Porcelain Keys (13 page)

“Hold on. I’ll open your door.”

I opened my own door and climbed out as he strutted around the car. He held out his arm for me, but the night chill bit my skin, so I rubbed my arms instead of taking his. He followed me to the porch, and as I turned around to say good-bye, his face was suddenly inches from mine.

“Don’t I get a hug or something?” he asked, his arms outstretched.

Before I could say no, he stepped up and snared me in his arms. As I peeled away from him, his chin was lifted and his lips slightly puckered. I tried to break free from his embrace, but his arms didn’t budge. With half-closed eyes, his face moved in, and I turned my head, leaning away as much as his grip would allow.

There was a creaking sound to my right, and with a start, we turned to see what had caused it.

Out of the shadow of the porch walked the sweetest sight I’d ever seen.

Thomas Ashby was on my porch, waiting for
me
.

A
warm sensation rushed
through me, and suddenly the night didn’t seem so cold. My pulse did a double beat, and Dirk did a double take. “Dude. What are you doing here?”

Thomas cleared his throat as he stepped into the yellow glow of the porch light. “Aria’s dad was tired, so he asked me to stay up and wait for her—since we’re good friends.” He caught my eye and winked.

Dirk shot me a questioning look. I just shrugged.

“Um, ’kay. Can you give us a sec?” Dirk asked incredulously.

“Sure, take your time.” Thomas folded his arms across his chest.

Dirk stared at Thomas and lifted an eyebrow. “Dude. I mean, like, alone.”

“I’m supposed to make sure she gets inside safe,” Thomas said. “Now that she’s home, I’d better keep my eye on her until she’s inside.”

Dirk snorted and looked at me. “Whatever, Aria. See
you at work tomorrow.” He turned and stormed back to his car.

We watched him peel away, then I turned back to Thomas. His hair was kind of messy, and I hoped
his
fingers had been the only ones combing through it.

“Where’s Trisha?” I asked.

“At home, probably in bed surrounded by tissues.”

“How long have you been here?”

“I don’t know. An hour? Maybe two? I came right after I dropped off Trisha. I thought you’d be home sooner.” His voice was laced with uneasiness, like he’d been worried about me.

“So what are you doing here?”

He leaned back against the porch post. “Well, Dirk was bragging in the locker room earlier about his
list
.”

“List?”

“Apparently he keeps a list of all the girls he’s kissed—twenty-nine so far.”

“You say that like it’s news. I’m surprised it’s not more.”

“I just wanted to make sure
you
weren’t number thirty.”

“Thanks,” I said, taking a step toward the door, “but I can defend myself. His lips weren’t coming near mine.”

“But they were. I was watching.”

“Why?” I spun around to face him. “Why do you care if he kisses me?” My tone was harsher than I intended. I wasn’t angry. I was thrilled that he was here, that he cared. But I had to know if he was just looking out for a friend, or if he was jealous because his feelings extended beyond friendship.

“Well, I . . .” He scratched the back of his head and sighed. He pursed his lips and looked down, nervously kicking the floor with the tip of his black dress shoe.

“Just tell me why you’re really here.”

His expression was troubled and he chewed on his lip like he was trying to figure out what to say. After a long moment, he took a couple steps toward me until he was standing just inches away. “I’m here because . . . I didn’t get a chance to dance with the girl I
really
wanted to dance with.” He gently laid his hand on my upper arm, and my pulse stuttered as his fingers trailed down my arm to my hand, where they fastened to the curve of my palm.

My lips parted and the shallow breaths passing through them quickened. An electric current ran down my arms, making the hairs stand on end. “Are you”—I swallowed, trying to restore some moisture to my mouth—“providing the music?”

He pressed my hand to his heart, making my own heart swell and rise from its natural place, and he rested his other hand on my hip and closed the small gap between us.

A soft, sweet melody hummed from his lips, and with each sway of our bodies, he drew me nearer to him. He lowered his head and pressed his jaw to my temple. My heart beat furiously inside my chest, and I nuzzled into him, breathing in his woodsy scent mixed with a hint of musky cologne. I closed my eyes and took in every sensation, in awe of what it was like to be held, touched, wanted.

