Page 62 of The Weight Of Falling
Brianne gives me a conspiratorial smile. “Is there something you want to share?”
Realization dawns. I shake my head so fast I make myself dizzy. “What? Oh, no. Definitely not that kind of glow. No way.”
Her smile falters a little at the force of my response. “Oh. Okay.”
I wince. “Sorry. That came out weird. I just meant...no.”
She chuckles. “Got it.”
After Brianne and I hug goodbye and promise to catch up soon, I tug open the door to the bakery. The air is so thick withthe smell of chocolate and caramel, it feels like I’ve eaten dessert just by breathing it in.
It’s been three days since we scrubbed that awful word off my windshield. There’s been no new graffiti, no other incidents, but that hasn’t stopped everyone from hovering. Tess and Sofia have checked in so many times, I’m half-convinced they’re plotting to move in with me. Aaron and Gideon have also begun stopping by at odd times, always with new excuses, but I know a coordinated check-in when I see one. Joel clearly said something to them.
I didn’t want to tell my parents, but the news reached them anyway and their worry kicked in, like I knew it would. My mom let her mind run wild with worst-case scenarios, while my dad, ever the fixer, channeled his concern into researching motion-sensor floodlights and reinforced door locks.
I haven’t seen Joel since he walked out my door on Saturday. He’s sent everyone else to check on me, but he’s stayed away. Exactly like he said he would. He’s gone so quiet, it feels as though he’s disappeared. And it hurts.
How do I explain to my friends and family that it isn’t the word on my windshield keeping me awake at night, but Joel’s silence?
Most of the tables are full when I step into the bakery. The animated buzz of conversation blends with the hiss and sputter of the espresso machine behind the counter. I’m only here to grab a box of chocolate chip muffins for Kate. Lisset has a class party tomorrow, and Kate got roped into providing muffins. But with a food styling shoot on her plate today, she didn’t have time to pick them up herself.
It should be a quick in and out, except Joel Adams is standing at the counter, frowning slightly as he scribbles his signature on an order sheet.
My stomach drops. Of all the mornings he has to be here, it’s this one. And at this exact moment.
He shouldn’t look like that either. Black pants and a white button-down shirt rolled up over his forearms, the rough shadow of stubble along his jaw. The kind of intimidating beauty that makes me want to reach for him and pull away at the same time.
I open my handbag, pretending to search for something inside. But really, I’m just trying to catch my breath. Because whenever we’re near each other, it feels easy and hard at the same time.
When I glance up again, he’s already watching me, his broad shoulders tense. His eyes hold mine and I feel the spark of attraction between us. There’s no one else at the counter, and the moment feels too intimate for a public place.
“How are you?” he asks in a low voice.
“I’m fine,” I say stiffly.
A couple of customers at nearby tables shoot curious looks our way. Heat warms my cheeks, and I move closer to Joel. I’m not keen on anyone overhearing our conversation.
“Any update from Owen?” he asks.
“No,” I say shortly.
He turns to face me fully, his gaze thoughtful. “You’re mad at me.”
I cross my arms. “What makes you think that?”
“You wear every emotion on your face.”
“Well, we can’t all be as good at hiding our feelings and keeping secrets as you are.”
As soon as the words escape, my hand flies up to cover my mouth. I’m mortified, unable to believe I actually said that.
A gleam lights up his eyes. “I always knew you had bite,” he murmurs. “I like it when you don’t censor yourself. You’re too careful with your words.”
My pulse picks up. “It’s not a bad trait, being careful about what comes out of your mouth.”
“Or maybe,” he says softly, “you care too much about what people think.”
“And maybe you don’t care enough,” I say quietly.
