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His eyes stay on me for a moment longer, look at the road, and then glance back at me.

“Stay with me, okay? I had a blast today. Whatever doubts you’re coming up with in your head right now? Get rid of them.”

How did he know? Am I that transparent?

I don’t respond, just nod and let the sound of the road under the truck tires lull me into acceptance. I can hear Mom’s voice in my head.

Whatever happens, happens. But nothing will ever flourish and grow if you don’t give it a chance. The seed may turn into a beautiful flower or it may just be a weed. And only you can decide which it is. Just remember, one person’s weed may be someone else’s flower. And the world needs both.

Chapter Fourteen

We drive back home.My home, that is, so we can get to the second part of our date. I’ve never spent this many hours on a date before. When we pull into my driveway, Skye looks back at me, a question in her eyes.

“Ready for part two of our date?”

“Part two?”

I smile. “You’ll see.”

This time, she stays in the truck while I walk around the bumper, her eyes tracking my every move. Until I open her door, that is. Her gaze drops, her cheeks blush, and her shyness returns. I help her out of the truck and take her hand until we get inside the house.

“May I have your coat?”

“Sure.”

I watch as her small hands lower the zipper, and my imagination is a dozen steps ahead and already picturing her naked. I’ve gotta get ahold of myself.

She gives me her coat and looks around, taking everything in, and I try to see my home through her eyes. The walls are painted a soft sand color with white wainscoting around the entire room. The furniture, dark chocolate brown sofas and tables, are decidedly masculine. The seventy-inch TV above the brick fireplace is the central focus of the room, but her eyes are immediately drawn to the dozens of framed pictures on the wall. A good portion of them are black and white pictures of my grandparents and other relatives long gone. I love old pictures and the history they hold. A moment frozen in time on a piece of paper. I love how something so fragile can capture life and hold so much history in it.

I kick off my sneakers and put them in the closet by the front door. I hate wearing shoes in the house. I hang both of our coats.

“Get comfortable. Be right back.”

When I return, she’s standing by the wall looking at the pictures, and her boots are off. Her socks make me laugh.

“Purple unicorn socks?”

She looks at her feet as if seeing them for the first time.

“Yeah, they’re River’s lucky socks. She made me wear them. She’s obsessed with unicorns and the color purple. You didn’t hear it from me, though. She’ll deny her love of all things unicorn if you ask her. It doesn’t exactly go with her tough girl image.”

I think about making a joke about getting lucky and her socks, but I pass.

“Her secret is safe with me.”

I stand at her shoulder and see the picture she’s looking at.

“Tell me about this one,” she asks.

It’s one of the bigger frames. I had the image restored and blown up.

It’s a picture of my brother and me on the back of the truck, parked in the very same spot it is now. Grandpa is holding a hose and is spraying us. The water is making rainbows in the air. Our skinny bodies are taller than our ages. Grandma is right next to him. We all have huge smiles on our faces. It’s a candid image. No one is posing. I have no idea who took this picture.

“This was summer. I was ten and Liam was eight. It had to be a Sunday. We washed that truck every Sunday, even in the rain. As long as the temperature was above sixty-five. Grandma’s rules.”

Skye looks around the room, pausing in front of a few other pictures, but she doesn’t ask any other questions about them.

“We have about an hour until the food is ready. Come on, let’s get dinner going.”