Fated

friend.
    The rest of the drive passes in silence, but, strangely, I have no need to fill it and neither does he. It’s only when he pulls up to the big blue gate that he turns to me and says, “This is it, right?”
    I reach for my bag, intending to give a quick thanks for the ride and be on my way. But when our eyes meet again, the words melt on my lips.
    He holds the look. Holds it with such intensity, no matter how hard I try, I can’t break away.
    Everything my head is telling me: Open the door—say your good-byes—and get the heck out of this car! —is in direct conflict with what my heart is saying: Stay—talk—hang out for a while—give it a chance—see where it leads …
    His blue eyes gleaming, lips parting and curving, as a slant of moonlight creeps through the window and finds its way to the top of his head where it glows like a crown.
    The sight of it forcing me to shut my eyes, shut out the whole glorious sight of him. Needing to see if I’m merely drawn to his beauty, since it wouldn’t be the first time. But when I turn the focus from my eyes to my heart, when I tune in to what it tells me—well, the impression I get is the same as the first time I saw him that day at the Rabbit Hole and again at the gas station, then today at school, and earlier tonight when I ran smack into him in the club …
    A swarm of kindness, followed by the deepest, most unconditional love—all of it directed at me.
    “Daire…” he says, voice husky and thick.
    The lilt of my name on his lips causing me to sway toward him. Ignoring the warning in my head, in favor of the yearning in my heart. Lured by the invisible magnet throbbing between us.
    “Daire,” he repeats, the words barely a whisper. “Someone’s here.”
    My eyes open wide and I turn to find Jennika glaring into the window.

thirty-eight
    “Why’d you have to embarrass me like that?” I follow Jennika down the walkway and into the house as the rumble of Dace’s engine fades into the distance. Admiring the way he held his own, kept so steady and calm, but those icy-blue eyes told a whole other story—he couldn’t wait to be gone.
    I’ve seen it before. An angry Jennika is a scary Jennika, and she was—correction, is —undeniably angry.
    But I’m angry too. And unlike Dace, I’m not the least bit intimidated by her.
    “Seriously—why’d you have to be so incredibly rude?” I throw my bag on the kitchen table and head for the sink, where I retrieve a blue handblown glass from the cupboard, fill it with water, and down it in three easy gulps in an attempt to calm myself.
    “Oh, well—excuse me for embarrassing you and acting so rude. Please accept my most heartfelt apologies.” She shakes her head, clearly not meaning a word of it. “Maybe you can tell me just exactly what is going on around here? Maybe you can explain how you’d like me to react upon finding you parked in a beat-up wreck of a car with a boy who’s up to no good—at one thirty in the morning—on a school night, no less?”
    I lean against the counter and stare hard at my boots. Struggling to get a rein on my emotions—arguing with her won’t solve a thing. But I’m far too annoyed to take my own advice, so I lift my chin and say, “Well, for starters, you really didn’t have to yell. That was completely uncalled for. And for another thing, you really didn’t have to jump to conclusions. Nothing was going on. It wasn’t at all what you think—you misread the whole thing. I only just met him today! He gave me a lift, nothing more. But instead of trusting me, you just go off on a rant and assume the worst. Way to go, Jennika. Seriously.”
    “Oh, so now I’m supposed to trust you?” She fumes under her breath, surveying Paloma’s home as though she’s suspicious of everything in it, most of all me. “How can I trust you when you go for days on end without returning my calls? How can I trust you when you renege on our deal?”
    I sigh. Roll my eyes. Hardly able to believe we’re back to this—the same argument we’ve already had over the phone. Twice. But apparently she’s gearing up for round three, and once she gets started, she’s hard to contain.
    “That was one time, and it was only for three days, as you well know—”
    But I barely get to finish before she’s shaking her head, practically shouting, “It was four days, Daire. Four. ”
    “That’s only because of the time difference and you know it,” I mumble, thinking how sad it