Page 30 of Just Friends

There’s just something about this place that feels a little like magic, and sometimes I get sad I left it so early. I don’t regret moving to LA, and I don’t have a desire to move back to my hometown, but now that I’m older, I can appreciate all the little things I took for granted growing up. Like knowing my mail carrier by name or having an entire town vote online for my submission in an art contest in California. Like waking up to the same view of the mountains every day, knowing it will never be bulldozed to make room for a strip mall.

Riding back into this town feels like never leaving, like stepping into a fairy tale and finding they were just waiting for me to come back to finish the story. It’s everything that no one ever knows they’re missing until they’re here.

“I can see why,” Alex murmurs, eyes still glued to his surroundings.

Lifting up the armrest between us, I scoot into the middle seat until our bodies are pressed together from shoulder to thigh. I press a finger to the window, pointing to one of the buildings painted a pastel pink.

“That’s the dance studio,” I tell him. “Mom put me in lessons there when I was a kid, but she let me quit after I accidentally knocked a girl off stage during one of our performances.”

Alex’s laugh is deep, ghosting across the side of my face. “That bad, huh?”

“Not like you and your natural rhythm.”

His eyes light up. “I went to a Zumba class one time—”

“And the instructor told you that you have a natural sense of rhythm,” I finish for him, and Ellie cackles in the front seat.

The same force that pulls Alex’s brows down into a pucker tugs my lips up into a smile.

“I’m very proud of that accomplishment,” he says.

My eyes trail down his form, taking in the gray T-shirt pulling tight over his broad shoulders and the blue jeans riding low on his hips, rolled up to hit just above his white sneakers, before focusing again on the hard line of his jaw and the full curve of his lips. I still don’t know how I missed that perfect curve, like the smear of charcoal on paper, or that Cupid’s bow, like the barest dip of a paintbrush, but now that I’ve noticed, I can’t seem to see anything else.

“I hate to break it to you,” I say, dragging my eyes up to meet his again, ignoring the twinge in the pit of my stomach, “but I think she was just trying to get your number, because you have no rhythm to speak of.”

The brown of his eyes takes on a challenging glint. One that seems so dangerous I think my cheeks are heating—um, what’s that about?

“None that you know of,” he says, and I swear his voice sounds like sandpaper. It makes my skin feel itchy and tight, stretched too thin, my pulse pounding beneath the surface.

“Gross,” Ellie says, spinning around in her seat. “I don’t need to know about yourrhythm.”

A smile ghosts across Alex’s face, replacing whatever confusing look was there a moment ago. Those faint dimples at the top of his cheekbones hollow out.

“I don’t know. I think I’d like to hear about it,” Cam says. “Maybe I could use some tips.”

Ellie’s brown eyes, the exact color of Alex’s, blow wide. “Stop. You’re not takingrhythmtips from mybrother.”

“There’s this thing I like to do,” Alex says calmly, although his mouth is stretched in a mischievous grin. “Where you start at the—”

“No, no, no. Absolutely not. We arenothaving this conversation,” Ellie interrupts, and the car goes quiet for a long moment. The only sound is the tires eating pavement as we truck past the outskirts of town and into the country.

I pinch my lips together to keep from laughing, and say, “So you start at the—”

“No!” Ellie yells, swiveling in her seat to face us once more, her hair flying all around her. Her eyes are wild as she fixes us with a glare, and any restraint we had on our laughter dissipates.

Gravel crunches under our tires before we can calm down, signaling that we’ve just pulled into the driveway at my aunt and uncle’s farmhouse. My parents live on the other side of the property, a couple of acres away, but somehow everyone can usually be found here.

“Stevie’s here!” I squeal, noticing my cousin’s old truck parked out front, and jump out of the car before it’s fully come to a stop.

Her dark head pops out the front door, a wide smile stretching her mouth. We crash together on the porch steps, hugging and making enough racket to wake the neighbors if there were any. I saw her at the wedding two weeks ago, but Stevie and I always reunite like star-crossed lovers who have just found their way back to each other through time and space.

“You need to come visit more,” she tells me, squeezing my body in a tighter hug. “I hardly got to see you in all the wedding craziness, and you haven’t been home in months.”

“You could always come visit me, you know.”

Stevie pulls back, an unreadable expression crossing her features. “Yeah, I should. It’s just hard to get away.”

The screen door slaps against its frame as my dad steps onto the porch. I move into his arms, gaze still focused on Stevie. “Yeah, you have a terrible boss who never gives you any time off.”

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