This wasn’t a crush or a fleeting infatuation. I could feel every flicker of his existence—the sound of his voice humming in my ear, his callused hand wrapped around mine, the curve of his shoulder as my hand clung to it—carve into my heart, marking it indelibly his. And I pleaded into the night,
Please let him love me too
.

He gazed down at me, his bright blue eyes sparkling with what seemed to reflect everything I was feeling. We
stopped swaying, and he released my hand to tuck a stray tendril of hair behind my ear. The sensation of his fingers against my cheek caused a dizzying current to race through me, and I clutched the fabric of his tuxedo jacket to steady myself.

“Thomas,” I said, “I have to be honest. I don’t understand. You say you don’t date, but you spend all this time with me, and then you go to the dance with Trisha. And now you’re dancing with me?” I released his jacket and took a small step back. “Do you have any idea how confusing you are? You’re like one of those imponderable questions, like ‘which came first, the chicken or the egg?’ ”

“I don’t mean to confuse you.” He sighed and dropped his hand from my waist, and I suddenly felt cold and empty. “I guess that’s why I’m here—I want you to know how I feel.”

A suspenseful silence hung over us, but instead of quelling it, he leaned back against the porch post and hooked his thumbs into his pants pockets. My stomach tightened, and my fingers found a piece of lace on my hip and began twisting it. “And,” I prompted, “how do you feel?”

His lips straightened into a thoughtful frown. “When I came to live here, I didn’t want to get involved with anyone. I knew we wouldn’t be here for long, and . . . there were some things in my past that kept me from wanting to get too close to anyone.” He paused, pinning me with a gaze and a little smile. “But then I met you. And I found myself wanting to be around you. And the more time I spend with you, the harder it is for me to stay away from you.”

“But if you like being around me, then why go to the dance with Trisha?”

“Because Trisha said you were going with Dirk.”

“But—”

“Look, don’t think I’m a stalker, okay? But Trisha made it sound like we were doubling with you, and I decided it was the only way I could keep an eye on you. I didn’t want Dirk . . . I don’t know . . . taking advantage of you.” He looked down, like he was embarrassed for feeling this way. I suppressed a smile, trying to hide the sudden wave of hope that surged inside me.

He eyed my fingers, which were still twisting the piece of lace. With a smile, he came and gently pried the lace from my fingers, unraveling it and smoothing it out over my hip. “The truth is,” he murmured, “I love being with you. You make me feel happy, at peace, like . . . like a part of me that’s been missing has been found and locked into place. And when I’m away from you, that part goes missing again.”

I couldn’t speak. I was too busy trying to process his beautiful words.

“I care about you. And I don’t want to cause you heartache or confusion. I don’t want you to ever have to question my feelings for you, because that’s not fair to you.” He dropped his hand and sighed. “I thought I’d be okay just being your friend. But I can’t just sit back and watch you get snatched up by someone else.”

“I wouldn’t have let Dirk snatch me up.”

“I know. But what about the next guy? If I wait too long, someone else will come along, and I’ll spend the rest of my life regretting not offering you my heart when I had the chance.”

He took my hand and enfolded it in his. “What I’m trying to say is, even though I don’t feel good enough for you, I want to be with you. And I’m hoping you’ll tell me that you want to be with me too.”

His words brought tears to my eyes, and I didn’t bother trying to swallow them back. I was the one he wanted, and he’d wanted me all along. It seemed too good to be true, but I let his words linger in my heart, where I fastened them down safely to stay.

“Aria, say something,” he pleaded.

“Thomas,” I whispered as a tear trickled down my cheek, “how could I not want to be with you? You’re the most wonderful person I’ve ever met.”

He shook his head and his face turned somber, as though musing on some dark memory. “You don’t know everything about me.”

I wanted to ask what he meant, but it didn’t seem like the right time. His past no longer mattered anyway. “I know enough. And I know who you are,” I said, pressing my fingertip over his heart.

“Oh?” With his thumb, he brushed away my tears. “Who am I?”

I sighed and felt a warm blush burning in my cheeks. “You’re just plain good. You’re solid, like a steady, bright star fixed in the sky.”

He gave a smile that reached into his eyes, making them shine. “Is that what you see?”

“Yes. But that’s not all.”

“No? What else then?”

