Only Between Us by Mila Ferrera Page A

much fun. They really get into it.”
    She pulls her eyes from the water and looks up at me. “How do we forget that?”
    “Forget what?” I stare into the deep green, heavy on the blue, light on the yellow, except for this little circle right around the edge of her pupils. Golden brown. We’re standing under a street lamp. I can see every detail.
    “How to lose ourselves in the joy of something,” she explains. “Adults can’t do that as easily as kids can. At some point, we forget how.”
    “I think when you forget that depends on who you are. Maybe some people never do.” I tug on the edge of my cap, pulling it a little lower on my forehead as we reach the end of Main Street. The bag in my pocket crinkles. “I don’t know anyone like that, though. Daniel probably comes closest.”
    “I can see that. I’m kind of jealous. Sometimes I want to lose myself like that. I’d like to remember how.”
    “Yeah?” Suddenly, I’m imagining what she might look like, lost in the joy of … something.
    She glances up at me and bites her lip, and it takes all I have not to run my thumb along the edge of her mouth. She’s not wearing lipstick. Her lips are crimson red and titanium white and the tiniest hint of cadmium yellow, blended perfectly into this pink so delicate that I want to taste it and—
    “Want to go sit by the lake?” she blurts.
    “Sure.”
    We cross the street and head along the sidewalk to the benches that line the boardwalk right by the water. She’s wearing a long skirt that flutters around her ankles as she walks, revealing open-toed shoes. Bare feet, painted toenails peeking out at me. I wonder if she’s cold, but I don’t ask because I don’t want to give her any reason to leave. “So what’s your reason for coming to my class?” I ask as we sit on a bench right under a decorative street lamp, nice and bright. Safe.
    She pulls her sweater around her again. I should offer her my jacket, but there’s a goddamn box of rubbers in my pocket, and for some reason, I desperately don’t want her to know that. This is like the definition of lose-lose. I’m trying to figure out if I can chuck the whole bag in the trashcan next to me without her noticing when she says, “I signed up for the class because I missed painting. It was part of me and I lost it. I wanted it back.”
    Her words freeze my stupid thoughts in place. “How did you lose it?”
    As soon as I say it, I know it’s the wrong question. It’s like I can see her gates slamming shut, being reinforced from within. Her fingers curl into the thin fabric of her cardigan. “Or maybe I gave it away,” she murmurs, then shakes herself. “I just got busy with school.”
    Now she’s lying. I can tell. Her voice is all breezy-easy. Katie does that sometimes, but she never fools me. Still, I know what it means— back off . “Fair enough. You should take the advanced oil techniques class I’m starting up, though. I think you’d find it more interesting.”
    She gives me a hesitant smile. “When is it? I didn’t see it on the online schedule.”
    That’s because it wasn’t on there. I decided to start the class ten seconds ago. “Uh … I’ll have to check …”
    “I have a class on Monday nights.”
    “It’s definitely not on Monday nights.”
    She laughs, and I slide my arm along the bench behind her because I’m insane. As soon as I do it, she goes very still, and those dark green eyes land on my face. “When you figure it out, let me know when it is,” she says. Her expression is cautious and hopeful and challenging and scared and hot, all at once. “I might switch.”
    There’s a freckle on her right cheekbone, the exact shade of dark brown sugar. I imagine tasting it, and my muscles pull tight. “It might be a small class.” Maybe just her and me.
    “I’m sure there are plenty of students who’d be eager to sign up,” she says, and by her tentative smile and the curious sweep of her gaze, I know she’s