. But the Caller ID showed it was Bailey and now Meg wavered. Every cell in her body screamed Ignore it! She even thought about smashing the phone against the wall of her room but she needed her phone with its ancient flip-out keyboard. Cursing her own weakness, she dropped her brush and finally answered.
“I’m so sorry, Meg!” Bailey’s voice thick with tears wailed in her ear. “Meg?”
“Yeah, I’m here. I’m listening.” Meg’s own voice was just as thick. She’d never expected Bailey to apologize. She’d forgive Bailey, of course she would. Hell, she already had.
“I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted to—”
“Not share him. I get that.” Chase’s words replayed in Meg’s mind and suddenly, it all made perfect sense.
“You do?”
“Yeah. I’m sorry, too. I know I can come on really strong sometimes, but I hate knowing something I did made you keep a boyfriend a secret from me.”
Bailey was quiet for so long, Meg had to look at her phone to be sure the call hadn’t dropped. “Bay? You still there?”
“Yeah. Sorry. Oh, Meg, really, I’m so sorry. I never wanted you to feel bad. I just wanted…”
“It’s okay, Bailey.”
“Yay!” She squealed.
Meg twisted a paint rag into a knot. Apologies were a huge first step. Now came the true test; acceptance. “Tell me about him.”
Bailey told her everything and Meg bit her lip, hoping she wouldn’t say anything to upset her all over again. “Meg, I think — well, I thought I made a mistake breaking up with Simon. Until I met Ryder.”
But you didn’t actually meet him, did you? Meg bit her lip harder.
“I really miss Simon. I know he wasn’t always nice to me, but I still miss him. Or I did. But with Ryder, the whole Simon thing doesn’t hurt so much. He’s just… well, he’s sweet. He treats me the way you always said I should be treated.”
Meg’s shoulders dropped. Hard to argue with your own words. She squeezed her eyes shut and hoped this worked out for Bailey. “He sounds great, Bailey. Really great.”
“Oh, he is. Trust me.”
Trust me. Bailey’s words were like a hammer to the head. That was the whole problem, wasn’t it? She hadn’t trusted Bailey. Chase said she was judgmental. Meg sank to her bed, squeaked an apology of her own. “I’m so sorry, Bay. I don’t want you to hide guys from me.”
“Okay, let’s not do this anymore. Can you come over?”
“What, like now?”
“Yeah, right now.”
“Okay, I guess so.”
“Great! Bye!” Bailey always said hi and bye in two syllables.
Meg closed her phone, cleaned her brushes, and changed her clothes. Fifteen minutes later, she was standing on the porch in front of Bailey’s front door, her eyes still wet.
“You’re here!” Bailey flung open the door, wrapped her in a hug, and tilted her from side to side and Meg laughed.
They were okay again.
“Come inside.”
Meg followed Bailey through the living room and into the dining room. “Surprise!”
She froze half in the room, half out. Bailey’s grandparents, Bailey, Chase, even her mom clapped.
“Mom! What are you doing here? I thought you had a class—” Her face burned and her cheeks hurt from the damn smile she couldn’t stop.
“Oh, honey, I can miss one or two. It’s not every day when my baby girl turns seventeen. Here. Happy birthday.” Her mom pressed a card into her hand.
Meg opened it to find a gift certificate to her favorite art supply store. “Mom,” she gasped. “This is too much. We can’t—”
“We can. Go buy yourself a rainbow.”
Meg flung her arms around her and squeezed.
“Megan. Happy birthday.” Chase smiled and jerked his chin at the huge cake on the Grant’s dining room table and Meg’s eyes went wide.
“You… no way, you made this?” It was decorated like an old-fashioned art palette, complete with a brush and paint wells. “This is amazing. Thank you.” When did he have time to do all this?
Bailey rushed over and guided Meg into a chair where she was forced to endure the worst version of Happy Birthday ever sung.
“Oh my God, you guys that was so — so terrible,” she groaned. Chase tossed a balled up napkin at her with a laugh.
Mrs. Grant passed slices of cake around the table and Bailey poured coffee. Meg took a bite and felt something crunch under her teeth. “What — oh. Oh, God, I don’t believe it.”
Chase grinned. “There’s a layer of M&Ms under the icing.”
“Okay. Why?” Mr. Grant frowned at his plate.
“Gramps, they’re Meg’s absolute favorite thing,” Bailey nudged Meg with a shoulder. “Right, Meg?”
“Mmmmm.”
“Nice touch, Chase.” Pauline clapped.
When everyone had cake, coffee, or milk, Bailey slipped into the chair next to Meg and took her hand. “I’m so glad we’re okay again. Just so you know, Chase has been working on your cake all week.”
Something in Meg’s chest expanded and warmed and she tried to stomp on it, willing it to be something simple like indigestion or maybe a minor heart attack, and fearing it was something much, much worse.
A few hours later, her mother had headed off to class, Chase walked her home, carrying the leftover cake under a sheet of aluminum foil. “You reminded her it was my birthday, didn’t you?”
