And then I think of that girl’s giggle. If Thayer wants his space, he can have it. But if he thinks I’m going to sit around, waiting for him to come back—if he comes back—he’s got another think coming.
I shove my phone back in my pocket and return to the hikers on the trail. Just as I hoped, Garrett is still standing by the cooler, practically in the same place I left him, like I pressed pause in our conversation when I answered Thayer’s phone call. When he sees me, his face perks up. It instantly makes me feel better. This is how a guy should treat me. With respect. With admiration.
I pull my hair from its bun and shake it out so it tumbles down my shoulders. “Sorry about that,” I say, offering my most conciliatory smile. It takes a little effort to get the corners of my mouth turned up, but I manage. Then I take a deep breath and hope that Charlotte will understand what I’m about to do. “To answer your question,” I say, slinking closer to Garrett, “I’d love to hang out. How about tomorrow?”
And naturally, Garrett says yes.
3
A LITTLE FRIENDLY CONVERSATION
On Monday night, Garrett and I are at Bella Vista, a restaurant in Tucson nestled at the highest point of a winding, windswept hilltop. The entire dining room is paneled in squeaky-clean, floor-to-ceiling windows so that everyone dining can enjoy the breathtaking views of the fiery sunset behind the Santa Catalina Mountains. Once night falls in earnest, the sky will be studded with glittering stars, making the whole restaurant feel like it’s floating. Around me, the air is heady with garlic and saffron, and the room is alive with bustling waiters in crisp white button-downs, wine and sparkling water splashing against crystal stemware, and the low murmur of conversation.
The waiter sets down a simmering pot of albondigas, veal meatball tapas. Garrett slides the pot toward me. “Ladies first.”
I blush. “Thank you.”
Garrett has been so attentive to me during this dinner—signaling the waitress when I dropped a fork, switching seats with me because mine was in the direct line of the setting sun, asking again and again if I wanted anything more to eat or drink. He’s the kind of guy who’d hold open car doors, who’d bring flowers.
Thayer didn’t do any of that stuff. He and I rarely went out at all since we kept things quiet, but if we did, we went to hole-in-the-wall taco joints far up the highway so no one would see us.
I shudder, shaking off the thought of Thayer entirely. Before this moment, I hadn’t thought of him once.
I spear a chunk of fluke ceviche and return my focus to Garrett. “I love this place. I’ve had a couple birthday dinners here, but haven’t been in a while.”
“Me neither.” Garrett looks around. “My dad knows the owner, though.”
“So that’s how you got this amazing table for us?” I tease. “And the sangria?” Not only had Garrett scored the best table in the place, a little two-seater tucked into a grotto, but we’d barely been seated when our waiter brought over a pitcher of sangria without asking to see our IDs.
“Naturally.” The corners of Garrett’s lips curl into a smile. “I told my dad I was taking a beautiful girl out for dinner. He made it happen.”
I blush at the word beautiful. “I think my last visit was in the summer, when I got home from tennis camp.”
“You go to tennis camp every year, right?” Garrett asks, dunking a slice of toasted bread into a shallow dish of olive oil.
I nod, a little surprised that he knows that about me. Did Char say something?
I feel a twinge of guilt thinking about Charlotte. I hadn’t wanted to talk to her about Garrett during the search party—which, of course, had turned up nothing—so I’d called her repeatedly after we left. She’d only gotten back to me at lunch today at school. “I’ve been so busy with your sister,” Char had apologized. “We’re brainstorming about other ways to find Thayer. You know, flyers around town, or maybe setting up a website, or even just an email for tips, or something. What do you think?”
I had frozen. Laurel’s been talking to my friends about how to track down Thayer? “Nice of you to involve me.”
Charlotte laughed. “Be nice. We tried to call you yesterday, but you didn’t pick up.”
“When?” I’d asked. My phone had been on all day. I didn’t miss any calls.
“And Laurel has been really sweet and supportive about Thayer,” Charlotte went on, not answering. “That’s what matters right now, right?”
I bristled. Was everyone against me? First Thayer telling me to be nicer to Laurel, now Char? I changed the subject and got to my original point. “So, I wanted to talk to you about Garrett. You’re over him, right?”
Char had snorted. “Completely. Honestly, I was never even that into him to begin with. He’s been a ball of moods after that whole Louisa thing.”
I wasn’t sure if that was true—Charlotte shut herself in her room after Garrett dumped her. And she’d told me about Garrett and his sister, Louisa—something had happened to her at a party—but I was fuzzy on the specifics. Still, I decided to believe that she’d moved on. “So it wouldn’t bother you if he was dating someone else?”
“Of course not,” she said emphatically.
“Good. Because he kind of asked me to dinner. Tonight.”
Charlotte froze. Her eyes blinked once, then twice, then three times. “Did you say yes?”
“I told him I wanted to make sure it was cool with you,” I lied.