I opened his hand in mine, tracing a circle in his palm as I tried to find the right words. “You’re a melody . . . that plays over and over in my heart.”

His smile widened, then slowly straightened. He lowered his forehead until it rested on mine. His face was so close to mine now, I could feel his warm breath on my lips. It took all my strength to resist the urge to rise on my toes
and bring our mouths together. Instead, I listened to my pulse thrumming in my chest, counted the breaths passing through his slightly opened lips, and waited.

He slid his fingers under my chin and tipped my head, just enough that our lips met. His kiss was warm and tender, and his lips were sweet. Not sweet like sugar, but like Rachmaninoff’s
Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini.

The sound of an engine roaring in the darkness burst our little electrified bubble, and I pulled away, uneasiness prickling under my skin. Headlights flashed behind the pines in our front yard, and I stepped away from Thomas.

“I thought he was hunting,” Thomas said, unruffled.

“Maybe he already killed something.” I tried to stay calm, but a nauseating dread rippled through me. “You’d better go.”

Thomas didn’t move. Dad’s truck turned into the drive, and I caught the glint of animal eyes on the rear of his truck. Strapped atop camping gear and a blue tarp lay an enormous buck, neck bent over the side of the bed from the weight of its antlers. Dad’s truck skidded to a halt on the gravel driveway, and his door creaked open. A loud groan filled the night as his boot crashed onto the gravel. My eyes flickered between Thomas and Dad, my pulse frantically pounding in my ears. Dad was drunk. He’d probably stopped at the bar after killing the deer for a celebratory drink. Thomas couldn’t see Dad like this. It would ruin everything.

“Thomas,” I said, trying to sound commanding, “you’d really better go. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

He glanced at me, concern and uncertainty cinching his brow. “Are you sure?” He looked back at Dad, who was leaning on the door of his truck, staring at me.

“Please go, Thomas,” I said firmly.

“Karina?” Dad yelled out, stretching his arm toward me.

My heart sunk to the pit of my stomach and a paralyzing panic swept over me. I was in Mom’s dress. He thought I was her.

He teetered across the driveway, and Thomas looked at me for an explanation, one that I couldn’t possibly offer.

“Karina!” Dad cried again, his voice desperate and broken.

“Dad!” I called out, hearing the panic in my own voice, “It’s me, Aria!”

Dad stopped and leaned on the handrail at the bottom of the steps. He squinted at me, his face gradually hardening as realization lit up his bloodshot eyes. He straightened and climbed the stairs with surprising steadiness, keeping a fiery glare on me the entire way. With exaggerated disgust, he stopped in front of me and eyed the dress from the straps on my shoulders to the lace shadowing my feet.

“Get inside,” he breathed through clenched teeth, then turned to unlock the front door, completely disregarding Thomas.

Thomas shot me an anxious look, and I tried to smile. I had only two options. I could refuse to go inside with Dad and risk having him combust in front of Thomas, or I could go inside with Dad and deal with him in secret. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” I said to Thomas with forced cheerfulness, then followed Dad inside. I turned to wave at him, but he didn’t wave back. He stood as still as stone, and as I closed the door, his expression was a mixture of apprehension and distress.

The house was dark, lit only by moonlight filtering through the window sheers. I reached over to flip on the
light, but my hand met Dad’s chest instead. A jolt of terror shot through me. I didn’t dare reach around him, so I turned into the darkness and headed for the light switch at the foot of the stairs. Better yet, maybe I’d just run upstairs and change out of Mom’s dress before turning on the lights.

“Get over here,” Dad growled.

“I’m just going to—”

“Get over here!” he shouted.

I skidded to a stop and slowly turned around to face him. Fear clamped on my heart like a bear trap as Dad’s dark silhouette moved toward me.

He stopped and hovered over me, so close I could feel his rank breath on my shoulders. “Where did you get that dress?” he hissed.

I couldn’t answer. My heart throbbed desperately in my ears, telling me to run. But I couldn’t. I was too afraid to move. And even if I could, Thomas was outside somewhere. If I ran, he would know. It would ruin everything.

“Answer me.” Dad’s voice was eerily calm as he slowly enunciated each syllable. Maybe he was restraining himself because he knew Thomas might still be outside. “Where did you get that dress?” he repeated, his dark eyes demanding an answer.