Page 49 of Shadow Dance

“Yup.” Eyes on her phone, she holds out her hand for the bag. She’s looking extra fresh today in spotless sneakers, sweats, and a cropped hoodie that would show her belly if she didn’t have on a leotard underneath. “I’ll carry it.”

“I got it.” Moving past her, I open the front door. “Let’s go.”

She breezes past me, her ponytail swinging as she jogs down the steps. The day is crisp and bright, a lot colder than it looks from inside. We get into the car, where Maeve turns on the radio and proceeds to ignore me all the way to Berkeley. At least, she pretends to, just like I’m pretending to ignore her. It isn’t easy. Not when she looks like that, not when she smells subtly of vanilla, and not when I know what it’s like to have my tongue in her mouth.

“Did you want to go hiking after this?” I ask, pulling up to her ballet class.

“I have an appointment at the salon. I’m getting a haircut,” she says, unbuckling her seatbelt.

I look at her ponytail, hanging over her shoulder. “Don’t cut it,” I blurt.

What the hell was that?

Her cheeks darken. Reaching between her feet for her bag, she opens the door and steps onto the sidewalk. Right when I think she’s going to slam the door in my face, she raises her eyes to mine. “Why not?”

Because I love your hair. Because I can’t stop thinking about yesterday, when I finally touched it. Because I want to wrap it around my hand while I?—

“Fuck you,” she says softly, shutting the door.

“I thinkI’m gonna stop and get something to eat. I’m hungry,” I announce when Maeve gets back into the car after her haircut.

“Okay,” she says to the window.

“How about subs? We can eat them at the park.”

She shrugs.

“Unless you want something else?”

“Subs are fine.”

I eye her hair, hanging in a silky sheet down her back. The curls are gone, but the length is about the same. Maybe she just trimmed it. “Your hair’s straight.”

She still won’t look at me. “She blow-dried it.”

“I like it curly,” I say, even though it’s sexy like this. Too sexy. I roll down the windows, needing fresh air.

“I don’t care what you like,” she snaps, tossing an irritated glance my way. “And can you please roll that up? It’s too windy, and it’s messing up my hair whichIlike even ifyoudon’t.”

Maeve’s over-the-top bitchiness is kind of a turn-on. This isn’t the sullen, depressed shit she gave me for those first few months. No, she’sangry-angry at me, and I’m still kind of annoyed at her, too, for the stunt she pulled last night. Annoyed and a little hard. It’s probably good we’re in a public place.

Biting my tongue so I don’t say something mean that’ll really make her cry, I roll the window back up and drive to the deli. Once we’ve gotour subs, I head for Reinhardt Redwood Regional Park. It’s not that far from Tilden, but it’s good to switch things up every now and then. Not be too predictable.

We sit at a picnic area just inside the park, eating in silence. I don’t mind. I’ve never needed conversation, so if Maeve wants to give me the cold shoulder, she can go ahead. I check my phone, scrolling mindlessly through the fake social media accounts I set up years ago to reflect Jaime Reyes’ life. It’s been a while since I updated any of them. What would I even say at this point?

After tossing our trash, we head over to one of the park’s trailheads. Maeve takes the lead, charging down the trail like she’s on a mission. I let her do her thing, keeping pace a few steps behind.

“You know where you’re going?” I call after about ten minutes.

“No.” She holds up her phone. “That’s why I have this.”

But it’s an easy trail, and well-traveled, as evidenced by the other hikers we pass every few minutes. We walk for nearly an hour, leaving the main trail for smaller ones, heading deeper and deeper into a forest of lush undergrowth and endless redwoods. The farther we go, the quieter it gets until there’s nothing but the occasional bird and our sneakers crunching over the damp, rocky soil. When yet another, narrower path appears, forking off to the left, Maeve takes it without hesitation.

“Your sneakers are getting muddy,” I caution, catching up to her as the trail grows steeper.

“They’re shoes,” she says, stepping carefully over a fallen log. “That’s what they’re for.”

We round a corner and stop short as two black-tailed deer explode from the trees, as startled by us as we are by them. I pause beside Maeve, noting the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Her heart must be racing as fast as mine.

---