Charlotte coughed. “I, uh . . . of course, it’s cool.” But her voice was shaky. “I appreciate, you know, that you checked with me.”
A flicker of guilt pricked at me. What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.
But then Charlotte rose from her seat and gathered her books. “I should go,” she mumbled. “I just remembered I had this English thing.”
To make matters even more awkward, as I watched her go, a presence came up behind me. It was Laurel.
“What?” I snapped, still annoyed that she was suddenly buddy-buddy with my best friends.
Laurel sank into one hip. “Just because Charlotte says she’s okay with you dating her ex, doesn’t mean that she is.”
My eyes widened. “Well, I guess you would know since you’re so tight with my friends these days, right?” I leapt up. “Quit eavesdropping.”
But now, I try just to focus on Garrett. He’s got that clean-cut, preppy look down to a T. The burgundy of his starched oxford shirt perfectly brings out his all-American complexion and makes his blue eyes sparkle. I’d actually never noticed how blue his eyes were until tonight. I’m not sure I even noticed his eyes were blue at all.
“What are you doing this summer?” I prompt, brushing my hair off my shoulders.
“My parents really want me to find some kind of internship,” he says, rolling his eyes. “My mom’s suddenly totally psycho about beefing up my college transcript.” A stray curl falls lightly over his forehead in a way that makes me want to reach out and sweep it back.
“I know the feeling,” I sigh. “My parents are pressuring me to step up my grades, too. The other day, my mom sat me down and gave me this really long talking-to about priorities.” Laurel didn’t get a lecture, naturally. Because she’s already perfect.
Garrett snickers. “Maybe we should set them up on a Mom-date or something. If they hit it off, maybe they’ll leave us alone.”
I laugh. “Best idea ever. But no double dates with them or anything,” I add.
“God, no.” Garrett widens his eyes in mock-horror and I giggle again.
Then Garrett begins describing a Boys & Girls Clubs program he’s interested in.
I smile. “I wouldn’t think someone like you would be into helping little kids.”
Garrett looks abashed. “Why not? Because I’m too much of a jock?”
“Well, sort of,” I admit.
“I’m more than just a jock,” Garrett says softly. “I have a lot going on. Some good . . . some bad.”
I’m intrigued. “Do you want to talk about any of it?”
Garrett’s throat bobs. He looks away, staring hard at the wind chimes hanging from the porch. “I’m guessing you heard about Louisa.”
I study him for a long beat, waiting to see if he says anything else. “I heard a little bit. How is she now?” I say carefully. I remember Charlotte speaking about Louisa in hushed tones, saying how fragile and delicate she seemed.
“She’s . . .” Garrett closes his eyes, laces his fingers together. “She has her good days and her bad days. I feel like I’m the only one really looking out for her, you know? My dad’s remarried, and my mom has her own problems right now.”
I shut my eyes. No wonder Char said Garrett was a basket case. “That’s got to be so hard.”
“It is.” Garrett nods. Then a wobbly expression comes over his face. He takes his napkin, shakes it out, and smoothes it across his lap. “Let’s talk about something else, okay?”
“Absolutely,” I say. “But if you ever want to talk, I’m here.”
Garrett gives me a curious look. “You’re different than I thought you’d be, too, Sutton.”
“Different, how?”
He thinks for a moment, finger to mouth. “Softer, maybe. Easier.”
I give him a saucy look but then decide to take it as a compliment. It’s always nice to surprise people. And really, I don’t want everyone to think I’m a super-bitch.
I settle back into my seat, feeling like something between us has suddenly changed. Garrett really is more than just a jock. He’s sensitive. He cares. He sticks by his family. And he’s told me more about himself than Thayer has lately—which says a lot.
I can learn to like him, I think. And you know what? I don’t even think it will be hard.
The night is breezy and mild as we leave the restaurant. Garrett rolls down the windows of his SUV and opens the sunroof. I rest my arm against the edge of the car door and lean toward the window slightly, enjoying the tickle of the wind on my face. The road home from Bella Vista winds down through the mountains so that the starry sky seems to wrap itself around us as we descend. Sumac trees line the edge of the narrow roadway, curving softly overhead. The air in the car smells of Garrett’s lingering Burberry aftershave, with an edge of mint from the sugarless gum he’s chewing. The dashboard speakers are hooked up to his iPhone, which is currently playing Mumford & Sons. He drums his fingers against the steering wheel in time with the guitar.
Suddenly, he clears his throat, breaking the easy silence between us. “I had a good time tonight, Sutton,” he says, his voice low. I reach out and place a hand on his knee, liking the warm, solid feeling of his leg under my palm.
“Me, too,” I assure him softly. And suddenly, I mean it. Really mean it.
Garrett beams. “Oh. Okay. Great. I was wondering. . . . Well, I guess I heard some things . . . that you were seeing someone.” He frowns and fiddles with the remote for his iPhone, shuffling the music so a new song cues up. “Thayer, maybe?”
