Ex-mas (14 page)

"I don't know," Beau said, his cheeks red from the last handful of snow she'd managed to smush into his face. "Snow is cool

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and al for, like, a day, but I like the fact that I can go surfing in January."

Lila frowned at him. "You don't surf." She tried to imagine Beau in a wet suit, jumping into the back of a jeep with Erik and his surfing buddies. The picture didn't exactly come together.

"Hel , no." Beau laughed, as if he was trying out the same image. "Have you ever talked to those dudes? I mean, not the sharpest
brahs
in the toolshed.

But I
could,
if I wanted."

He drifted to a stop outside one of the many independent coffeehouses they'd passed during their epic snowbal fight. This one seemed brighter than

the stores around it; PERK-O-LATE, the big red sign over the coffee shop door read, with a drawing of a coffee mug with a fire lit beneath it. The big window was steamed up from the heat inside. Lila was suddenly seized by the desire for a piping hot mocha latte, with extra whipped cream.

"Check it out," Beau said, pointing at a hand-lettered sign in the front window. "Open mic night."

"You left your guitar in the car," Lila protested.

Beau only smiled and pushed open the door, waving Lila indoors in front of him.

She paused the moment she crossed the threshold, soaking in the rush of coffee-scented heat and background music. The wal s were painted bright

gold and blue, and every spare inch was covered with movie posters. Booths were built along the far

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wal , and the rest of the space was fil ed with comfy armchairs, upholstered stools, and square dark wood tables. Seattleites lounged at the tables,

black sweaters and ripped jeans mixed with hippie dresses and dyed-white punk rock hair.

"Grab us a table, and I'l get you a drink," Beau said.

Lila accepted his offer with a nod. She thought back to last night in Big Sur, when she'd been starving but hadn't wanted Beau to buy her so much as a gas station snack. God, had she real y turned down
food?
What was she thinking?

She wove her way through the tables, and found a little booth toward the back. She flopped down, happy to peel off her heavy outer layers and relax in the warm atmosphere of the coffee shop. It was a cool spot. Coffee shops in L.A. were fil ed with jerks with laptops, trying to be "screenwriters" while hogging the best tables al day long. But Perk-O-Late seemed to veer toward the hipster crowd without actual y wal owing in that scene. For every pair of skinny jeans with a facial piercing, there was someone in a North Face jacket and Timberlands. They al looked like cool people who might spontaneously go on a hike. There was a smal stage set up in front of the big window overlooking the street, and on it stood a hippie-chic girl, singing some kind of folk/punk hybrid. Her blue-tinted hair swayed slightly as she played her guitar.

Beau is much better,
Lila noted.

She jumped a little bit in her seat when Beau appeared before

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her as if summoned, setting down two heavy mugs piled high with whipped cream. Lila felt herself blushing, like she'd been picturing him naked or

something.

Which she then proceeded to do--and
really
felt her cheeks burst into flames.

He eased into the booth. "What's going on in there?" he asked mildly, his eyes laughing. Like he already knew.

Lila reached for the mug closest to her. "Yum," she said, embarrassed to hear the huskiness in her own voice. "A mocha latte with almost more whipped cream than coffee, I hope." Suddenly it occurred to her that he hadn't asked her what she wanted. She faltered, her gaze rising to his.

He'd known. He'd remembered.

"Almost," Beau said. A smile played around his mouth. "There's some caffeine in there, too. We stil have miles to go before we sleep."

"I love that poem," Lila said in a whisper.

Beau leaned back in his seat. "I know."

She had to look away from him then, because her eyes felt too hot and his saw too much. So she picked up a spoon and dug out a serious chunk of the

whipped cream. It was the good stuff--homemade and thick and sweet. She licked up a mouthful like it was ice cream.

"This might be the best thing I've ever tasted," she said in a normal voice, breaking the spel between them.

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Beau drank a little bit from his own mug, but he was practical y humming with nervous energy. He unzipped his coat and shrugged out of his hoodie. It

felt like déjà vu to see his ratty concert T-shirt again. Beau standing in his basement, glaring at her, felt like it had happened in a different lifetime.

