Page 34 of Saving Sophia

The sandwich hung forgotten in my hand as I wondered if he would be gentle or strong, if his tongue would invade my mouth, or if he would explore my lips slowly. It had been a long time since I’d been kissed, and never with any great skill. With him, it would be different. Ethan’s kiss would be …

“—slippery with all the moss.”

What? I blinked. He wasn’t going to kiss me. He was talking about slippery moss.

“Umm …”

His lips tugged up into his crooked smile. The lips I’d been fantasizing about. “You’re a million miles away. Come back to me, Sophia.”

I shivered at the way he said my name. “I … uhh …” I looked at the still-wrapped sandwich in my hand and dropped my eyes to my lap. “Sandwich,” I mumbled, unwrapping it and taking a bite.

Roast beef. Delicious. Maybe chewing would give me time to pull myself together.

He looked confused, but let it go. “So, what did you do in the summertime when you were a kid?”

I stifled an inward groan. What could I tell him?

“I … made dolls.”

“Really?” He leaned toward me. “I remember some incredibly unique ones from your room.”

“Yeah.” I forgot he saw my bedroom in all its childish glory.

“What do you mean made? I assumed you were a collector.”

“More like rescued … I guess?” It sounded so stupid. I couldn’t even remember how old I was when I found the first one, mangled on a dingy thrift store shelf. She looked so sad, with unevenly cut and tangled hair and crayon marks and glitter glue globbed across her face. I instantly wanted to help. My mother said I’d wasted my allowance on trash, but I knew I could save her.

“Rescued from what?”

“Being abandoned, I guess.” I couldn’t describe how it hurt to find them, usually naked, forgotten in a junk shop or at a garage sale. “I started by cleaning them up and giving them clothes. Then I learned how to replace hair. I started repainting them, transforming them, letting them express their true feelings.” It sounded so silly when I said it out loud.

“That’s incredibly sweet.” He poured hot tea from the Thermos, handing me a cup. “You have a kind heart.”

I snorted. “Well, it hasn’t gotten me very far.” I touched the locket around my neck. “My father calls me a dreamer.”

It was not a compliment.

“Do you see them often? Your parents? Did you tell them about the assault?”

Would they care?

“I don’t want to worry them.” I grabbed a grape and popped it into my mouth, chewing while I thought of how to explain my parents away. “I’m kind of … trying to show them I can make it on my own.”

“Standing on your own two feet is admirable,” he said. “But it’s okay to ask for help too.”

He’d never met my parents. Help was only for those deserving, and I’d been an unworthy disappointment almost from birth.

I took another bite of sandwich and watched the roiling froth of the waterfall. Being around Ethan was so different. He didn’t make me feel stupid when I stumbled my words. He didn’t expect me to prove my worth. I wished I could stay on this blanket, feeling his nearness and the sun on my cheeks forever.

“So, you’re an artist,” he said.

“It’s a hobby.” I stared at my shoes. “I’m not any good.”

“I don’t believe that. I saw what you can do.” His eyes caught me, held me, like they had their own gravitational pull, and I was a helpless asteroid being sucked into his orbit. I wanted to touch him, hear him whisper my name against my lips. The space shrunk between us. His hand rested on my shoulder.

This time he wasn’t talking about moss or anything else. He was going to kiss me.

The rushing water roared in my ears. I breathed in his scent and closed my eyes. I wanted this kiss so badly. I was willing to risk whatever awkward thing I might say after.

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