Page 52 of Spelling Disaster

ChapterSeventeen

We leave the café without a backward glance, Theo hurrying us along. Rather than heading back to his dorm or someplace quiet to actually study, he turns, heading toward the campus student parking lot.

“Here.” He stops in front of a motorcycle and after grabbing an extra helmet from a case on the back of the seat, he tosses it to me. “Hop on,” he says. “Let’s get out for a while. There’s actually some place I wanted to go instead of The Shed.”

“I thought you wanted to be seen.”

“Yeah, and we were. Now it’s time to go.”

I stare at the sleek lines of the black bike, the two wheels and the gleaming handlebars. Of course Theo would ride a motorcycle. It fits his image perfectly. And seeing it up close and personal does nothing to extinguish the sliver of fear worming its way down my spine.

“I’ve never been on a bike before.” My voice still trembles.

“You can trust me, Yasmine.” He reaches over and lifts my chin up to meet his gaze. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I’ve handled this bike well enough to know what to expect with a passenger.”

I want to believe him.

I want to give him all my trust and place my safety in his capable hands. To lean on someone who will have my back in a way no one else has before, not even the people I thought would always be there.

Yet—

My hands are back to tingling although there’s no weird shadows right now. I don’t want to act crazy in front of Theo.

“Let me take this.” He gently pries my bag from over my shoulder and places it into the empty satchel where he’d grabbed the helmets.

Theo is the first to straddle the bike and leaves enough room on the seat for me to slide behind him. I wrap my arms around him, grateful the helmet hides my expression. I want to sigh as I mold myself to the muscled planes of his back.

Okay, this isn’t so bad.

He starts the ignition and throttles the bike, the engine roaring to life in the near silent night. Then, Theo maneuvers the bike out of the parking spot and off campus.

His body is warm. Am I tingling this time because of him because of his nearness, or the motor’s vibrations?

It’s a dream come true. I’m riding off into the sunset with the most popular guy on campus. The handsome somebody chose me. Do dreams really come true or is this a plateau before everything drops off into my usual bad luck?

I lean closer. The night air shivers along the exposed skin on my arms as we leave campus behind.

I’m not sure how long we’re on the road before Theo pulls into another parking lot. At the opposite end of the lot rises a towering Italian renaissance villa surrounded by lush gardens. Spotlights illuminate the great facade of the place and turn the columns into glowing pillars.

My ears ring in the sudden quiet when he cuts off the engine.

“This is fabulous,” I mutter.

“It’s my favorite place to come,” Theo tells me. He makes sure the kickstand is in place before he swings his leg over the bike and helps me do the same. I’m a little wobbly.

“I can see why you like it. Where are we?” I ask.

“The house is now a local art museum. The gardens surrounding the place, like twenty acres, are all private. Sometimes the museum gives out tickets to the gardens but not often.”

“Wait, I don’t understand. How are the gardens private but the museum is open to the public?” The light of the setting sun casts deep shadows along the green foliage.

Excitement buzzes in my veins. I’ve never been to an art museum before. Tonight has a whole lot of firsts for me and somehow, the wonder of the gardens and the entire aura of the place eclipses even the excitement of riding a motorcycle.

Theo tucks his helmet over one of the handlebars and holds out his hands for mine. Of course I get stuck, and by the time I manage to peel the helmet off, my ear is trapped by the straps. He has to gently help pry me free.

“It’s a little complicated. Until my family moved completely into the magical world, these lands used to belong to us. I lived in the house growing up. The lands went into a historic trust along with the building, so they aren’t really private, but most museum patrons have to purchase a completely separate ticket to the gardens. The money goes toward the upkeep and my mom and dad like to pretend we still own the gardens.”

He turns to face the opening to the gardens, an arbor covered in pink and yellow honeysuckle. “I like to come here after the museum closes and…pretend like it’s still mine, too. How do you feel about a walk?”

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