Page 61 of Ticket to You

Taking me by surprise, he grabs my face between his hands and kisses me tenderly. “I’m sorry about her,” he whispers, his forehead still against mine. “I’ll be back.”

With that, Adam turns to leave, leaving me pink-cheeked next to his dad.

David rubs the back of his neck. I see more of Adam in him with every passing minute. “I apologize for Naomi. Surely, she will warm up in no time.”

I nod, trying to blink back the sudden stinging in my eyes. Even Adam’s kiss couldn’t distract me from the understanding that his mother, for whatever reason, already doesn’t like me.

After a pause, David chuckles. “I must know, Ophelia. How did you do it?”

I look at him quizzically. “How did I already manage to make Naomi hate me?”

“No, no. Not that. She hates just about everyone at first. I want to know how you managed to make Adam act like a lovesick puppy. I’ve never seen him want to hold a woman’s hand in public, let alone kiss a woman in the middle of a party. When he played Romeo in his seventh-grade play, he refused to kiss Juliet in front of that enormous crowd. ‘Thusbeforea kiss I die.’” David gives me a side hug. “We better keep you around. It’s nice seeing him with you. Seeing him happy.”

Well, one of Adam’s parents seems to like me. At least that’s one more than my parents.

32

ADAM

Growing up,Mom compared my emotions—or, to be exact, the way I constantly tried tosuppressmy emotions—to a burning ember in my chest. Hot enough for me to feel, but dim enough to go unnoticed by most. But now, there’s a wildfire of indignation lapping heat against my throat as I choke it down.

I look back at Ophelia again. She is trying to conceal the slight downturn of her mouth. Three months ago, I might not have picked up on her more subtle body language, but now I can notice the tension she’s carrying between her shoulder blades. The fire in me burns hotter.

I scan the room, but Mom is nowhere to be seen. Dad stands protectively at Ophelia’s side, offering his most gentle, genuine smile to her. Assured that she will be taken care of by him, I snake through the small crowd, ignoring the congratulatory shoulder pats and attempts at getting my attention.

But when one woman stands directly in the archway toward the back hall, I have no choice but to meet her gaze. She’s short, so short I hadn’t noticed her until she was only a few feet from me.

“Adam Abrams, it’s beensolong since I’ve seen you,” she says, touching my elbow as if we’re old friends.

I recoil. This is the last thing I need right now.

She grins, unfazed. “Don’t you remember me? I went to school with you and Eloise. She and I were on the lacrosse team together.” The woman leans in closer, and her overpowering floral perfume sends my stomach into instant nausea. “Naomi invited me tonight. And when I found out it was all in celebration of you, Ihadto come.”

“Listen,” I pause for a moment, but don’t bother trying to recollect the woman’s name, “I’m not sure what my mom told you, but—”

“She toldme she thinks we would get along very well.”

It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes. “Do you see that woman over there?” I ask, gesturing to Ophelia on the other side of the sprawling great room.

Even while upset, even after a long day of travel, Ophelia is almost unbearably beautiful. Her chestnut hair lays in thick, loose curls halfway down her back, and her lips are tinted pink. The sight of her soothes the anger in my chest enough for a different kind of warmth to take over.

“I’m hers,” I whisper. The words fell from my mouth without thought or consideration.

“I see,” the woman says, crossing her arms.

I almost forgot she was standing beside me. “I apologize if my mother gave you the wrong idea,” I say, my eyes still locked on Ophelia.

As if sensing me staring at her, Ophelia turns to the side and catches my gaze. She smiles, but it’s broken, shielded. All at once, the wildfire sparks again. How could anyone not love her? Hell, I think I loved her even when she hated me. After returning Ophelia’s smile halfheartedly, I push past the woman and through the hallway, checking each room.

I find Mom in the kitchen, micromanaging the cater waiters. I can’t remember the last time Ireallyyelled—maybe I never have—but as soon as I open my mouth, my words come out fast and loud. “Exactly what the hellis wrong with you?”

“What has gotten into you, Adam?” Mom glances around at the staff in the room, glaring at anyone who is watching us.

Without another word, she walks briskly from the kitchen, back toward the great room, toward the safety of the crowd, but I grab her elbow, halting her mid-step before she can get there. Her eyes are boring deep into me, trying to understand the uncharacteristic overflow of emotion. An outburst like this is far more fitting for my brothers than for me. But it is warranted.

I grit my teeth, swallowing flames of anger. “Can you explain yourself?”

Mom raises her eyebrows and tightens her lips into a line. “What do you mean?”

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