Chase’s stride faltered for a second. “Um. No. Not really. The thing is —”
“Relax, it’s okay. She was mad at me. I get that. But you made her stop being mad. So, thank you. And thanks for the cake. It was totally amazing.”
He waited while she unlocked the door and then handed her the cake box. “Happy birthday, Megan.” Before she could move away, he pulled her toward him and lowered his head, his lips just a breath from hers. All she had to do was lift her head and — and —
She leaped back and into the house, closing the door in his face.
On Saturday morning, Meg thought about not showing up. About sulking and getting back at Bailey for forgetting her, for making her feel like Fallow Brown — in other words, like crap. But not only had Bailey organized a tiny little birthday party, she’d blogged about it, bought her M&Ms and somehow managed to get a whole bunch of people who read her blog to also buy her M&Ms.
Staying mad and trying to get even after all that just felt petty.
So on Saturday morning, Meg steadied her nerves and walked up Bailey's porch steps to ring the bell, ready to accompany her friend to I-CON. The thought of strolling past booth after booth to hear the merits of another dumb game and watching Bailey squeal over costume characters had Meg's teeth clenching.
But she’d promised.
It was going to be a long day.
Chase was there, she noted with a gulp when Bailey flung open the door. Meg hadn't stopped thinking about their disastrous near-kiss when she practically turned into an ice cube. She told herself he had finally gotten the message; she wasn't interested in him and never would be. She told herself she was happier without him.
Both were lies.
She nodded stiffly to him while Bailey grabbed her in a hello clutch that rocked her from side to side and ended with a bounce. Chase looked like a guy struggling hard not to laugh at Bailey's excitement. When his eyes met Meg's, he didn't say a word and only nodded. She breathed a bit easier.
On the train east to Stony Brook, Bailey seemed oblivious to the strained silence between Meg and Chase. She seemed happier, perkier than usual, Meg noted with passing interest. That was a good thing. It meant she wasn't holding a grudge. So, Meg wouldn’t hold one either. She hung back while Bailey skipped from one booth to the next. Chase had gone off on his own, for which Meg was profoundly grateful. It was kind of sweet watching Bailey go all gooey over costume characters. She'd collected a bag full of action figures, autographs, card decks, comic books, video games, and – a bunch of phone numbers.
"She's like a Queen holding court." Chase said when he found her mid-afternoon at the concession area.
Meg snorted.
"Hey, it's not every day a guy meets a girl who looks like Bailey AND who loves video games. These guys are toast," he added when he saw Meg's eye roll.
Meg tried to ignore the stab of pain. Everybody loved Bailey. Except Bailey, she reminded herself. Well, at least Chase wasn’t acting weird around her. "Not you, too."
"Come on, Megan, do you know how seriously cool it is for a girl to be into gaming? I'm surprised no one's proposed to her yet." He waved a hand toward the long autograph line where Bailey waited, chatting excitedly to the guys behind her.
"Wait. That blond dude looks ready to drop to one knee." He laughed. "So, what about you?"
Meg swallowed the last of her hot dog and swilled some water. "What about me?"
"What's your favorite game?"
Meg shrugged. "I don't have one."
"Okay, what about a character?"
Meg shrugged again.
"Oh, come on!" Chase nudged her with his shoulder and Meg pretended she never felt the tingle. "There's gotta be something here that interests you."
Meg dropped her gaze to her water bottle. That she was interested, even a little bit, was a secret she had to protect at any cost. But Chase wouldn't let it go. He moved closer, nudged her again, green eyes teasing. The tingle was impossible to hide.
"The only thing I'm interested in is the exit," she lied.
"I've been watching you, the way your eyes track all this bright color… all this animated action. I know you, Megan. Tell me you're not itching to get your fingers on a sketch pad right now." He raised his hand, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and her knees jolted, smacking the bottom of the table.
She tried to ignore the way her belly flipped when he admitted he'd been watching her… or the way her heart took that extra beat when he said 'I know you, Meg.' Distance! She needed distance. She strode to the trash can, crumbled the paper liner into a wad and pitched it. Damn it, why did he have to be so freakin' observant? She turned, only to find Chase blocking her way, all proud of himself, his prismatic eyes crinkling with suppressed laughter. Meg huffed and whirled around, but he caught her around the waist and she nearly combusted.
"Seriously, Megan. Is it that hard to admit I might know you better than you think?"
Oh, Chase, you have no idea. "Chase, just because you live a few houses behind me doesn't mean you know me." She wriggled out of his arms before her heart exploded.
"Yeah. It does. And you didn't answer my question."
It was all she could do just to remain upright and he expected her to answer questions? She sighed. "What question."
"Do you wish you could sketch all this?"
"Fine. Yes. Are you happy now? Maybe I should go get my napkins out of the trash and draw that guy in the cape over there." She folded her arms while his grin stretched wider.
