“Don’t worry about him,” Luca says quietly before asking, “Will you be here tomorrow?”
I nod a little too eagerly. “Yeah, I’ll be here. I mean, not here in the store, but somewhere here. Or I hope not in the store. I hate the store.”
He must find my rambling amusing because his smile grows as I attempt to answer him. He waits for me to finish before he pushes off the counter. Then he winks and says, “I kind of like this store.”
His forearm tightens around the bag and he finally turns to walk away. I keep my face neutral despite the surge of heat engulfing my body at the hidden meaning behind his words.
It’s not the potato chips, marshmallows, and candy bars that he likes. It’s me.
I may not be up to Vienna’s expectations when it comes to handling boys, but I know flirting when I see it. So what if he probably only did it so I would forget about his last name and the unanswered questions I still have about the other night? That’s what players do, after all, and this is clearly a game to him.
I glance from Luca to his friend and find his eyes narrowed on me from the doorway. He murmurs something to Luca when he nears, and they both glance at a couple browsing the canned goods aisle.
When did they come in?
The couple looks toward the door as if they sense an audience. All four of them exchange glances, and I get the impression that they recognize each other. Not in a friendly way, but in an old high school rivalry sort of way. The tense moment passes quickly, and Luca spares one last glance at me before he follows his friend outside.
The bell dings behind him.
Chapter 6
Dad sends me a text when I get home to let me know he will be late for pizza night thanks to a moose-vs-minivan incident. I enjoy the peacefulness of an empty house for an hour, submerging myself in the familiar prose of my favorite book, before I’m run off by the sound of Jill and Steve racing up the stairs to her bedroom.
I spend the next few hours at dad’s shop, checking oil and ordering parts so he can finish up work on the minivan. Twenty minutes ‘til eight, he hands me twenty bucks for my help and sends me out the door to pick up the pizza.
It’s rainy and nearly dark by the time I get there. With no parking spots left on the street, I’m forced to turn into the alley between the restaurant and the flower boutique. Nestled behind the two buildings is a small lot reserved for employees, and used by desperate locals during tourist season. There are plenty of spots available, and I take one close to the door.
I still have to dash ten yards to the side entrance, and absorb a cool mist of rain into my hair along the way. Dominic Bianchi has my extra-large meat-lover’s pizza boxed and waiting on the counter by the time I step up to claim my order. He’s the owner’s son and a recent graduate of Castien Valley High—one of the few who didn’t grate my nerves. Like me, he’s destined to stay behind while the others leave for greener pastures.
“Added an extra scoop of sausage for you,” he tells me with a wink. “Just the way you like it.”
“Thanks, Dom.” I hand him the twenty. “How sad is it that you know that about me?”
He shrugs sheepishly. “I just know what you like.” His cheeks redden as he rings up the order and counts out my change. He places it into my palm and covers it with the receipt, and his fingers linger a little longer than necessary. “Have a good night, Sav.”
“You too, Dom.” I back away slowly, unsure of what is happening. “Same time next week?”
He gives me a big smile full of perfect, white teeth emphasized by a smooth, dark complexion. “I look forward to it.”
I stuff the change into my pocket as I navigate the maze of tables and chairs on my way to the door. As I step outside, I glimpse some writing on the top corner of the pizza box and I nearly drop it.
Why wait a week? Let’s hang out.
I read Dom’s message and the phone number scribbled underneath as I walk to my car. It’s raining harder now, and the ink starts to run—not that I’m concerned about preserving the digits. I know where to find Dom if I decide to take him up on his offer.
But I don’t want to. Sure, he’s a nice kid, but I don’t feel a spark.
Shouldn’t there be some magic, or fireworks, or something?
I don’t know, because I’ve never felt anything like that with anyone. Steve certainly didn’t induce any visceral reactions—other than nausea toward the end of our relationship.
The closest I have ever come was earlier today . . . with Luca. I still don’t know what happened to me, but it was definitely something. Something I wouldn’t be opposed to experiencing again, with less sweating.
The back of my neck warms at the mere thought of another encounter with Luca—perhaps sharing a meat-lover’s pizza with him next time.
“Get a grip, Sav,” I grumble under my breath when I realize I’m thinking about him again.
My foot lands on something lying on the ground a few steps from my car, and I shift the pizza box to the side so I can see what I stepped on.
It looks like a baseball cap. I bend down to pick it up. It’s wet and has my shoe-sized imprint on it, but it’s definitely a ball cap. It’s dark blue and familiar.
My traitorous stomach flops over, and I look up quickly, half expecting to see Luca smirking somewhere nearby.
No one is there, but I’m positive this is the same cap he wore earlier today. Why is it here, lying on the rain-soaked ground five steps from my car? And assuming he dropped it here, where is he now?
I toss the sopping wet hat on top of the pizza box and stand to fish the car keys out of my pocket. A shrill noise cuts through the patter of rain, causing me to fumble and drop them.
I have lived in the Cascades for most of my life. I know the animals that inhabit these mountains, and I am familiar with the sounds they make. I recognize this one instantly, and it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
I’ve seen a mountain lion once before, while bike riding with Dad when I was thirteen. That is to be expected when you encroach on their territory. You do not expect one to venture into a populated area.
When I turn, that is exactly what I see trotting across the parking lot—a big mountain lion with its gaze locked on me. I stumble backward, closer to my car door, as the animal slows and drops into a crouch. Its ears lie back and its back arches.
I’m in trouble.
I keep my eyes on the lion as I slowly drop to my knees and blindly search the ground for my keys. The instant I find them, I punch the unlock button. I keep hitting it over and over again as I stand. If I’m about to turn my back to a mountain lion, I’m going to make damned sure the door is unlocked first.
I’m milliseconds from making my move when another growl cuts through the tense silence. This one comes from behind me.
Two mountain lions. It can’t be possible. It shouldn’t be possible.
Considering this is my second terrifying encounter with wildlife this week, I decide Mother Nature hates me. The one advantage I have this time is that I am closer to my car.
I curl my fingers around the door handle and give a tug to unlatch it without breaking eye contact with the big cat approaching me from the alley. I release a breath as the weight of dread lifts from my shoulders. I’m almost there, inches from safety.