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I square off with him in challenge—a force to be reckoned with. Contract or no contract, he can’t dictate my life.
Any humor flitting across his face snuffs out entirely, eliciting a flare of unease when he dismisses me. “See you bright and early, Monday morning, sunshine.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Penelope
Then…
Logan and I lie at the edge of the sacred forest, in a meadow where vivid orange, pale pink, and white wildflowers halo our bodies. The scent of dried grass and his woodsy essence fill my nose when I cross my arms behind my head, absently tapping my feet together.
It’s been a grueling day, working the horses and running errands for Mrs. Haldé in town, but as the sun lowers in the sky, we bask in the late afternoon rays while I map out the details of Augustine’s age-old celebration.
“So, T’slasta… It’s like a fire festival or something?” Logan asks, mirroring me by crossing his hands behind his head.
His elbow touches mine, making me laugh when he nudges it.
“Lah-stah,” I correct his pronunciation. “And yeah, there’s a huge bonfire, but it’s a pretty big deal to the locals around here. Drinking, dancing, and celebrating life. Me and my cousins usually sneak a bottle of liquor from the house and stash it in those bushes over there.”
“Hardcore,” he teases, lazily following the tip of my finger across the meadow.
“You’re gonna love it, I swear.” He wraps his pinky around the one I extend to him, and a tiny trickle of awareness flicks through the connection.
I expect him to let go.
I blush when he doesn’t.
“Oh, and there’s this dance between the singles in town that’s seriously, ugh, so magical. The wine is terrible, so don’t drink it unless you want to puke for a week straight. But don’t worry, I’ll make sure we have something from Dad’s liquor cabinet to get us through the night.”
I sigh thoughtfully, recounting memories I’ve made over all my summers spent here, and he closes his eyes, listening with a hint of a smile on his full lips.
White, fluffy clouds roll across the sky, one after another, but as much as I wish I could relax, my mind won’t be quiet and neither will my mouth.
“Sorry. I’m talking too much, aren’t I?”
“Nah,” he says, exhaling a deep breath with a full-blown grin. “You’re cute when you ramble.”
“Cute,” I repeat, in case he wants to correct himself. In case he forgot, friends don’t call other friends cute. Especially while flashing their dimples.
“I said what I said.”
When I face him fully, tiny prickles pinch the inside of my stomach before head-on colliding with each other.
I’ve always appreciated the way the sun highlights his reddish-brown hair. It wisps around his earlobes, longer than it was a month ago when he and his parents first arrived. In that time, the planes of his face have changed from soft and smooth to sharp and rough—like a boy who’s growing into adulthood.
“Like what you see, sunshine?”
Nibbling my thumbnail to keep from touching him, I ask impulsively, “Are you and your parents going to stay through the summer?”
“We are.” When he looks back at the sky, I anxiously wait for his gaze to return.
I like the way he watches my mouth whenever I speak, and the way his face wrinkles with amusement when I let my thoughts get away from me.
“You don’t sound very happy about it.”
“No, it’s not that. It’s my dad. He’s got my whole damn future mapped out for me.” His hand falls to his left pec, where he tugs at his shirt. “We had an argument a couple of days ago about my partial scholarship to the University of Michigan. I only applied because he insisted I attend a college with an accredited business program. But he’s made it clear that after I graduate, I’ll be coming to work for him here, on the island.”
I raise up on my elbow, straightening my thin dress when it rises up my thighs. “Well, that’s dumb. You’re eighteen. You can do whatever the hell you want.”
