Page 7 of Something Like Sugar (Pine Forest Something #2)

DUSTIN

PRESENT DAY

S he kisses me. For the second time in our lives.

The difference now?

We’re not awkward teens behind a rickety stall.

Shana Holiday is all woman wrapped around my tongue.

“I’m sorry!” She peels away, clearing a mess of dark waves from her face to reveal panicked eyes that veer from mine. “Just forget it happened, okay?”

She gives me no choice before she’s scooping up her bag and shoving past me, the door to Sugar Stable slamming behind her.

I tell myself not to follow. Ignoring her advances has always been what’s right, even if they do match my desires identically.

I shouldn’t have sent the plant.

But the tears that streaked her cheeks were unbearable. I needed to see her smile, if only from a window.

I tug at my hair as I pace the closed café, tossing rogue ice-cream scoops into the dish sanitizer for some semblance of mental organization.

But I’m thrown so-the-fuck off.

Her presence lingers, even after she’s gone.

In her booth.

On my skin.

In the cherry gloss I still taste on my lips.

“Shana!” I storm through the courtyard, with nothing but glowing lamps and the erratic thumping in my chest to keep me company. “Shay, wait up!”

I’m not sure what I’ll do as I push through her studio door, but nothing in the world could compel me to be elsewhere.

“I never said I’d forget it happened,” I belt, catching my breath in the studio. “Remember?”

Her chest rises and falls, as the moon spills through the blinds of my favorite window, casting slashes of light across her body. She slips off her oversized hoodie, nothing but scraps of a leotard beneath, and it’s all I can do to keep my focus from wandering everywhere it rightfully shouldn’t.

“Shay, would you talk to me?”

No, her backside screams.

I follow her to the adjacent dance hall. Bright pink walls shelve dozens of framed awards and collections of trophies. She floats across the polished floor, making work of both ignoring me and checking whether I’m still present.

Like she isn’t the one who just kissed me.

“Shana, please. Can we talk about it?”

She ignores me, connecting her phone to the speaker.

“Pretending I’m not here isn’t going to convince me you’re invisible.”

A song starts, and I can’t stop the smirk that forms when she gets on with her warmup like I’ve already gone.

“Since I haven’t been instructed to leave,” I say to her reflection, “I’ll watch.”

Her eyes pin to mine in the mirror.

Even if we can’t be together— and I know that inherently —I will always protect her.

Drops of tears I’ll turn to sparks of fire.

“Shana, please. It’s not even about the kiss. It’s important.” I backpedal when I hear how that sounds, “Not that our kiss wasn’t important, I mean…”

Fuck.

“What is it, then?” She spins around. “The important thing.” Arms fold across her chest.

“I need a coach.”

Her eyes flare.

“For dance,” I finish. “My dad has this function—”

She shakes herself from what seems to be a daydream. “Not a good idea, Dustin. Look, I’m sorry I kissed you, but I can’t teach you to dance. And I don’t want to talk about it, either.”

Her lips say one thing, but I can’t ignore the pull between her eyes that says another.

“So, just forget it happened?”

“Worked the first time,” she mutters,

“One dance lesson, that’s all I’m asking. We say whatever we need to say. No walking away, no masking. That kiss—”

“I don’t want to talk about the kiss,” she sighs. “You don’t have to feel sorry for me, either.” Her eyes narrow at that last part.

“Me feel sorry for you? Shay, I have a black-tie event, and I only know the Cha Cha Slide. I plead with her through the mirror, every cell I possess working overtime to ignore the closeness of our bodies. “You saw me in the Mr. Pine Forest Pageant.”

“Unfortunately, the whole town did.” She cracks a smile.

Finally.

“Yeah.” I laugh. “Well, you know how my dad is.” I shake my head. “Naturally, I’ll be a disappointment either way. I just thought maybe I could embarrass him in style this time. That and my future investments depend on it.”

“It’s that important?” She raises a brow.

“The most.”

Her eyes are on me, for once.

Watching.

I almost forget why they are watching, as I lose myself in the way they blend from black to brown to mahogany, and I choose the stains necessary to recreate the hue in my mind.

“No street shoes on the dance floor.”

My lip quirks.

“Yes, coach.” I remove my boots.

“ Wait! Where are you putting those?” She scrambles in front of me.

“The closet.” I retort, sod-covered boots held at my side. “I was at Hunter’s earlier. They smell like horse shit, literally.”

“Here, I’ll set them against the wall.” She tries to take the boots, but I don’t release my grip.

“They’ll stink up your dance room.” I tug.

“Studio.” She tugs back. “But that’s not the point.

Everyone puts their shoes and coats against the wall. It’s a perfectly normal system,”

“Everyone puts their coats somewhere other than the coat closet?” I narrow my eyes when she blocks my path to the one in question. “What are you hiding, Shay?”

“Nothing!” Her voice lilts. “What would I be hiding? It’s not like the closet leads to the pipes and has a huge leak or anything that I’m very capable of handling with Dad’s tools, I’m sure.

I just haven’t had the time to dig them out of the shed, which is blocked by the broken-down lawn mower, and—” She stops talking, her eyes dropping to her feet. “I hate how you make me ramble.”

“I don’t.” I lift her chin until our eyes meet. “It’s my second favorite thing about you.”

“Sure, it is.” She rolls her eyes. “And I’ll bet the first is my world-renowned set of A cups.”

“Your mind, Shay. The only thing I think about more than these lips.”

Lips I capture, before either of us can say more, and it’s everything I remember.

But guilt is never scarce.

Just like thirteen years ago.