chillingly comparable, even in the way he moves.
Eventually, looking at him becomes too much, and I get up and walk out of the house. I step into the cool night, place my hands on the railing, and hunch over, battling back the memories as they thrust their way to the surface, counting under my breath, doing everything I can to focus on the numbers instead of the images, but the images conclusively win.
“So if you could only paint one thing over and over again for the rest of your life, what would it be?” I hold on to the stairway railing and watch Landon sit on the bottom step and sketch the old oak tree on the hill in the backyard. “That tree?”
“I wouldn’t paint anything,” he says. His hand moves perfectly along the white sheet of paper, staining it with shades of gray and black. He pauses, glancing over his shoulder at me, with a ghost smile touching his lips. “You know how much I hate painting.”
I scrunch my nose and sink down on the step beside him. “Okay, then, what
would
you sketch?”
“If I could only sketch one thing?” he asks, and I nod. He taps the end of his pencil on his chin, leaving black smudges. “Probably you.”
I stick out my tongue, but my heart dances. I’ve often wondered what it would be like if he really did like me, if he kissed me, if he were my boyfriend instead of just my friend. “You so would not. If you were to actually pick a person, which I doubt you would, you’d probably pick someone like Karisa Harris.”
He wavers. “I have to admit, she does have a nice rack.”
I slap his arm, pretending to be offended, even though I’m used to it. We’ve been friends for four years, and he’s a seventeen-year-old guy. Being a pervert is kind of a given. “That’s so gross,” I say.
When he rolls his tongue to hold back his laughter, I swat his arm again, and his laughter slips through. Landon rarely laughs, so even though he’s irritating me, I let it go and laugh with him, because the sound of it makes it hard to stay angry. Eventually he quiets down and licks his lips, almost licking the charcoal off.
Shaking my head, I reach forward, place my thumb on one of the smudges right by his lips, and rub it away, trying to ignore the intensity in his gaze as he watches me. “You always have this stuff on you, even when you’re not sketching,” I remark as I pull my hand away. But he stops me with a touch of his fingers. I freeze as he wraps his hand over mine, and my heart starts to flutter inside my chest.
“I’ve been thinking.” He brings my hand back to his mouth. “About trying something,” he whispers against my palm.
“Oh yeah.” My voice cracks and I can’t stop staring at his lips.
He nods, without taking his eyes off me. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while…” He takes a deep breath and then lets it out, seeming uneasy. “About kissing you.”
My pulse quickens as he pauses, like he’s waiting for me to say something, but my throat is thick with my nerves and I can’t get my lips to form words. I’ve never kissed a guy before, and Landon isn’t just a guy. He’s my best friend. Even though I’ve thought about it many times, I’ve also thought about what it would be like to lose him. He’s the only one who keeps me connected to the world ever since my dad died. Without him, I don’t know what I’d be, or if I’d be anything.
I start to protest, but then he shuts his eyes, and my doubts temporarily wash away from the feel of his lips against the palm of my hand. He kisses it gradually, like he’s savoring the moment—and knowing Landon, he probably is. He moves his lips down to my wrist and he does the same thing there, only this time he slips out his tongue and I bite down on my lip as I shudder. My eyes close on their own accord, and I hold my breath in anticipation, waiting for him to kiss me. I wait. And wait, but nothing happens.
“Nova,” he says in a low, husky voice. “Open your eyes.”
I obey,
Eventually, looking at him becomes too much, and I get up and walk out of the house. I step into the cool night, place my hands on the railing, and hunch over, battling back the memories as they thrust their way to the surface, counting under my breath, doing everything I can to focus on the numbers instead of the images, but the images conclusively win.
“So if you could only paint one thing over and over again for the rest of your life, what would it be?” I hold on to the stairway railing and watch Landon sit on the bottom step and sketch the old oak tree on the hill in the backyard. “That tree?”
“I wouldn’t paint anything,” he says. His hand moves perfectly along the white sheet of paper, staining it with shades of gray and black. He pauses, glancing over his shoulder at me, with a ghost smile touching his lips. “You know how much I hate painting.”
I scrunch my nose and sink down on the step beside him. “Okay, then, what
would
you sketch?”
“If I could only sketch one thing?” he asks, and I nod. He taps the end of his pencil on his chin, leaving black smudges. “Probably you.”
I stick out my tongue, but my heart dances. I’ve often wondered what it would be like if he really did like me, if he kissed me, if he were my boyfriend instead of just my friend. “You so would not. If you were to actually pick a person, which I doubt you would, you’d probably pick someone like Karisa Harris.”
He wavers. “I have to admit, she does have a nice rack.”
I slap his arm, pretending to be offended, even though I’m used to it. We’ve been friends for four years, and he’s a seventeen-year-old guy. Being a pervert is kind of a given. “That’s so gross,” I say.
When he rolls his tongue to hold back his laughter, I swat his arm again, and his laughter slips through. Landon rarely laughs, so even though he’s irritating me, I let it go and laugh with him, because the sound of it makes it hard to stay angry. Eventually he quiets down and licks his lips, almost licking the charcoal off.
Shaking my head, I reach forward, place my thumb on one of the smudges right by his lips, and rub it away, trying to ignore the intensity in his gaze as he watches me. “You always have this stuff on you, even when you’re not sketching,” I remark as I pull my hand away. But he stops me with a touch of his fingers. I freeze as he wraps his hand over mine, and my heart starts to flutter inside my chest.
“I’ve been thinking.” He brings my hand back to his mouth. “About trying something,” he whispers against my palm.
“Oh yeah.” My voice cracks and I can’t stop staring at his lips.
He nods, without taking his eyes off me. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while…” He takes a deep breath and then lets it out, seeming uneasy. “About kissing you.”
My pulse quickens as he pauses, like he’s waiting for me to say something, but my throat is thick with my nerves and I can’t get my lips to form words. I’ve never kissed a guy before, and Landon isn’t just a guy. He’s my best friend. Even though I’ve thought about it many times, I’ve also thought about what it would be like to lose him. He’s the only one who keeps me connected to the world ever since my dad died. Without him, I don’t know what I’d be, or if I’d be anything.
I start to protest, but then he shuts his eyes, and my doubts temporarily wash away from the feel of his lips against the palm of my hand. He kisses it gradually, like he’s savoring the moment—and knowing Landon, he probably is. He moves his lips down to my wrist and he does the same thing there, only this time he slips out his tongue and I bite down on my lip as I shudder. My eyes close on their own accord, and I hold my breath in anticipation, waiting for him to kiss me. I wait. And wait, but nothing happens.
“Nova,” he says in a low, husky voice. “Open your eyes.”
I obey,
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