Page 145 of Distant Shores
I’m glad you’re home.
Butterflies didn’t explode in my stomach. It was more like they took off in different directions, along different paths, flying into one another or straight into walls.
I locked my phone and waited a few more seconds, just watching him.
His expression was impossible to see clearly from here, but even the impression of him, of his presence, was overwhelming.
I padded to my bed and slid beneath the covers, letting them settle on me like an embrace.
Then music started from his room, just guitar and drums at first.
And then the words I knew so well.
I turned my face toward Adair’s room, finding his already angled toward mine.
Had he chosen this song? Or just put the playlist on shuffle?
I wanted to ask him, but not at the risk of disrupting anything about this.
Hisroom was dim, the curtains pulled and no other lights on, but I couldfeelhis smile as one of my favorite covers of “Put Your Head on My Shoulder” by Paul Anka continued, filling the space between us.
I only played the original in class, but I kept this one on the playlist for myself, for when I was thinking through choreography. Slipping my arm under my pillow, I sank into the song, falling into a waking dream.
The images came easy. Naturally.
Him in front of me, that dimple and easy grin, his hair falling over his brow.
My head tipped back, meeting his hazel eyes, more green than brown in that moment.
Then he’d find my hand without looking, the warmth of his broad palm connecting with my cooler one.
His cheeks turning the lightest shade of pink, but nerves didn’t get the better of him as he moved, and I followed.
38
ADAIR
Before I even opened my eyes, I knew she was gone.
Or, at least, she was no longer in her room.
Everything was too quiet, too still.
I wasn’t sure when the music had stopped, but melodies still rang in my ears as I sat up in bed and stretched my stiff muscles.
The faint sound of the front door closing made my heart jump, then take off at a gallop. I swiped my glasses from the nightstand, put them on, and flew out of bed as fast as my crutch and cast would let me.
When I rounded into the kitchen, Ireland looked over her shoulder at me, a small smile blooming on her face when our eyes met.
Contrary to the relieved slump of my shoulders, I’d never felt so tall.
She turned back to the table, where she’d just set a bouquet of sunflowers.
I nearly swayed at therightnessof it, of her, and I took a step closer.
“These came for you,” she said, fussing with thearrangement. “A card, too, but it looks like it was already opened and taped back together. The vase is kind of weird, though. It’s covered in smiley faces.”
My next step brought me almost close enough to reach out and touch her.
