find Jessica and the Pucketts, who are trying to decide who the cutest guy here is.
"Check out the new guy," Maddie says to Erin with a nudge of her elbow.
I don't have to glance over my shoulder to know who it is.
"Who's he?" Harper asks.
"Yum," Jess notes. "Does it matter?"
"Are you all in heat?"Willow comments. "We don't have to go there."
Jess and the Pucketts just snicker.
I pick up my half-eaten hot dog and begin to cram it in my mouth just to have something to do. After I swallow, I concur with Willow. "We don't have to go there."
Jess winks over at the guys and says, "Oh, honey, we're
definitely
going there."
I manage to satiate my sudden appetite with an ear of corn and two fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies. Glenn and Chris have shut down the grill, but they've started a small bonfire in a rock pit over in the clearing. The soft music tints the chilly night air, and I feel myself being drawn to the warmth of the flames. Everyone is making small talk, and people are meeting one another, so I snatch another Diet Coke from the cooler and decide to offer an olive branch to Hershey Eyes.
Even though it's after sundown, he's put his shades back on, blocking off those rich brown orbs from others' view. I go over to the chaises near the fire pit, where he's stretched out, wolfing down his thirdâyes, I countedâhot dog.
I extend my hand politely and say, "I'm Kendall Moorehead from Radisson, Georgia."
He looks at my hand like it's going to cause him physical pain if he takes it, so I pull it back to my side. Ohhhhh-kay.
"I just thought you should know my name, since you're, like, hating me and such." I add a smile to my snarky comment for good measure.
He lifts his gloved hand and puts the last bite of his hot dog in his mouth. "I'm Patrick Lynn," he mutters with his mouth full. "And I don't necessarily hate you."
Returning my ignored hand to my jean pocket, I lower myself to the chaise next to him. "I don't necessarily hate you either, so we're even."
"Fair enough." He actually follows that with a chuckle.
Time to try and make nice. "So where are you from, Patrick Lynn?"
Chewing the final bite of his hot dog seems to take a few moments, then he says, "I live on MacDill Air Force Base, just a bit south of Tampa."
"Ahh ... military brat."
"Yep. My whole life. Air Force has been all I've ever known. My dad used to be part of NASA."
"Whoa! Has he gone up on the space shuttle?"
Patrick shakes his head. "Nah ... he was supposed to, but his mission got scratched because of some horrendous storm or something. He mainly flies a computer terminal nowadays."
Fiddling with the tab of my soda, I say, "That must have been hard on him."
"He dealt with it. Just like he dealt with Mom leaving him. Sticking him with me and my kid brother, Brandon."
I want to reach out to him, but considering that he wouldn't even shake my hand with his gloves on, I figure he's got some sort of skin-to-skin phobia. Instead, I try to empathize. "I'm sorry about your mom. I lost my mom too. Well, my birth mom, that is. She died when she had me."
His head cocks toward me, but I can't see his eyes. "That's got to suck."
"It does. But the family who adopted me is wonderful."
"Well, you're lucky for that."
He toys with his gloves for a moment and then tugs off the right one. I think I'm going to get a makeup shake, but nothing of the sort. He just stares at his hand and taps the leather of the glove over his palm. We sit in silence, sipping our drinks and gazing up at the night sky, while others scurry around us making small talk.
As if on cue, we simultaneously move to place our soda cans on the small table between us. Our fingers touch and...
bam!
A spark. A jump. A minuscule moment of contact that could power an electric car. My skin completely tingles where it's touching his, and I try to read him, this quirky Patrick Lynn with the stray grays and protective cover. Suddenly, I know he's not the rude jerk he's pretending to
"Check out the new guy," Maddie says to Erin with a nudge of her elbow.
I don't have to glance over my shoulder to know who it is.
"Who's he?" Harper asks.
"Yum," Jess notes. "Does it matter?"
"Are you all in heat?"Willow comments. "We don't have to go there."
Jess and the Pucketts just snicker.
I pick up my half-eaten hot dog and begin to cram it in my mouth just to have something to do. After I swallow, I concur with Willow. "We don't have to go there."
Jess winks over at the guys and says, "Oh, honey, we're
definitely
going there."
I manage to satiate my sudden appetite with an ear of corn and two fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies. Glenn and Chris have shut down the grill, but they've started a small bonfire in a rock pit over in the clearing. The soft music tints the chilly night air, and I feel myself being drawn to the warmth of the flames. Everyone is making small talk, and people are meeting one another, so I snatch another Diet Coke from the cooler and decide to offer an olive branch to Hershey Eyes.
Even though it's after sundown, he's put his shades back on, blocking off those rich brown orbs from others' view. I go over to the chaises near the fire pit, where he's stretched out, wolfing down his thirdâyes, I countedâhot dog.
I extend my hand politely and say, "I'm Kendall Moorehead from Radisson, Georgia."
He looks at my hand like it's going to cause him physical pain if he takes it, so I pull it back to my side. Ohhhhh-kay.
"I just thought you should know my name, since you're, like, hating me and such." I add a smile to my snarky comment for good measure.
He lifts his gloved hand and puts the last bite of his hot dog in his mouth. "I'm Patrick Lynn," he mutters with his mouth full. "And I don't necessarily hate you."
Returning my ignored hand to my jean pocket, I lower myself to the chaise next to him. "I don't necessarily hate you either, so we're even."
"Fair enough." He actually follows that with a chuckle.
Time to try and make nice. "So where are you from, Patrick Lynn?"
Chewing the final bite of his hot dog seems to take a few moments, then he says, "I live on MacDill Air Force Base, just a bit south of Tampa."
"Ahh ... military brat."
"Yep. My whole life. Air Force has been all I've ever known. My dad used to be part of NASA."
"Whoa! Has he gone up on the space shuttle?"
Patrick shakes his head. "Nah ... he was supposed to, but his mission got scratched because of some horrendous storm or something. He mainly flies a computer terminal nowadays."
Fiddling with the tab of my soda, I say, "That must have been hard on him."
"He dealt with it. Just like he dealt with Mom leaving him. Sticking him with me and my kid brother, Brandon."
I want to reach out to him, but considering that he wouldn't even shake my hand with his gloves on, I figure he's got some sort of skin-to-skin phobia. Instead, I try to empathize. "I'm sorry about your mom. I lost my mom too. Well, my birth mom, that is. She died when she had me."
His head cocks toward me, but I can't see his eyes. "That's got to suck."
"It does. But the family who adopted me is wonderful."
"Well, you're lucky for that."
He toys with his gloves for a moment and then tugs off the right one. I think I'm going to get a makeup shake, but nothing of the sort. He just stares at his hand and taps the leather of the glove over his palm. We sit in silence, sipping our drinks and gazing up at the night sky, while others scurry around us making small talk.
As if on cue, we simultaneously move to place our soda cans on the small table between us. Our fingers touch and...
bam!
A spark. A jump. A minuscule moment of contact that could power an electric car. My skin completely tingles where it's touching his, and I try to read him, this quirky Patrick Lynn with the stray grays and protective cover. Suddenly, I know he's not the rude jerk he's pretending to
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