“I don’t cry.”
“You did when you lost that chess tournament.”
He slid his hands into the hair at the nape of her neck, tipping her head back. He had one eyebrow raised, his expression amused. “I was seven years old, Van. And that other kid cheated.”
“It’s okay,” she told him, tracing her finger along his bottom lip. “You’re allowed to cry. Just not over stupid stuff like chess.”
“Did I tell you I’ve been playing against Becca?”
“And how’s that going?”
“She pretty much hates me and wants me to move out. Which is a good thing, since I paid the deposit for the house on West Street this evening. I can’t wait to get the keys and take you there.”
She loved the way he was looking at her. There was wonder in his eyes, as though he couldn’t quite believe his luck that she was standing there in his arms. But right now she felt like the lucky one. As though she’d spent the last ten years in some kind of hazy limbo, unwilling to build the bridges back to him, yet standing on the other side, staring longingly at the life she once had.
“I have to pinch myself everytime I realize you’re mine,” he told her. “You were the wisp dancing in the wind. I’ve spent most of my life trying to capture you in my hands.”
Her mouth felt dry. Every time she looked at him, emotion flooded her body. Not just because there was all this history, but because he was everything she’d pretended she didn’t want.
A man who looked inside and saw the real her. Who knew that sometimes she would smile even though she wanted to howl. He peeled away the masks she wore and still liked what was underneath.
He’d always been her guiding light. She’d known it from the moment he’d written her name for her, meticulously tracing the three letters of her name, his tongue pressing against his cheek in concentration. They’d been children. Innocent of the knowledge they had now. The world had felt unfair, but it still had a logic to it. A logic that had disappeared the day she’d told him she never wanted to speak to him again.
And now it was back. Her sun rose and set on him. He was the fulcrum to her see-saw life. Always there, always steady. Holding onto her whenever she wavered.
He was changing her, day by day. Making her want things she’d never allowed herself to consider. She felt bold and afraid all at the same time.
“When you look at me like that…” Tanner’s voice was low, thick. “It makes me hope so damn bad, Van.”
“Hope for what?” she whispered.
“Hope that you feel the same way about me that I feel about you.”
She grabbed his hand, placing his warm palm in the dip between her breasts. “Do you ache so bad, right here, that you wonder if your heart might have something wrong with it?” she asked him, sliding her fingers between his.
He nodded, his eyes not wavering from hers.
“And when you see me,” she continued, sliding his hand down until it was warm against her belly. “Does your stomach feel like you’ve just fallen off a rollercoaster?”
“Every damn time.”
Her lips curled up. “And here?” she said, feathering his fingers against the center of her. “Do you feel like you’re on fire?”
He grabbed her hand and pulled it against him. She blinked at his hardness. “What do you think?” he asked, his voice guttural.
“I think you’ve got it bad.”
He laughed. “I do. I’ve got it something awful for Van Butler. Every time I see her it feels like my world’s tipped over.” He lifted her hand and kissed her fingertips, his throat undulating as he swallowed hard. “I’ve loved you from the moment we first met. Before, maybe. It’s like there’s always been a Van-shaped hole in my life. And it grows bigger every year. Sometimes you filled it, heck sometimes you were way too big for it.” He smiled at her, his eyes crinkling. “But now, you fit it just right.” He dropped his head to hers. “You make me happier than I have a right to be.”
Her throat felt scratchy, as though it was trying to swallow a sob. The air between them felt thick, full of meaning. She breathed in a ragged mouthful of air, her eyes still captured by his. “You make me happy, too.”
He loved her, and it was everything. It was bright like the sun, eclipsing everything that tried to compete with it.
“I’m glad to hear it. Now get in my car and I’ll make you happier still.”
She laughed at his abrupt change in conversation. “Are you talking about car sex?”
“Nope. I’m talking about movies.” He slid his hand around her waist, steering her around the back of the half-constructed ticket office.
She blinked when she saw what was there. An old orange Camaro, white stripes painted down the hood, rust clinging to it like a lover. “Is that what I think it is?” Van asked, not sure whether to laugh. It looked exactly the same as Tanner’s first car. He’d been so proud of it.
“I saw it three days ago in the grocery store car park.” He led her to the passenger door, pulling it open. “Paid the kid who owned it three times what it’s worth.”
She laughed, running her finger over the split leather upholstery. “I can’t believe it’s been in Hartson’s Creek all this time. How many kids do you think have driven it?”
“Since I sold it?” He shrugged. “I guess at least three more owners. I can check.”
“No, don’t.” She shook her head. “I kind of like the mystery.”
He tapped his hand against the wheel. “She still drives like a dream.”
“A nightmarish kind of dream?” she teased.
He grinned and started up the engine, both of them holding their breath in the long second between his turning of the key and the motor catching. He pressed his foot on the gas, a loud growl rumbling from the hood.
She leaned forward to turn on the radio. It crackled and hissed, but no music came out. “The stereo’s still kaput. And it still smells like the creek. But god, it’s good to see it.”
“Buckle up,” he told her as the Camaro lurched forward, the complete lack of suspension flinging her body up and down as Tanner steered it across the freshly cut grass toward the gravel drive. “It’s movie time.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Tanner unlocked the Camaro’s trunk, tugging at the stiff lid until it finally gave way and opened with a groan. Lifting the box he’d hurriedly put together before leaving the house, he carried it back to the driver’s seat, laying it on the torn leather. “Stay here,” he told Van, who was watching him with an amused smile. “I just need to start the movie.”
“What are we watching?”
“Wait and see.” He winked and closed the door. He walked across the gravel parking lot toward the projection room, following the directions the audio visual team had given him, starting the digital screen and loading up the movie. As he sauntered back to the car, his cap pulled down low on his brow, his hands pushed into his jeans pockets, he looked at the Camaro, feeling a flash of warmth as he saw Van’s blonde hair spilling over the cracked leather seat.