“Yes?” I’m in their kitchen getting his dinner together. Sierra and Dexter are behind at the coffee shop—the kitchen is a snowstorm of white baking flour. They even got Charlie to help. The “No-Starlee-In-The-House” policy has been broken because one injured boy needs to eat and the other needs help with his homework.
“I know you’re about to study with Jake, but could you please grab my sketch pad off my bed?”
George been on the couch since he got home—under constant supervision. He seems okay—just a hard impact that knocked him out for a few minutes. His tests came out okay but he definitely has a concussion and is on bed rest for a few days.
“You know I’m not supposed to go upstairs.”
“No one’s home. Please? This portfolio is due in a few weeks.”
It’s true that no one else is home. Jake had to take the trash out for Sierra and do a few more chores. He’s supposed to meet me in the kitchen when he’s done.
“Okay. On your bed?”
“Yep.” He smiles sweetly. “Oh, and my pencil case?”
His blanket has fallen off the couch and I walk over to pull it up. I shake my head and say, “You’re a mess, you know that?”
He grabs my wrist. “I’m your mess and I think you like it.”
I do like it. And him. Not when he’s hurt, but in general. I don’t resist when he tugs me down and gives me a soft kiss on the lips.
“Be back in a second.”
“Thanks.”
I leave him in the living room and head down the hall to the stairs. It’s been a while since I’ve been up to the second floor. Sierra may have looked the other way on a few rules but not the bedroom one. She underestimates these boys and their ability to corner me under bleachers, in dark supply closets, and empty cottages.
I climb the steps and enter the hall, getting a quick whiff of boy. The whole place smells like a mix of soap, body spray, hair product and just…well, boy. I pass Dexter and Jake’s room, whose door is closed, knowing George’s is on the far right. The faint scent of paint greets me. His sketch book is open on the bed, held open by the pencil case.
I lift the case and pause, absorbing what’s on the page. It’s a pencil drawing—a portrait—of me. My hair is loose around my face, a small smile plays on my lips. A hint of laughter lingers in my eyes. He’s captured not just my physical traits but something deeper. And while I recognize myself, it’s not the person I’m used to seeing in the mirror. There are no traces of anxiety. Of insecurity. Just happiness.
I’ve wanted that for so long. Happiness.
“He’s good, isn’t he?”
I look up and find Jake in the doorway. His hair is damp and he smells fresh from the shower. I close the book and clutch it and the case to my chest. “I thought you were helping Sierra.”
“I finished. And made a total mess at the garbage can—so I came up to clean up and change.”
We’re standing close and I’m realizing how long it’s been since the two of us were alone. Football and school have cut into our morning sunrise ritual, and we’re all just so busy right now.
“I miss summer,” I say suddenly.
He smiles. “Yeah? Why?”
“Even though we all had jobs, we had more time to hang out together. Hikes and little day trips. Morning routines.”
He reaches for me by the beltloop and tugs me closer. “That’s true. Thanksgiving is coming up and then Christmas. Football will be over soon.”
Maybe that will free some things up. And the idea of spending the holidays with the guys is exciting. It’s always just been me and my mom. Alone.
“We should go back downstairs. I don’t want to get anyone in trouble,” I say.
“Okay, but I wanted to, uh,” he rubs the back of his neck, “talk to you about something first.”
“Sure, what’s up?”
He brushes my hair behind my ear and the look on his face is serious. A flutter of panic bubbles in my chest.