Sparked (3 page)

He took the candle from her hand, then dripped the wax onto a flat spot of root and stuck the candle there. 

“Now here. Let me get that stuff out of your hair.”

Panic struck her face. Her hand flew to the back of her head. He could see the wave of shame as it rolled over her and he immediately regretted saying anything at all.

“Thank you, but I’ll manage,” she said, and stood up to leave.

“Please stay?” he said, catching her by the hand. “I’m sorry. I want to help.”

Her mouth drew tighter, but her eyes searched him, shifting in deep, vivid clouds that betrayed her true thoughts. She was torn. He could see it. She didn’t trust him to help, but she didn’t want to walk back through that crowd either, and it was the only way off the beach.

“Come on,” he said, moving to stand behind her. Bobbed hair was in fashion these days, but she wore hers past her shoulders. Clayton liked it. He drew a piece of popcorn out of her long locks and tossed it in the lake. “Once I’m done we can go try our luck at horseshoes.”

“I don’t want to play horseshoes,” she said. There was an edge of anger in her voice, almost an accusing tone—why? She balled her fists at her sides, but didn’t move away from him this time. She stayed still, let him do what needed to be done.

“The bell-ringer, then?”

“No,” she said.

The boys had had good aim. Her dark hair was covered in fluffy white kernels, a constellation of caramel. She smelled delicious—the sweetness of the popcorn mingled with the earthy, wild plum scent of her. He wanted to lean in closer and inhale the smell of her alabaster skin, glowing pearl against the flickering candlelight. Instead, he combed his fingers gently through the long, soft curls and watched the popcorn sprinkle to the ground. With every strand, her fists seemed to relax a bit more.

“How about the dunk tank? We might be able to convince Mr. Clint to give up his place to one of those little brats back there. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

He thought he saw the hint of a smile curl under her cheeks.

“No, thank you.”

He was nearly finished, but found he didn’t want to be. Her hair was so soft and silky; he liked the feel of it twisted around his fingers.

“I’m sorry about what they did. Boys are idiots around pretty girls.”

“Boys are often idiots without the help of a pretty girl.”

Clayton laughed. “I suppose you’re right about that,” he said.

He tossed away the last little bit of fluff, then stepped to face her. “All done.”

She took a deep breath and met his eye. “Thank you.”

“So you won’t have horseshoes or the bell-ringer or the dunk tank. What would you like to do, then? Take your pick. We can do whatever you’d like.”

“You’ve been very kind, but—”

“There’s a moonlit puppet show, but you seem a little old for that.”

“I’m sorry, really, but—”

“Cotton candy, then?” he asked. He’d heard her protests, but he couldn’t let her go so easily. He had to at least try. She had intrigued him, and he wanted to know more. “No one’s too old for cotton candy.”

“Why are you doing this?”

She looked so earnest in her question that he felt his throat go tight.

“Can’t a boy ask a pretty girl to spend some time with him?”

“I, ah, I…,” her voice trailed off and her face went flush. 

“Isn’t there anything that would tempt you to stay?” he asked, looking into her eyes. He felt an intense desire to kiss her. If he hadn’t been positive she’d take off running, he would have done exactly that.

“I know,” he said. “Let’s cross Lover’s Bridge.”

All at once, the flush disappeared from her cheeks. Her eyes grew sharp and suspicion furrowed her brow. She looked quite like she wanted to kill him.

CHAPTER THREE

Cora

“Lover’s Bridge?” Cora asked with derision in her voice. Now she knew it was a trick. Maybe those boys had been working with him the whole time. She wouldn’t be anybody’s fool. Especially a Briggs’. “You want to cross Lover’s Bridge with me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Why indeed. Crossing Lover’s Bridge wasn’t something you did alone. It was for couples. Even so, only the brave chanced the rocking bridge, and many plunged into the newly thawed waters along the way.

She had never attempted the cross. Sure, boys had asked, but she’d never agreed. It wasn’t the danger that scared her. She had a steady foot and was a strong swimmer. What held her back was what happened when you got to the other side. She’d heard more than one story about the things that took place on that island. Making it across was apparently such a good omen for a relationship that couples couldn’t resist each other. Apparently, they couldn’t resist each other if they fell in the water either.