"Or… you could use this." He held out a plastic bag. "Happy birthday."
He'd — he'd bought her a gift. Meg’s heart gave a squeeze. “You gave me a gift. A cake. A pretty awesome cake.”
“Cake is required at birthdays. So are presents. This is a present.”
“Chase, I can’t—”
“Oh, come on, Meg. Just look.” He dipped into one of the bags he carried, pulled out a notebook and some colored pencils. It was exactly what she'd have bought herself if she could afford to.
No, damn it, no!
Meg stared at them for a long moment, felt her resolve crumbling like a stale cookie. She wanted to grab them and curl up in the corner over there and sketch Chase's eyes. No. No! She should shred the notebook and grind the pencils to stubs.
Wrong! This was so wrong. Meg inhaled a breath for courage but made the mistake of looking at Chase's smile and she couldn't do it, couldn’t say the no she should have said and took his gifts with a mumbled thanks. She moved to the bistro table a couple had just vacated, leaving behind a wad of napkins and straw wrappers. Impatient, she swiped them to the floor and peeled the cellophane from the notebook.
It wasn't a notebook. It was a comic book pad. Every page had blank panels for art work, plus ruled lines for bubble text. Meg dumped the pencils on the table and grabbed one, fury guiding her hand while the image in her mind clashed with the one in her heart.
Bold slashes of color.
Thick black lines.
Meg drew like she was possessed. Maybe she was.
"Wow. This is cool." Bailey startled her and Meg jolted, scattering pencils all over the floor.
They bent to collect them while Chase grabbed the pad and stared at Meg's sketch, his forehead creased.
"Is this what you see?" he asked quietly.
Meg crossed her arms and angled her head, considering him. "Yeah. That's how I see you."
She'd wanted to piss him off, so she'd drawn him with an exaggerated squareness to his jaw, jagged edges to the soft hair that always hung just right and his eyes… Meg didn't bother getting the colors right — she just tossed them all into the mix, wedges of radiant color emphasized by dark downward slashes of eyebrow — all fierce and ready to leap off the page.
"Not me." He tossed the pad on the table and pointed to the blob in the lower corner. "You."
He stared at her, waiting for an answer Meg refused to give. Finally, he sat back down with the pad and the pencils and sketched, looking up at her every few moments.
Meg's jaw dropped.
"I didn't know you liked to draw, Chase," Bailey said, pulling up a chair and dropping her swag bags to the floor under the table.
"I'm a man of many talents," he murmured and she giggled.
Meg didn't know Chase could draw, either.
"Sit down, Megan."
Meg shifted her weight to one leg and made a sound of impatience. How could I not know this about him?
"Sit. Down." He glared.
Fine. With a heavy sigh, Meg sat, arms folded. She refused to look at him and watched the crowd mill about the cavernous conference center. She should have known this. He knew all about her artistic aspirations. It… it's something that should have come up in a hundred conversations. It should have come up when they worked on their research project.
But he never told her. Meg dug her nails into her palms.
"Oh, Chase, this is so good." Bailey gushed. "Don't you want to see it, Meg?"
"No."
Bailey opened her mouth to push the issue and then paled at something over Meg’s shoulder. Meg spun, saw Simon stroll by, his arm slung over Caitlyn’s shoulders. He spotted Bailey, tensed, but then turned away.
“Come on, Bay. Let’s leave.” Meg put her arm around Bailey.
The train ride home was tense and quiet. Meg stared out the window at the neighborhoods blurring past, wishing she had the colored pencils and pad in her hands. Bailey texted on her cell and Chase sat opposite her, one leg propped on Meg's seat, his eyes shut.
He looked so different with his eyes closed.
Flat.
Impassive.
Ordinary.
Those motley eyes of his opened, caught her checking him out, and suddenly, it was like God breathed life onto the canvas. Meg flushed hotly and turned back to the window.
Chase chuckled once.
Bailey texted.
The scenery blurred.
A few hours later, Meg dumped the conference swag on her bed and collapsed next to it, feet screaming. Her eye lids slipped closed and just when she was about to surrender to a much-needed nap, Meg remembered Chase's sketchpad. She stared at it for a moment. Oh, hell. She flipped it open to her angry rendering and gasped.
Chase had reshaped the faceless blob she'd carelessly scribbled for herself. He'd added in defiantly crossed arms under an overly generous chest that made her snicker. He'd drawn the mousy brown hair that fell in front of too-serious eyes. But he'd angled the eyes so that they stared up at his from under spiky lashes.
To the image she'd sketched of him, he'd reshaped the face so that instead of the grimace she'd drawn, he now smiled warmly at the blob that used to be Meg, one arm extended, as if in invitation.
He'd drawn them.
Meg ripped the page out of the notebook with every intention of crumbling it into a little ball she could pitch into the waste basket. Instead, she carefully folded it and tucked it under her pillow with a rueful laugh. Look at me, wishing for impossible things.
Foolish and futile.