"Want to get up there?" he asked, nodding toward the stage as the folk/punk girl concluded her set and everyone around them applauded.

"Up where?" Lila asked, pretending not to understand.

"Come on." He grinned at her. "We're in a different state, so I don't think it counts if you perform with me here. It won't affect your whole
the state of
California will fall into the ocean before I sing with you again
mandate."

"Oh, yeah," Lila said, embarrassed. She stuck her finger into her whipped cream and pul ed out a big dol op. "I did say that, didn't I?" She couldn't believe he remembered it, word for word. She licked away the whipped cream, ful of cinnamon and sugar and the hint of mocha below.

"Yel ed it, actual y. More than once." But he was smiling. Lila shrugged and blew on her coffee. The liquid was stil burning hot. And so were her cheeks.

"Impressive memory," she said, deciding not to bring up what
he
had said: that if she wanted to hang out with zombies like Carly Hol ander, she could go right ahead and do that. And

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not to worry about singing with him, because he'd rather never sing again than sing with her.

"Wel ," Beau said quietly. "Any chance you'l reconsider?" Lila shook her head, looking away from him.

"You go," she said. "If you want. I'm a real y good audience member."

He shrugged, and she had to blink a few times at her mocha to clear the sudden fog in her eyes. When she looked up, Beau had somehow talked the

previous folk/punk girl out of her guitar and was settling onto the stage like he owned it.

Lila sat back in her chair and prepared to lead the cheering section.

"Hi," Beau said. "I'm visiting from California. Thought I'd play a few songs." He strummed a chord, then smiled that kil er, crowd-pleasing smile of his.

"Oh, yeah," he said. "I'm Beau."

A table of girls near the front burst into applause. Lila shook her head. She should have known he wouldn't need any help winning over the entire coffee shop. Beau lived and breathed the stage. And he could read a crowd better than anyone she'd ever met. Which was no doubt why he took one look at the

hipster-but-not-too-hip clientele and began to play an acoustic, mel ow version of Gwen Stefani's "Hol aback Girl." The crowd loved it.

"I ain't no hol aback girl," Beau sang, in his scratchy, soulful voice. Three guys in skinny jeans leapt up and started cheering. Then they sang along.

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Lila looked on in disbelief. So Beau
did
listen to pop music! Enough to cover a Gwen Stefani song, anyway.

She didn't know if she wanted to hit him or hug him. Maybe both.

"You guys are great," Beau said after a few songs. He scraped his thick dark hair back from his face, cal ing attention to how impossibly blue his eyes were. "But I feel like something's missing." He trailed off and searched the crowd. "I need a front woman"

"Me!" cried one of the girls in front, throwing her hands in the air. She jumped up and down in her combat boots, her goth black hair flying around her face, her purple tights gleaming.

"I would," Beau said with his flirtiest grin, "but I have a good feeling about that girl right back there."

He pointed at Lila. The entire crowd swiveled around to stare at her. She froze mid-sip. Great. She probably had whipped cream on her nose.

"Her name is Lila," Beau told the coffee house. "And she has a song she wants to sing for you, but she's shy."

"Don't be shy! Be a warrior woman!" cried the folk/punk chick with blue-tinted hair.

Lila wanted to die. Actual y, she wanted to kil Beau, and
then
die.

"Li-la! Li-la! Li-la!"
the crowd chanted.

What else could she do but get up and join him on the makeshift stage?

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"You're a dead man," she told Beau when she got there, furious and embarrassed al at once. Staring out at al the eager, waiting faces, she felt her heart start beating double-time. "I hate you," she added.

"That's code for 'I love you," Beau told the audience.

"Whoo-hooooo!" they cheered.

Before Lila could respond, he started playing the opening chords of that old song of theirs, the one that he'd sung in Big Sur. And just as she had then, Lila felt herself drawn back in time, back into the safe cocoon of those Friday nights they'd spent with their guitars, sprawled across Beau's bed.

Those days were gone, but when she caught Beau's eye, none of that seemed to matter. He smiled at her. And she sang.

