Rewind to You (19 page)

“Do you have butter or flour in this house?” he asks.

“If it’s not a vegetable, probably not.”

His arm wraps around my waist and scoots me away from the fridge. He pulls out the cage-free eggs, spinach, an onion, and a bell pepper. “All right, omelets it is.”

He finds a mixing bowl in the second cabinet he tries. “May I?”

“Go ahead,” I say, intrigued.

He cracks five eggs into the bowl, each in a fluid motion with one hand, and then whips them into a frothy consistency. After finding a knife as though he’s lived here for years, he dices the vegetables, the knife moving like a food processor with electric-power speed. I take a seat on the barstool, mesmerized by the cooking show playing out before my eyes.

He lifts a skillet from the ceiling rack and lets out an appraising whistle. “Calphalon?”

“Calpha—what?”

He turns the pan over in his hands. “My mom would go to war for one of these.”

“Is it that great?”

He sprinkles in some cheese, uses a spatula to turn the omelets over, and before long, they’re done. We sit down at the bar together, and I take a bite of ridiculously amazing omelet. My mouth is so full, so agreeably employed, I’m speechless.

Finally, I swallow. “How did you learn to cook like this?”

“You like it?”

I’m sure the look on my face answers his question. “I sort of took you for the cereal-for-breakfast and microwave-pizza-for-dinner type of guy, not a Wolfgang Puck.”

Austin chuckles. “Wolfgang Puck, huh? I’m impressed you know him.”

“I’m impressed
you
know him.”

“I kinda had to.”

“What do you mean?”

“My mom’s intense. She’s like this cooking machine.”

“She taught you?”

Austin shrugs. “Sort of. You get dragged around to enough cooking classes as a kid and you start picking up a few things. She should have had a daughter, not me.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Football, basketball, soccer . . .” He shakes his head. “She didn’t care for any of that.”

“She still went to your games though, right?”

One corner of Austin’s lips tugs upward into a tight grin. “Not a one.”

“None?” I ask, shocked.

He shakes his head.

“And your dad?”

He breaks eye contact, visibly affected by this. The prickly silence seems to last forever until his eyes finally meet my gaze again. “I doubt he even remembers my name.”

Something sharp tears at me inside, cutting a fresh wound as though his pain was my own. Sure, my dad is gone, but at least our relationship was a good one. Curiosity slithers in again, the need to know what happened to Austin’s dad.

Austin slips an arm behind my shoulders, resting it on the back of the barstool. A little tickle courses down my spine as he plays with my hair. He leans in and presses his nose right above my ear, smelling my hair. “Are you going to break it off with your boyfriend?” he whispers, bold and unexpectedly.

“You know his name,” I manage to say, despite being swept away all over again. His lips brush across my ear, tempting me to give him the answer he wants to hear.

Should be simple, but it’s not.

Austin wants to know what our relationship is, what the future holds. But the near future is complicated. My nerves get the best of me, my heart rate kicking up in speed to pump the dread throughout me. Here’s my chance to tell Austin about Kyle and his family coming to visit next week. And the tidbit about Kyle going to the University of Virginia with me this fall.

The Prices have been like a second family. Kyle’s sister asked me to be her maid of honor at her wedding this August. Brittney has been nothing short of a best friend. My mom is counting on their visit going smoothly, and I know how desperately she needs this, the Prices’ friendship. And I can’t lie to myself. Summer will end. Austin will leave, and so will I. And then?

“He gave this to you, didn’t he?” Austin asks, twisting around my finger the tiny ring that I’ve worn for two years. I look at the thin white gold ring that forms the shape of a heart below my knuckle. A small diamond rests in the center, one Kyle could never have afforded on his own dime. I’ve seen Austin eyeing this ring before.

The sound of the garage door opening startles me, and I jump away from Austin.

My mom stands in the doorway, her arm frozen in midair like she was about to put her purse away but suddenly forgot how to move. I stare at her. Guilty. Paralyzed. Speechless.

Lifting two manicured fingers, she pinches the rim of her sunglasses and slowly pulls them down, revealing two green eyes glaring our way. Why didn’t I consider the possibility of her coming home early?

The screech of Austin’s barstool scraping the floor as he stands breaks the silence. He takes off his hat, a gesture of respect, but my mom only stares at him, her eyes traveling the length of his body. Sweaty T-shirt. Swim trunks. Grubby tennis shoes. I can almost read Austin’s mind, how he wishes he had worn something more presentable.