She took a step away from him. “I’m not crossing Lover’s Bridge with you.”

Clayton followed, looking at her as though he couldn’t understand the word no. Of course he couldn’t. He was a Briggs. He probably hadn’t heard the word very often.

“You can’t swim?” he asked.

“Of course I can swim.” She kept walking, but his strides were longer than hers.

“Then you have nothing to be afraid of,” he said.

“I’m not afraid. And I’m not stupid either.”

What had she been thinking letting a Briggs charm her like that, get her alone? 

But he had been kind, hadn’t he? He had helped her get away from all those hateful, leering faces. And then that awful popcorn in her hair. She could still feel the brush of his strong fingers against her scalp. Goose bumps raised on her arm just thinking about it, the traitors. 

It seemed like he was being nice. She just couldn’t understand why.

“You
are
scared,” he said.

“I’m not.”

“Then why not give it a go?”

Such a stupid question, yet he looked like he genuinely wanted to know the answer. What was wrong with him? Had he gone mad? Or had he just been away at college so long that the age-old hatred between their families no longer mattered?

There was a glint in Clayton’s eye as he took her hand in both of his.

“I know what they say, but it’s just an old wives tale. It doesn’t mean anything. And don’t you see? It would show them not to bother you. It would show them all.”

He wanted to cross Lover’s Bridge as a show? A message to the town? Was it possible?

Cora looked into his eyes. They looked so honest, so sincere.

And it wasn’t like he’d ever been mean to her before, was it? He’d barely known she was alive in high school.

Maybe his perspective had shifted at college. Maybe he was just being nice. 

Maybe.

“Fine. Have it your way. But I’m not doing whatever it is you think we’re doing when we get over there.”

Clayton laughed so loud it startled her.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing. I’m just very intrigued by what it is you think I have planned for you.”

Cora scowled again. “Do you want to do this or not?”

“It would be my pleasure,” Clayton said. He extended his hand and she took it.

Goose bumps fanned across her arm, betraying her again. Cora couldn’t help herself. He was devilishly handsome and she liked the feeling of his hand around hers. It was so warm, so strong. Their hands seemed to fit together just right. The thought sent a tingle up her spine.

Get ahold of yourself. 

He’s a Briggs. And you’re just a Murphy.

Walking toward the boat bridge was akin to walking the plank. As they approached, hand in hand, the crowd began to cheer. Whether they were cheering for love or cheering because they wanted to watch someone get soaked was hard to tell.

“Don’t fall!”

“Good luck!”

“Smoochie, smoochie!”

Cora’s face flushed. Why on earth had she agreed to this? They took their first steps onto the first boat. It wobbled more than she had expected and she nearly lost her footing. She gripped Clayton’s hand tight.

“Don’t worry,” Clayton said as a roar went up from the crowd. “I’ve got you.”

“This one’s goin’ in the drink!” someone shouted.

“She’ll be right at home,” someone else yelled.

Cora steadied herself and loosened her grip on Clayton. No way was she going to give anyone a reason to laugh at her any more than they already did. And no way was she going to make a fool of herself in front of Clayton Briggs. 

Her next steps were more careful, more sure, and before she knew it they had crossed to the next boat. Then the next and the next.

“You’re really getting the hang of it,” Clayton said.

She
was
getting the hang of it. In fact, she was enjoying herself.

“You’re not doing so bad yourself,” she said. “But I’m sure you’ve done this before.” She’d never known Clayton to be without a girlfriend, and they were always the prettiest girls. What was he even doing here with her? Why had he tried to help her at all? Worry niggled at her again. Was he playing some elaborate trick? Was she falling for it?

“A couple times,” Clayton admitted. “But I’ve never made it across without falling in,” he said.

“Never?” she asked.

He grinned over his shoulder at her. “I probably shouldn’t have told you that until we got to the other side.”

Cora grinned back, “Actually, that might have been a good detail to mention before we left.”