The words came back to her with ease, but what shocked her, after years of never doing more than singing in the shower, was how easy it was to slip

back into singing, even in front of a crowd.

And how easy it was to sing with Beau.

"Let me just say that gifts are cool, though allergies make me feel a fool,"
they sang together.
"Roses are red and violets are blue, and animals are
better off in the zoo."

They easily picked up their familiar harmony, and Lila had to admit that she loved it. She'd missed the joy of it al , the way her voice and the guitar and Beau's voice al melded together and sounded so perfect, so effortless. She couldn't believe she'd

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forgotten how much she'd loved it. She felt happy and free straight down to her toes.

"Maybe this spring fever will pass, maybe I'm acting like an ass,"
they sang to each other and to the audience.
"Maybe the flu will do us in, and
maybe your heart's not mine to win."

And when the song was done, everyone in the coffee house jumped to their feet. Lila laughed in delight and turned toward Beau.

But whatever words she'd been about to say died on her tongue the second she saw his eyes. They were deep and blue and saw her--al of her--from

her fuzzy seventh-grade hair to their perfect harmony, and everything in between. The air around them seemed thick and the audience faded into nothing.

Al Lila could think was how much she wanted him to kiss her.

And then he did.

His mouth felt so familiar--and so different. Warm and sweet and with an underlying kick that made her whole body shake. She kissed him back, His mouth felt so familiar--and so different. Warm and sweet and with an underlying kick that made her whole body shake. She kissed him back, heedless and happy, one hand curling into his thick hair.

The audience went wild.

"Encore!" they shouted.

Encore, indeed.

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Chapter 17

***

OUTSIDE PERK-O-LATE

SEATTLE

DECEMBER 23

9:30 P.M.

***

Lila could feel the cold slap of the winter wind the moment they stepped back outside, leaving the warmth of the coffee house behind them. The difference was, she didn't care anymore. She felt warmed from the inside out. She couldn't seem to look away from Beau, and neither of them could stop smiling. It was like they were lighting up the Seattle dusk with their smiles. Beau kissed her again, right there on the sidewalk.

He took his time, lingering against her lips and holding her face between his hands. When he pul ed back slightly, he smiled even wider and then kissed her again.

"I just want to make sure that wasn't, you know, a trick of the stage lights," Beau murmured against her mouth.

"There weren't any stage lights, you idiot," Lila replied affectionately, standing on her tiptoes and kissing him as the

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snow swirled around them. She felt like she was in one of those shake-up snow globes that her mother col ected. Like there was a bubble around the

two of them, and maybe the city of Seattle had been arranged around them just to enhance the perfect, Christmassy moment.

Beau pul ed away and slung an arm over Lila's shoulders. It was like a puzzle piece clicking into place. It was crazy how wel they fit together--and Lila remembered, suddenly, how wel they always had.

"Seems real," Beau drawled. "But I might have to check again..."

She stuck her tongue out at him and then glanced at her watch. Her stomach dropped to the ground with a sickening lurch, and she stopped dead.

"What?" Beau asked, his hand lingering on her neck.

"Oh my God," Lila managed to say. She waved her wrist at Beau like a crazy person. He only stared back at her, not comprehending. "The
train!"
she practical y screamed in panic. "It's arriving in ten minutes!"

Beau swore, loudly and rudely enough to attract the offended stares of two nearby ladies in fake Uggs. But then they were running again--slipping and

sliding down the wintry Seattle sidewalks, weaving in and out of the crowds of pedestrians getting in their last-minute Christmas shopping.

"How could we let this happen?" Lila shrieked.

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Beau didn't respond until they came to a skidding halt at a traffic light. He bounced up and down on his feet, impatient.

"We can't let them get past us here," he said in a low voice. "If they find a way to sneak across the border..."

Lila's hands were in fists at her sides, her breath coming in giant puffs in the frozen air.

"They'l be in Canada," she finished flatly. "And we don't have passports."

"Exactly," Beau said. "We're screwed"

The traffic light changed.