Page 98 of Icing Hearts

Sixty.

Seventy.

Tears stream from the wind whipping through my helmet. Houses and trees blur by. My heart skips a beat—then several.

Tory brings the speed back down, but I never loosen my grip. His hand covers mine once again, and we ride on for a while. Until we reach a destination that I don’t recognize right away. It looks smaller now. But it isn’t. I’m just bigger. This man is really trying to dehydrate me with all the tears he has me crying tonight.

“Tory…”

“Is this alright? I knew it was a risk but—”

I squeeze him tight as he parks the bike. “It’s perfect.”

And it is. Because Tory brought me to the meadow where my mother and I used to dance and make flower crowns.

Chapter 60

Clara

It’s the end of the sunset. The time of night when you can still see a sliver of light in the west and total darkness in the east. He leaves his headlight on and angles the bike toward the meadow where the grass isn’t as tall as it used to be. Tory leans against his bike as I walk away, closer to the center of the meadow. A few seconds later, Taylor Swift’s “Enchanted” emanates from his Yamaha R1 . My makeup is smeared, and my hair is knotted, but I can’t bring myself to care.

Tory tells me to take my shoes off. I argue. It’s only sixty degrees, after all. Not truly spring but just a whisper of what’s to come. He calls me a wimp. I sigh, drop to the ground, kick off my shoes, and then my socks.

The cool grass crunches beneath my toes when I stand. It hasn’t grown lush yet and is still a bit matted from the winter snow. There are no flowers. It’s too early in the spring. Maybe a few crocuses here and there, but it’s not what I remember, and I remind myself that’s okay.

The song is loud enough to fill the space. It encompasses me, and I close my eyes, toss my head back, and my arms out—breathing in the cool of the night. I sway slightly, surfing the familiar melody.

“Dance.” His voice breaks through the happy chirp of bugs and owls and bats who don’t know this is a sad day—who don’t have the capacity to care.

But Tory is here, and he cares. It’s clear now that he always has been, and he always has cared, and that I’ve made a terrible mistake. So tonight, just for tonight, I’ll pretend he is mine and I am his and there’s no one else. Because it’s a yes night.

I don’t open my eyes, just hold my hand out expectantly as I say, “Only if you join me.”

“Always.” He closes the distance, entwining our fingers without hesitation. Tory pulls my body to his, one arm wrapping around my waist, the other holding my hand in the air. My head finds the space between his ear and shoulder, but I have to stay on my tiptoes to maintain it. He notices and carries me, my feet dangling as he twirls.

We laugh together and more tears fall from my eyes. He swings me round and round the middle of the field. Some songs are emotional, others upbeat. We chase and play and swing and sway.

At one point, I do a cartwheel or something of the sort. When my laughing eyes find him, his lips part with the grace of a silk chemise and his lashes flutter. As if his eyes intend to blink but refrain for fear of missing even a millisecond of the view.

But I am the view. And he’s never looked at me quite like this. Like he’s scared and determined and whole and captivated. Like he never wants to look away.

Yes, I’ve made a terrible mistake indeed. One that I do not know how to right. One that I may never right. But at least we have tonight.

When we’re done, he takes me to get food at the only twenty-four-hour diner in town. My dad is due home in an hour, and I eat quickly because I don’t want to risk it.

Tory crosses his arms on the melamine table. His ankles wrap around mine, but I don’t pull away. I eat my BLT club happily. When the waiter took our orders earlier, Tory double checked to make sure the toast wouldn’t have butter on it. He tosses down the fry in his hand, pausing a moment before he asks, “Hey, Charity? Why aren’t you with your boyfriend tonight?”

I shrug, suddenly feeling a bit sick to my stomach. Though he didn’t say Vince’s name, I’m filled with dread at the reminder of his existence. “Because I had a tutoring session with you.”

He nods and looks like he doesn’t believe my answer. Or maybe he understands the meaning in my statement. Maybe he knows that I only wanted to be with him today, but the wall I’ve built is so stalwart I needed an excuse. In case he doesn’t, I add, “He doesn’t remember my mom. I asked.”

Anger passes over his face like a ghost, and he looks away. I note the gentle flex of his jaw. By the time he looks back at me, it’s gone.

Tory moves to my side of the booth, sliding in and letting his proximity do what his words can’t.

I rest my head on his shoulder. “It’s late. I should get home.”

“Mm, I have a better idea. Let’s stay out all night, watch the sunrise. Go to my house, play hooky, get in pajamas, and sleep all day, punctuated by all of your favorite movies.”

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