“Too late now,” he laughed. “I’ll warn you about my failures the next time we do something life-threatening.”

Next time. Her heart nearly stopped. What on earth did he mean by that? She tried to change the subject.

“Is there a reward if you make it to the other side?”

“You’d like a reward?” he said, squeezing her hand tighter.

“I didn’t mean, I just meant—” She looked up at him and could feel herself blanch.

He took a step toward her.

But his step was too heavy, too fast. The canoe rocked so hard it nearly capsized. The motion sent Clayton toward the water, but Cora still gripped his hand. She yanked as hard as she could, letting her weight counterbalance his own. 

He crashed into her—his free arm circling her shoulders for balance, her face pressed against his muscular chest—and that’s where they stood until the boat stilled … and then a moment more. He smelled like sunshine.

Finally, Clayton loosened his hold. His hands moved up her back and stopped at her shoulders.

“You, my dear,” he said, “can have whatever reward you wish.”

His eyes locked on hers. His face leaned closer. Was he about to—?

“No necking till you make it!” someone shouted. It was another couple, coming back on the canoe ferry that helped people return after they’d crossed.

Clayton dropped his hands from her like he’d just gotten caught—which Cora supposed he had. No Briggs would be caught dead kissing a Murphy. 

The other couple’s laughter pealed across the water as they passed.

The moment was gone.

After their near miss, they settled into an easy rhythm. The second half of the journey was faster and steadier than the first. Before they knew it, they were stepping foot on the island.

“By God, we did it,” Clayton laughed. He seemed just as shocked as Cora felt.

“Yes,” Cora said. She hadn’t said much since he’d tried to kiss her. Had he tried to kiss her? Or was it just her imagination?

“Take a walk with me?” he asked.

She knew she shouldn’t, the way her heart was pounding. But she didn’t say no. She nodded.

He smiled and his eyes shifted. She couldn’t get a handle on what color they were. On the beach they had looked nearly gold against the firelight. But now they were cloudier—a warm gray.

“Come on,” he said. He tugged her by the hand and she followed.

As they wound themselves into the trees, the light grew darker, more spotty. The moon filtered through the branches, making everything glow a magical blue. The hum of the party on the beach grew quieter too, replaced instead by the swish of leaves and the rustle of grass at their feet.

There was another sound too. Couples dotted the landscape, hidden in small, darkened pockets all over the island, glued to one another as though they had been through war to get there. Perhaps they had. Clayton’s hand firmly held hers, and as he tugged her along she could hear an orchestra of soft sighs, each couple moving as a single instrument instead of two. Her own heartbeat quickened at the sound.

At last, Clayton found the spot he must have been looking for. It was underneath the branches of a wide old tree. Their view was hidden from anyone else coming by. He guided her by the waist until her back was against the trunk. 

He leaned in close.

It was all Cora could do not to blurt out the questions in her mind: Why me? Why now? What do you want? Even if he wasn’t a Briggs—and he was—she knew a boy like Clayton couldn’t possibly have a real interest in her. Could he?

“What’s … what?” she stammered. She couldn’t get the words out.

“Didn’t you say something about a reward?” he asked, his eyes the brightest thing now against the inky black.

“I—” she said, her heart pounding so loud she was afraid he could hear it. In its rhythm she heard her own thoughts:
Don’t kiss me. Don’t kiss me. Don’t.
But before the words could reach her mouth, his face drew near and his lips were on hers.

His lips were on hers.

His lips … his lips.

His
lips.

Suddenly, the questions no longer mattered. She was swept up by him, by the heat of him against her, by the feel of him on her mouth. Everything inside her grew warmer, brighter, bigger—a sparkler against the night sky.

Clayton slipped one hand around her waist, and the other into her hair. The touch sent a tingle down her spine and she felt something inside of her surge. All her worries disappeared for a moment—pushed back, pressed silent, tucked behind his warm, soft lips. She was drowning in it: this one thing, this one moment, this one kiss.

She could hardly breathe for it.

“Oh, God,” Clayton sighed. “You don’t … you don’t ….”