Page 76 of The Wrong Heart

A shudder ripples through me. “No, it’s not.”

“Haven’t you seen the way he looks at you?”

It feels like something gets stuck in my throat as I squeeze my purse between two clammy fists.

Amelia sends me a knowing smile, her pierced eyebrow arching. “He looks at you like he’s never seen anything like you before. Almost as if you’re one of those sacred relics perched behind tempered glass at a museum or a gallery, far too precious to touch. People stare in wonder, awestruck and tongue-tied, trying to unravel its mysteries, trying to imagine the rich history and compelling stories that hide behind the pretty exterior.” She sighs, her umber eyes glazing over with a sense of magic. “It must feel really good to have someone look at you like that—like they’re seeing you for the first time, every time, and they’re amazed all over again.”

My tongue slicks over my lips, and I inhale an uneven breath, her words bursting inside of me and dispersing like little sparklers, crackling and fizzing. “You should write poetry. That was really beautiful.”

Likely not accurate, but beautiful.

“I do, but it’s kind of morbid.” Amelia ducks her head, pushing a ribbon of inky hair behind her ear. “Pretty words for dark hearts.”

We share a smile before I rise from the chair, giving her arm a light squeeze as I say my goodbyes. When I move towards the exit, I waver, my feet stalling, and I twist back around to address Amelia. “You look better, by the way. Like you’re healing.”

“Healing?”

I nod.

Amelia crumples the fabric of her baggy t-shirt between her fingers, the ghost of a smile pulling at her lips. “I’m accepting. I suppose there’s healing in acceptance.”

I’m uncertain of her meaning, but I don’t pry. I simply gift her a final smile, bob my head, and make my way out the doors, down the hall, then escape into the setting sun.

My heart jack-knifes when I spot Parker leaning against the trunk of my car, hands tucked into dark denim pockets.

What?

He straightens when he notices me approach. “Fuck, that took forever. Thought maybe Emo Chick put a spell on you.”

The breeze steals my hair, while he steals my breath. That playful edge is still in full swing, his demeanor more carefree than I’ve ever seen him. I swallow. “You were waiting for me?”

“Yeah. I thought we had plans.”

“Plans?”

Parker frowns, squinting his eyes at me through the hazy sunset. “The lake. There’s no way in hell I’m getting in the water, or dancing for that matter, but I’ll tag along if you want me to.”

My sandals clap against the pavement as I close in on him, the long, flowy sleeves of my ivory blouse catching a draft when I sweep shaky fingers through my hair. If he weren’t such a magnet, I’d probably still be frozen to the cement. “You’re coming?”

“I don’t have fuck-else to do.” Parker’s eyes slide over my bare legs when I reach him. His whole stance tautens, the muscles in his arms contracting as he pulls his focus back up to my face. “You asked me to, didn’t you?”

“You never replied.”

“Was I supposed to?”

Despite the heavy energy swirling between us, I can’t help but let out a quick laugh. “That’s generally the idea. Standard protocol.”

He sniffs, glancing down at his dirt-smudged sneakers. “I’m a bit atypical.”

“Yeah,” I smile. “I think that’s why I like you.”

Parker’s gaze shoots back up. His eyes flame, flickering like emerald torches. “You like me?”

“Oh, um…” His question isn’t flirty or cocky—it’s genuine, almost as if he’s shocked to hear such a thing. I feel my face burn at the admission, and I hope the modest sunburn shading my cheekbones hides the evidence. “I figured the cupcakes gave me away.”

He studies me, wordless, a little frown appearing between his brows. The one he wears so well, so prominently. Parker looks as if he might respond in some way, run with my confession, but he doesn’t. He just glances to his left, clearing a hitch in his throat, and says, “Ready?”

“Okay.”

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