“Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.” Heat creeps into my cheeks.
“That’s fantastic.”
“Yeah, I’m lucky that way.” About the only way I’m lucky. “I’ve got an ear for music. I soon discovered I could pretty much pick up any instrument and play it within a few hours. Still can.”
I often wonder if one of my parents is musically inclined. Perhaps my dad is a famous rock star. Or my mom, a singer? It’s stupid because from what I know of my mom from the police report, she was a scared, strung-out kid.
“So Molly bought you a guitar?”
“No, at first piano lessons and then a guitar.” My hand reverently brushes over the fretted neck.
“Where is Molly now?”
And there we have it. The one thing I never want to talk about. I blow out a harsh breath. “She’s dead.”
Eva sucks in a breath and her hand clasps my wrist, squeezing. “Jared.”
“I was in her care since I was a baby. She planned to adopt me but had a heart attack at thirty-nine and died instantly.”
A memory of Molly collapsing in the grocery store, a bunch of spinach in one hand and the other clutching at her chest, carves through my mind like a merciless blade.
“Oh my God, Jared.”
“I’d been a dick to her for months before she died. You see, I’d thought she was my mom, only to find out the truth. She said she was waiting for the right time to tell me and when she finally did, it was because she wanted to adopt me.”
“And then she died?”
“Soon after. I was so angry….” I ball my hands and stare at my most treasured gift from the only person to love and want me.
“I’d been such an asshole…there’s so much I never got to say.”
“She knows.”
We sit like that, neither of us saying a word, and after minutes of riffs or random notes, she lightly bumps my shoulder, throwing me a nervous smile.
And now, I’m very aware of how close we are. Our swings sway toward each other like Siamese twins.
“Play a song.”
Nodding, I strum a few chords of one of my favorite songs, and with every note, the upward curve of her lips deepens. Her eyes widen, intensifying, with each word out of my mouth, and a strange fluttering erupts in my stomach. Am I luring her in, or has she enchanted me?
I lose myself in the Foo Fighter’s “Everlong” as the acoustic strips away the usual frenetic vibe, allowing the intimate lyrics to tell a different tale. She joins me, and we sing the line about breathing out and how the rhythm, the simple in and out, connects you as one.
Warmth floods my body, goosebumps sparking along my skin from the feel of her—her heat—infusing every inch of me. She watches my every move, roaming head to toe, finally resting on my face as the song comes to an end.
“Holy cow!” She bounces, her cheeks flush and eyes bright. She wraps a hand around my forearm, and her short fingernails sink into my flesh through my shirt.
I can still feel the rush and color of the music—the soul of the song—buzzing through my fingertips.
“That was beautiful. Molly was right. You’re a natural.”
“Um, I wanted to talk to you about summer.” Eva presses the sole of her Chuck against the plastic wall of the playhouse. We’ve only got a few days left until the end of school.
“What about it?” I wipe at my brow, contemplating sleeping on the grass outside the house. It’s too hot to sleep in here.
“I’m going to Spain and won’t be back until school starts.” The words tumble from her mouth in a rush.
“Seriously?” My heart kicks and chest aches. “When?”
“Yeah. Bianca and I go every summer and stay with my grandfather. My mother’s father. We leave next week.”
“Oh.” The familiar sense of abandonment surges and I battle the impulse to throw up. This is why I don’t get close to anyone. No, not anyone. This is Eva.
“I wasn’t sure if we’d go since Papi and Abuelo don’t get along. And with high school, I thought maybe it would stop…”
“I get it.” My hand roughly rakes through my tangled curls.
“Abuelo’s family has been producing olive oil for nearly a hundred years. They are one of the top olive oil producers in Spain.” She isn’t bragging—that isn’t Eva—yet I grit my teeth and struggle to bite back an order to stop talking.
“We sometimes help in the olive groves or the office or we’ll visit with our cousins. We’re in Catalonia, which is close to Barcelona.” She’s rambling now, likely nervous how I’ll react. She should have said something sooner.
“Yeah, well, my summer will be here, in Los Angeles. I couldn’t imagine going anywhere else.”
She purses her lips at my acerbic tone and folds her arms over her chest, studying me.
“I won’t be around much anyway.” I shrug, hoping she gets the impression I couldn’t care less about her upcoming absence.
“What do you mean?”
“Ike says Milo’s looking for a spot for me for the summer.”
“What?” She inches closer, no longer irked, more concerned. “Milo’s bad news. Ike steals cars for him. Is that what you’d be doing?”
Eva’s never met Milo, and she’s only talked to Ike a handful of times, but she doesn’t like when I hang around that crew. I can’t say I blame her, but it’s my reality. For now, anyway.
“Yeah, well, it’s my life. This way, I’ll have a place to crash and a job.”
“But what about getting a…a real summer job?”
“This would be real, Eva,” I scoff.
“You know what I mean. And what happens if you don’t stay at the Garcias’?” She wrinkles her nose, not liking that fact either.
Every once in a while, she’ll ask about Val and I always tell her the same thing—she stays away from me. Mostly, it’s true.
“Nothing. Val knows I don’t sleep there. All they care about is the money.” I release a dry chuckle.
“I could see if my father could get you a job at the garage.”
Mr. Ramirez works on cars on the side for extra cash, but the man hates me. “Yeah, like he’d help. Just mind your own business. It isn’t like you’ll be here anyway.”
Eva’s departure comes way too quickly, and I grow more pissed as the time to say goodbye approaches. With my back against the monkey bars, I wait for her, worried her father got wind of our plan to meet briefly before she had to leave.
Despite being a huge dick to her when she told me the news, we patched things up, and I greedily spent every moment with her that I could.
A now familiar and welcome lithe body nears the park, and my heart rate spikes and an easy grin slides onto my lips.
She has that effect on me. Easily erasing my irritation or the growing need to punch something. The desire is fierce and only intensifies when I think of the months to come without her.
“Hey.” Her sunny grin warms my insides, and I itch to touch her.
“Hi.”
I take in her white capris and a bright blue tank top with her hair tied in a high ponytail, looking both innocent and fantastic.