“Austin, you’re here!” Spencer shouts, running in behind Mom.

Mom’s eyebrows curve in surprise (and not the pleasant kind).

“Can we play football again?” Spencer asks.

My tongue dries up as Mom darts a sharp glance my way. Not good. It only gets worse when Mom notices the kitchen in disarray and takes in a sudden breath. I mean, heaven forbid anything in this kitchen should get dirty with food!

“Hurry along upstairs and shower, Spencer,” she says.

“But—”

“Spencer, go.”

“No!” he shouts back. “Just because Gary dumped you doesn’t mean—”

“Spencer! Upstairs. Now!”

Defeated, Spencer shuffles off. He stomps up each stair, letting out a stream of curse words attached to Gary’s name. Mom’s eyes close slowly, her lips forming a rigid line. She doesn’t tolerate offensive language. Spencer will definitely get an earful later.

Whether Spencer made up the part about Gary dumping Mom just to annoy her or not, I have no idea. I’m not about to ask.

Mom sets her shopping bags down and whips out her finger, pointing to the pan in the sink. “That is . . .” She pulls up short, searching for the word.

“Calphalon,” I finish for her, receiving a look of surprise from her in return.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Owens,” Austin says, “I soaked it in hot water right away. Washed it with a little baking soda and dish soap. If it has any spots on it I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” A hint of humor hides behind my mom’s eyes as they drop down the length of his body again, looking at him as though I found him at a thrift store. “Replace it?”

“Absolutely,” Austin replies, his tone unwavering despite her insult.

“Mom,” I butt in, trying to control the damage, “he’s a really good cook. Try this.”

She feigns a sincere smile, her high cheekbones flushing an angry red. “And whom might this be?”

“Austin Dobbs,” Austin replies, extending a hand.

“Austin Dobbs,” she repeats, pretending his hand doesn’t exist. If Austin were half his size, I swear she’d snag the broom and swat him out the back door like a stray dog. She gestures to the kitchen counter. “There are paper towels in the pantry. Or would you prefer a dish rag? On second thought, forget I asked.”

She pulls a dish rag from a drawer and hands it to him, throwing me a
We’ll talk about this later
look on her way out. When she reaches the staircase, she spins around to face us once again, flashing a smile. “Don’t forget, Sienna, the Prices will arrive Thursday. Naomi told me Kyle can’t wait to spend the Fourth of July with you.”

Austin and I avoid eye contact as she struts up the stairs. Neither of us says a word as we clean up. Austin’s lips are tight, his eyes fixed on the task (or at least pretending to be).

“Are they staying here?” he finally asks as we walk out to his motorcycle.

“No. I don’t know. I don’t think so.” I’m not making sense, and how can I? My heart is thumping like a nervous spasm, torn opposite ways under pressure. “It gets worse, Austin,” I say.

He raises a brow, impatience thinly veiled behind his piercing eyes.

“I’ve meant to tell you this for a while, but . . . well, Kyle’s going to the University of Virginia, too.”

I wait for his eyes to roll, for a grunt to seep through his lips, for any sign of how this news is received. Instead, his eyes hold my gaze in an intense glare, his jaw stiff.

“What are we, Sienna?” he says. “I mean, have these past three weeks meant anything to you?”

“Of course they have!”

He simply stares at me, his look demanding an answer.

“I just . . .” I start to say, my throat tightening up. This should be simpler than it is, and it makes me fear something. Perhaps I don’t have an answer for Austin. Like a cloud casting a subtle shadow, uncertainty creeps in, and I wonder if deep down I have what it takes to break Kyle’s heart. Also, if this recent news of Gary breaking up with Mom is true, I’ll have to tread carefully unless I want our home life to go up in flames. “I just need next weekend to go well. For my mom’s sake.”

Austin clenches his teeth and exhales.

“Until next time?” I ask the question before he can leave—our phrase—that holds a deeper meaning than the three words suggest.

Austin stares at nothing in particular. Finally, his eyes soften, and he meets my gaze. “Sure. Until next time.”

I exhale. But I know the talk we need to have is inevitably coming, looming ahead like debris on the road, waiting to destroy everything.

