Page 61 of Fire and Icing

I can’t help myself. I watch him go.

On the drive home, Syd asks me when I was going to tell her about Dustin.

“Syd, what are you even asking me? You know we’re faking for the show. As a matter of fact, you were the instigator of our whole farce.”

“I’m not talking about you faking,” she says. “Obviously I knew you had agreed to fake dating. I’m talking about you two actually having feelings for one another.”

“Feelings?”

“Emberleigh. This is me. You have feelings for Dustin. And he definitely has feelings for you.”

“I like him. He’s a nice guy. And he’s being sweet to help me. It’s a lot to ask of him—not only the contest, but all this pretending.”

“Pretending, huh?”

“That’s what it is.”

“Well, Academy Award to you! Could’ve fooled me. And every woman in that book club.” Syd pauses and looks over at me. “I still say that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.”

“Not a bad thing … More like a complete disaster. I can’t risk it. If something goes wrong between us, the contest goes down the tubes and the prize money is gone.” I look through the darkness at my best friend. “It doesn’t matter, because we’re not dating.”

Syd’s voice is nearly imperceptible. “Not everyone leaves, Em.”

“True,” I agree. “You’re here. And Gran.”

I want to believe her. I do. But a part of me—the part that’s always bracing for someone to walk away—never fully unpacks its bags.

Syd opens her mouth to push her point with me, but then she stops herself.

“And Vanessa,” she smiles over at me. “Don’t forget her. She hasn’t left.”

We laugh, melting into the ease we always find in our friendship.

Syd will tell me whatever’s going on with her in time. We don’t keep secrets because she’s my person and I’m hers.

Not Dustin. He’s not my person. He’s just a friend helping me out in a pinch.

My hand lifts to my cheek and I sigh.

Chapter 13

Emberleigh

Some hearts don’t open until the rest of the world closes down.

That’s why midnight talks matter.

~ Unknown

The soundof a guitar being strummed floats up the staircase. I can’t make out the words, but I can tell Dustin is singing. I need a glass of water, or I’d stay put up here. I’m still not quite sure how I feel about the kiss he gave me at the bookshop. I got home and went straight upstairs. I’m admittedly avoiding him until I figure myself out.

My traitorous cheek keeps reminding me what it felt like to have his lips on my skin, his stubble grazing my face, his warm breath caressing my ear as he whispered.

It was just a kiss on the cheek, but tell my cheek that.

I’m thirsty enough to override my embarrassment or confusion or whatever this is. I wrap a robe around my pajamas and pad downstairs. Dustin is sitting in a chair, his guitar perched on his lap, and he’s about three feet away from my gran, who is sitting in her recliner, her eyes fixed on Dustin as if DollyParton herself just walked through the door and offered to singJolene. I stop on the bottom landing and peer across the hall through the sliding double wooden doors at the sweet scene.

“That’s one I’m still working on,” Dustin tells Gran.

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