Page 37 of Collide
My breath catches. “By going on a date?”
He leans in a fraction, the warmth of his voice curling between us. “Yes, Elena. No more texts. No more coy flirting. Just you and me. An actual date.”
“But…I don’t really know you,” I blurt out, harsher than I mean to.
“You won’t know if you don’t ask.” He shrugs, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.
Fair point.
That’s what dates are for, Riley’s voice echoes in my mind, teasing.
“So,” he adds, tilting his head, “what do you want to know about me?”
I think for a second. He waits, patient, expectant, like he already knows I’ll give in.
“What’s your family like?”
“Swedish. Big, loud, scattered,” he admits, smiling. “My parents divorced when my sister and I were young. Then they both remarried, had more kids. Six of us in total, but we’re all over the globe.”
“You’re not close with them?”
“My sister, yes. The rest…not really. We get together when we can, but it’s rare.” He chuckles under his breath. “My parents live two doors down from each other. They’re the best of friends now. Weird, right?”
I glance away. “That’s funny. My parents put an ocean between them.”
His voice drops. “That must have been hard. It wasn’t always easy for us either, but time…it softens things.”
For a moment, I envy him. That time healed his family instead of shattering it. Bitter is all I know.
“My best friend, Riley, comes from a big family too,” I say, trying to shake the heaviness off.
“That’s interesting,” he retorts, smiling a little. “But I’m not here to get to know your best friend, Elena. I’m here to get to knowyou.”
“Oh.” My gaze lingers, heat rising in my cheeks. “Okay.”
“Why singing?” His brow arches.
No one’s ever asked me that before.
When I told my mother, she smiled like she’d already known. She watched me sing into hairbrushes, scribble lyrics on napkins, and dance barefoot across the living room floor. But when I told my father, he barely looked up. He said it was a childish dream. A waste of time. Translation:I was a waste of time.
“I love music,” I admit, twisting the edge of the pillow in my lap. “It was something my mom and I shared. She was Miss Universe, sang for the talent portion, but I was never into all the pageant stuff. I loved the singing part, though. I used to mimic her performances.” I blush a little. “Music became ours.”
I draw a slow breath. “And when I sing, people listen. I hope…they can hear what’s in my heart.”
He’s staring at me like I’ve knocked the air out of him.
“Elena”—his voice is low—“that’s reallyspecial.”
I shift uncomfortably, unsure of what to do with the way he’s looking at me. “I wish everyone felt that way.”
“Why wouldn’t they?” Alex asks, eyes narrowing slightly.
My mouth goes dry. “My father doesn’t…He’s not supportive.”
“You don’t get along with him?” he presses gently.
“No. Not really.”
