Page 15 of A Thousand Second Chances

Something in my voice must give away my tension because his eyes meet mine. For a moment, his usual disdain vanishes, replaced by concern.

“Are you all right, Perce?”

Perce.

No one’s called me that in two years. No one ever has other than him. I’d thought it ridiculous to have a nickname for something as short and simple asPercy, but part of me had always been thrilled by the way he’d said it. Like I was something precious worth protecting.

He said it the same way now. Before I realize what I’m doing, I’ve already taken an unconscious step toward him. My arms twitch at my sides. In that moment, it takes all my self-control to not throw myself at him and hug him tight. To resist the urge to cry on his shoulder and let all the emotions about my mom and dad and this ill-advised trip boil out.

Something abruptly shutters on Chris’ face. His sympathy—if that’s what it had been—vanishes, replaced by the same indifferent mask he’s worn around me all trip. “Forget it. I’m sure you can manage on your own. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

With that, he turns and vanishes down the trail. I wait until his footsteps fade before I finally follow, each crunching step I take through the dead leaves heavy with regret.

nine

Chris

“Ohhh, what do youthink ofthisone?” Quinn holds up a souvenir mug identical to the last half-dozen she’s shown me—heavy, ceramic, and absurdly overpriced, with an image of Mackinac Island on the front.

“That’s it. That’s the one. Mission accomplished. You should buy it.”

“You’re just saying that so I take mercy on you and leave this shop.”

“Of course not,” I lie. I grab the first item I find and hold up what turns out to be a small model of Arch Rock from our bike ride. “I’m totally on the hunt for my own knick-knacks to bring home, shove on a shelf, and never think about again.”

Surprisingly, Quinn appears unmoved by my impassioned rebuttal. “You know, if you’d offer me a valid opinion, this would go a lot quicker. Plus, bonus—you might start to enjoy yourself.”

“I’m enjoying myself.” I slam the model down hard enough that the entire display shudders.

Quinn’s only response is a raised eyebrow.

I scowl and turn away, but there’s no real heat in it. I know she has a point. I’ve been even moodier than usual since my encounter with Percy in the woods.

Seeing him like that, looking so lost and vulnerable, had sheered past my usual defenses. For a fleeting moment there, I’d even considered trying to comfort him. Then, I’d remembered that terrible winter break, locked in my bedroom waiting for support that never came. Not to mention everything that followed. Maybe that’s why I’d lashed out at him the way I had. How dare he try to elicit my sympathy whenhe’dbeen the one who abandoned me when I needed him most!

Quinn mercifully settles on a mug, and I follow her out of the little shop. The bell above the door chimes as we exit. It’s early enough in the afternoon that tourists still pack the sidewalks outside, and a few determined bicyclists chug along the street past the carriages.

“Aren’t they adorable?” Quinn says, watching two girls about our age lean their heads together in one of the carriages.

I can’t tell if she’s talking about the couple or the horses. “If crawling to your destination is your thing. Pretty sure they could walk twice as fast as that horse is moving.”

Quinn swats at me, hindered by the plethora of shopping bags dangling from her arms. “That’s not the point, and you know it! It’s romantic. Who cares how long it takes to reach your destination when you can travel instyle?”

A passing horse releases a load into the pouch strapped at its rear, and I snort. “Style. Right.”

Rolling her eyes, she grabs my arm. “Come on.”

“Where are we going now? Can you even lift any more crap?”

“Don’t pretend you wouldn’t carry my bags for me if I asked.” She smirks while I grumble under my breath. “Besides, I’m not looking for more souvenirs. It’s time for therealattraction.”

Real attraction?She drags me down the busy street, ignoring my protests as she weaves through the crowds with mixed success. I’m about to stalk off after careening into yet another angry pedestrian when I catch the intoxicating aroma of fresh fudge.

“Where’s that coming from?” I demand, jerking to a halt and sniffing the air.

She points to a storefront a few shops down. “There, I think.” She eyes me. “If I buy you some chocolate, will that shut you up for the rest of the afternoon?”

“I dunno aboutallafternoon,” I hedge. “But at least until I finish eating it.”