He runs his fingers through his hair, bleached a lighter shade under the summer sun. Slowly, he pulls me into his arms, like he couldn’t care less if my mom sees. His lips touch mine in a tender kiss, sending sparks flickering up my spine. I grow weak in the knees, my pulse thrown offbeat.

He draws back too soon, and his blue eyes capture my gaze.

“I love you,” he says, his hand gently touching my cheek.

And then he’s gone.

Five days later, I’m in the kitchen cutting strawberries for a fruit tray among other hors d’oeuvres we’re preparing to welcome the Prices.

Turns out, it was a mutual decision between Mom and Gary, a short “break” in the relationship, as she put it (because they’ve been together so long and all). Something tells me that Spencer and his pointed glares, his biting remarks, and overall attitude about their relationship had something to do with it. Mom definitely tries hard on Spencer’s behalf. I’ll give her props for that.

I’ve hardly seen Austin this week. He’s been working so much, not to mention I got an ear load from my mom after the omelet incident.

I love you.

Austin said it. The memory of our last kiss and those three words coming from his lips keeps my thoughts racing back to him. Is this enough? Do I break up with Kyle, leaving behind a relationship—a tried and tested friendship—to leap into something that feels so invigorating?

“Have they decided where they’re staying?” I ask Mom for the umpteenth time. The Prices are notorious for last-minute plans, and apparently their stay here in Georgia is no exception. Having Kyle sleeping down the hallway would only make things worse, much worse.

“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” Mom says. “They made reservations yesterday.”

I breathe a sigh of relief.

“I’m so jealous,” she continues. “They’re staying at that hotel in Savannah I’ve always wanted to stay at.”

The paring knife slips from my fingers, crashing to the floor next to my toe. I try but fail to keep my voice steady. “The Westin?”

CHAPTER 29

Austin

I
grunt at the searing pain and yank my finger from the hot plate of lobster.

“Careful,” Guy, the chef, warns me, too late. “That plate’s still hot.”

I plunk my other plate down on the counter, more out of frustration than pain.

Jason, my closest friend here at The Westin’s Aqua Star restaurant, gives my shoulder a hard pat. “You okay? You look a little tense.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I lie, holding my finger on my tongue for a second. Truth is, I’ve been uptight for a week with only frustration to keep me company. My girlfriend has another boyfriend, I haven’t seen her in days, and today her schmuck boyfriend gets into town. Peachy. They’re probably together now. The thought of Kyle slinging his arm around Sienna’s waist—or worse—makes me want to grab that hot plate of lobster like a football and turn it into abstract art on the far wall.

Jason places the lobster on a tray and grabs the plate of ribs. “Want me to cover your last two tables so you can cut out? It’s almost time to close. Dining room’s about cleared out.”

“No, thanks,” I say, but he heads out to serve my plates anyway.

“Thanks,” I mutter too late. I pick up the two desserts waiting for me, hopefully the last dishes I’ll serve tonight, and I head to the dining area.

“Austin,” Jenny calls out in passing, “table seven has a party of five that just came in.”

“Great,” I say, because serving another table is just what I need. I still haven’t checked all those text messages Sienna sent me this afternoon. What could she possibly want to tell me: Kyle’s coming today? Well,
whoopee
. For the first time since I met Sienna, she’s the last person I feel like hearing from right now.

I serve a Georgia pecan pie to John and Suzy from Ohio, with a guarantee that it will help John swing the ace he was looking for on the golf course today. I glance out the window on my way to the party of five, taking in the waterfront view of the Savannah River where Sienna and I first held hands.

I pull my pen from my apron when I reach the talkative table. “Welcome to the Aqua St—” My train of thought evaporates. There they sit: Kyle and Sienna, all eyes for one another, their gazes so warm and fuzzy I feel like I’m intruding.

“Hopefully Spencer is behaving himself with your nanny,” Sienna’s mom says to the other lady at the table, most likely Kyle’s mom. Oblivious to my silent presence.

“Oh, I’m sure they’re doing fine,” Kyle’s mom rattles on. “They’re ordering pizza and swimming at the pool. Plus, they’ve got—”

Her words shrivel into background noise when Sienna looks up and sees me. Horror instantly drains her face of all color, and I still can’t move. Kyle glances my way and does a double take. He seems to recognize me as easily as I recognize him. He looks like the same stuck-up Deep Run Wildcat I met at that football game over a year ago.