Page 25 of My Heart to Find

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Damien

“DAMIEN!” CARA’S EYESlight up as she sees me in the games room. She’s smiling as she makes her way toward where I’m sitting. And wow, I like the way she says my name. My name sounds like velvet or something on her lips.

I was waiting for the guys—another session of table tennis is planned—but seeing Cara here, suddenly I know I couldn’t care less about the next day of The Ace Table Tennis League. Especially when David’s going to be there; I heard him bad-mouthing me and Cara, saying that we cheated on that challenge this morning. He was clearly just jealous that we got the chocolate.

No, I want to talk to Cara now, get to know her, because she’s fascinating.

Earlier today, as we enjoyed the chocolate we’d won—much to the incredulous looks of all those around us—we’d talked. She studied illustration, and she’s a wicked artist too. Amazing at doing caricatures. She drew a quick one of Mrs. Mitchell, had her leaping out of a jack-in-the box from behind a tree, and she even let me keep it.

“It’s just a quick sketch,” she’d said, and her eyes were modest, and that just made me like her even more.

“How are you?” I ask her now, and I scoot over, make room for her on the wide armchair.

“Good,” she says with the most adorable smile as she sits next to me. “You?” Her voice is chirpy—almost as chirpy as Jana’s. But whereas with Jana that chirpiness makes her seem like an overexcited puppy, it almost makes Cara seem more... I don’t know, sincere. Like she really wants to know how I am.

“I’m good too,” I say.

Her leg brushes against mine as she pushes her hair back over her shoulder. It’s slightly damp, like she just stepped out the shower not long ago. I can smell her shampoo. Citrus.

“I hope we’re paired up again tomorrow,” she says.

Me too. I nod. Oh, God, if we’re not it’s going to be torture. “Is there another challenge tomorrow?”

Cara nods quickly. Her eyes are bright. “There’s one each day. Anyway, what are you doing in here?”

“I was waiting for the guys... Don’t know if they’re actually going to show.”

“That’s like a line in the podcast I was just listening to,” Cara says. “‘How were the girls to know that killers were going to show?’” She imitates a man’s deep voice, and then blushes. “Sorry, I don’t know why I just did that.”

But I’m staring at her, my heart pounding, because I know that podcast. “What Happened to Elizabetta Jackson?” I lean in closer. “You listen to that podcast too?”

Her eyes widen. “Oh my God! You know it?”

“Avid listener,” I say.

Elizabetta Jackson disappeared from a sleepy US town thirty years ago.What Happened to Elizabetta Jacksonis a new podcast from some college students majoring in journalism who promised to uncover the truth about the missing fourteen-year-old.

“No way!” Cara’s eyes are bright. “I can’t wait to listen to the next episode,” she says. “I’m sure it was the cousin, Levi. Did you hear how suspicious he sounded in that interview?”

I nod. “Right! I mean, he kept changing his story—and I know the presenter is really going to grill him for that next time. I can’t believe it’s a monthly podcast though. So long to wait!”

She leans in closer to me still. “It’s just a great podcast—I mean, a lot of true crime ones are, but this one just has so many layers. Like, it’s just amazing.”

“I know. I mean, when I first started listening to podcasts I had this idea that I’d run my own one in the future. A stupid idea, but then listening to this new one just made me more determined.”

“It would be amazing to make your own,” Cara agrees, and her voice is kind of breathy. “And I’d definitely listen to it. You have a lovely voice.”

A lovely voice? I feel myself blush. I nod and try to think of something else to say, but I can’t. My head’s just gone blank.

“Anyway, you want to play a game?” Cara asks, smiling. She turns her head, and I see she’s got a light layer of lip gloss on when it catches the light.

A stack of board games leans precariously to the right, in front of us, and she leans forward, tilting her head to one side as she reads the names.

We pick one at random, then pull over a low-standing coffee table. Cara moves to sit on the floor on the other side of it, and the moment she’s gone, my leg feels cold without her body heat against it.

---