Page 56 of I Saw You First

Something flashes across her face, and whatever she’s thinking sends her over the edge. She bursts into tears and puts her hands over her face. “I will never have a Palm Pilot!” she wails.

I can’t help it. I laugh again. “What?”

She drops her hands, and my heart cracks at the sight of the tears streaking down her face. I step closer and wipe one away with the pad of one thumb. Before I can overthink it, I wrap my arms around her like I wanted to do the night she was upset after what happened with Tyrell on the truck.

And then, she does the same, tight, and it feels amazing, like when we danced to “Purple Rain,” but different, too. Warm and somehow soft and firm at the same time. Desperate, yes, yet tender. And it sends a wave of sadness and contentment and longing through me, and I wish—again—that this could be something more. That I’d been brave enough to kiss her in the parking lot after our celebration at La Cuchara. That I hadn’t been such a hard-ass—like Jeff—after she skipped out for that interview.

She starts to pull away, but I tighten my hold, and I know it’s wrong, but I murmur, “Not yet. Please.”

And then, I stroke her hair. Long, tender strokes from top to bottom. And I feel her relax, melt into me, my touch, into whatever she’s feeling right now. I want to hold her and take away whatever’s making her sad or stressed or angry. I want to anchor her, help her get through this.

“Thank you for the Snickers bar,” I say into her hair. I didn’t eat it. I took the candy and the note home and put them on my kitchen counter next to my coffee maker, so they’re one of the first things I see when I wake up in the morning. I wonder what it would be like to wake up with her next to me, her deep brown hair in one of its wild buns.

“Hey,” I say, “you remember that Hometown League thing on Saturday? Fall Fest? I’m volunteering. It’s a good time. Harmon Killebrew’s going to be there, and there’s a Battle of the Bands competition. Want to come?”

“Oh,” she says. “I work that day.”

“Only until two-thirty. Come over after. I’m playing in the ball game at three, and you’ll be able to catch the last couple of bands. It’ll be worth it, I promise.”

“I’ll think about it.” Her hold tightens, like she doesn’t want to let go, either. Goddamn, this is the best hug of my life. I allow myself to live in this fantasy world—one where I can hold her like this whenever I want, for as long as I want—until she says, “Wil? What are we doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean—” She pauses. “What does this hug mean? I’m sorry you’re stressed, or I’m glad we’re friends, or is this like the night in the parking lot? I wish we could be more than friends? None of those? All of the above?”

When I don’t answer right away—because I have no idea how to answer—she pulls back, places her hands on my chest, and gives me a light shove. “Never mind. Forget I asked.”

She turns away and when I reach for her arm, she shrugs me off.

“Rhodes, wait⁠—”

A loud buzz and the sharp feedback of the intercom system interrupt me. “Hey, Wil, where ya at?” It’s John at LP over the loudspeaker. “We closed five minutes ago, and the last customer is gone. Get up here and lock this door.”

“Fan,” she mumbles. “Not customer.”

“Clock out,” I say. “Go home. We can handle the close.”

She shakes her head and her mouth turns down. “Absolutely not. We had that tour bus of Canadians stop in tonight. I’m sure the floor is a disaster. I can’t leave my team to clean that up alone.”

She’s right; the cross-border tourists who come down in droves to shop at the nearby Mall of America can do a lot of damage. Doesn’t matter. I cross my arms. “You can and you will.”

“I’m not bailing on my team,” she says with a steely look. I almost smile, I’m so happy to see it, but I don’t, because it’s also clear that she’s upset with me for not answering her question.

“Go home. I can’t have my media team captain crying in the warehouse every night, not with the long hours of the holiday season coming up.”

“Ha!” she cries. “That’s why you’re being so nice to me! You need me to be on my best game. For the holidays. For revenue. For ‘fan satisfaction.’” She throws in finger quotes. “It’s not even Halloween, and you’re already thinking about Christmas.”

“Don’t twist my words,” I say quietly.

“And it’s assistant team captain,” she snaps.

“No, I said team captain, and I meant team captain. We won’t be hiring anyone to fill Aurora’s position. We’ll be hiring to fill yours and Cesar’s.”

Her mouth drops open. “Did you just promote me?”

“I did.”

She throws her shoulders back. “I need more than a thirteen-cent raise, Wil. I want at least as much as Aurora was making. Actually, I want thirteen cents more an hour than what Aurora was making. No. Make that a dollar-thirteen. And Lavender and Kevin are ready for more responsibility. They work so hard.”