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Spencer’s eyes suddenly flicked to the side. Casually, he let my hair go, like he’d remembered something he had to do. Following his gaze, I saw Will watching the three of us intently.
The other guy was talking about the boating around here over the summer, squeezing my waist like he had every right to. Spencer coughed and jerked his head toward Will. His friend noticed and dropped his hand.
“I’m going to get some food,” I said quickly.
“Over here—“ Spencer began, but a group swarmed towards us: two girls and a guy, laughing over some joke and ignoring me. I backed away.
It was easy to weave to the edge of the patio, through everyone having the time of their lives. There, I eyed Will, still at the center of things. That white smile was back, dazzling everyone who turned his way, but when the contact dropped, Will looked bored. How many of these parties had he been to, charming all the same people?
Green eyes suddenly locked on mine. I was staring. And this time, Will didn’t look away.
Turning, I knocked back the rest of my drink, trying to do something about my dry throat. The burn of the gin flamed my face and went all the way down my body. I’d had enough garden party. Leaving my empty glass on a table, I slipped off the patio into darkness.
Fresh-mown grass sank under my high-heeled sandals. Walking quickly, I found a quiet patch on the edge of the woods.
For the first time this week, I felt at home. Stately trees rustled overhead. A creek gurgled nearby. Breathing in the fresh scent of sweet grass, I wiped beads of sweat off my forehead, as laughter and clinking glasses sparkled across the lawn.
As I moved closer to the dense line of trees, they brought to mind the woods that bordered the house where I’d grown up. Fragrant, dark, inviting. My home was an old farmhouse my parents fell in love with, but it crumbled along with their marriage. It was isolated, far from town. As a child, my main companions were my books, the trees, and a notebook where I jotted down observations.
Walking along these woods reminded me of that awkward family visit seven years ago. When my parents had fought with Richard and Rose about their inheritances from my grandfather, furious that they were contesting the will when my relatives were already so wealthy.
And it reminded me that I’d gone back outside to Will, after I’d left him there alone.
* * *
“Someone should eat this,” I said, holding out the untouched cherry pie. I couldn’t stand to be indoors while the fighting raged. “I made it.”
Will raised one dark eyebrow. At fourteen, he already looked like he’d stepped off the pages of a preppy catalog. I tried to ignore the fact that he was the best-looking boy I’d ever seen. I expected him to turn up his nose at the pie, or tell me to serve him.
Instead, he cut us each a slice. We ate in silence, the cherry juices dripping onto the pie plate and our clothes. Then we jumped the wall and went into the woods.
Whose idea was it? Mine? I practically lived in those woods, but I wasn’t bold, and everything about Will made me nervous. His? He grimaced every time a thornbush tore at his pressed pants. But we went deeper regardless, the light filtering and darkening through the trees, until he stopped at an overgrown passageway and shook his head.
I held out my hand.
Will looked at my outstretched hand with a smirk. Stung, I snatched it back. When his hand followed and grabbed mine, I shivered.
“Go ahead,” he said with that slow smile. “Take me in.”
I led him through the brush, confused by the sudden slam of my heart against my chest. I’d never felt like this before. “It’s okay. This forest is like a friend. I know it as well as I know myself.”
Will made an amused noise. “Do you have any actual friends?”
“Yes!” I snapped.
“A boyfriend?”
“No.” Why was I blushing? “Do you have a girlfriend?”
“Not right now.”
We stopped in a clearing. I realized we were still holding hands. I tried to get mine free, but Will didn’t let go.
His eyes rested on me, clear as sea glass. My dress suddenly felt too tight, my skin too hot, like someone else’s skin I’d borrowed.
“Ever think about running away?” He cocked his head, his voice casual and curious.
“Sometimes,” I confessed in a burst of honesty.
