“Yeah, I think he does. Probably been feeling that way for a long time.”
I try to think about it, looking for clues I might have missed during our time together. Nothing ever felt strange or out of the ordinary, at least until today, when he mentioned seeing me in the battle scene.
We rotate some of the roles and fill in where necessary. Ionly did that role twice, and it wasn’t the day Covey was here with the school. That means he was here on a different day. Early in the run of the production.Why wouldn’t he have said something about it? It’s not like it’d be weird for him to watch.
How many other secrets is he keeping from me? What else did I miss?
“Any chance you’re working things out right now?” Maddox asks, looking up from the floor.
“Shut up, Maddox.”
Is it possible? Did I spend so much time attempting to keep my feelings a secret that I completely missed his?
“Well”—he slaps the edges of his legs—“my work here is done. Get ready. We’ve got a show to do.”
I check the clock and flinch. I’m way behind on getting ready. I rush through the process, frequently referring to my checklist to ensure I don’t forget anything. My brain switches into performance mode, pushing everything else to the periphery. They’re not gone so much as on hold. Even so, I can see Aidan’s face in my mind, the way he looked at me in the hallway earlier today. It’s not the one I want to see tonight, with the red rims of his eyes and the way he refused to meet my gaze.
I dig through my memories to try to replace it. The one that immediately pops to mind is the look on his face after our first kiss—the one where we practiced for my family. For a brief second, I saw something there that I’d mostly forgotten. Now, that image features in my mind. The look he’s giving me then is nothing like how I look at my friends. It’s a look of want and affection.
God, what I would do to see it again.
CHAPTER 27
AIDAN
Ihaven’t seen Covey since Christmas Day. It’s the longest we’ve gone without seeing each other since we reconnected. The only contact we’ve had is over text to make final arrangements for tonight.
All business.
I’ve spent the week adrift. With no school to force me out of bed in the morning, the highlight of my days has been rolling off the couch around midnight and climbing into bed. That or the pounds ofFritosI’ve managed to eat during that time. The perfect food to pair with wallowing.
In another week, I’ll have to pull myself together. Kids can sniff out insecurities from a mile away. And they have zero qualms about pointing them out. The last thing I need is to explain this whole situation to them. I’m giving myself another two days of bed rotting before I go back to a real schedule. One that includes daily showering and changing out of my sweatpants.
Tonight doesn’t count, though I did manage to both shower and put on a suit. It’s a requirement for this fundraising event. When Covey first told me we were going to a New Year’s party, I thought it would be a small thing at his house. Nope. This thing is a massive celebration and fundraiser for the Arts Council in Burlington. Covey’s mom is on the hosting committee, so the rest of us attending is mandatory.
As is wearing a black suit, tie, and non-sneaker shoes. All of which I had to purchase for the event. My job doesn’t come with that type of dress code. If I’m going to chase five-year-olds around, I’m not doing it in wingtips.
This place is swanky. The museum lobby is unrecognizable with the oversized floral arrangements and silvery decorations. It’s hard to believe this is the same place we bring students to on field trips. Inside, I check my coat and wait for Covey. We agreed to meet in the lobby tonight, and even though I’m ten minutes early, I search the area a few times to make sure he’s not waiting for me.
I wander back and forth—not pacing—pausing to take in some of the artwork and say hi to people I know. I’m drawn to a small landscape painting near the edge of the space. It’s the perfect image of the Green Mountains, blending the beauty of the trees with the harshness of the land.
“Hey.” I nearly jump out of my skin when a hand lands on my shoulder. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s okay. I was distracted by the art.” I wave toward the painting, not expecting much.
“It’s beautiful.” He tilts his head to one side, like he’s trying to puzzle it out. “You know, that’s one of the things I missed most when I was in Europe.”
“Don’t they have mountains there?”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “Of course, but notclose to Amsterdam. The ones they do have are different. Vermont is special.”
Covey doesn’t need to add anything to that statement. I know exactly what he means. Despite having spent my entire life here, I know how special it is here. There’s something about Vermont that burrows deep in the soul and refuses to let go. Travel is great, but I love getting back home, that first glimpse of the Green Mountains on the drive, the view of Lake Champlain. I can’t imagine being anywhere else.
I clear my throat a few times. “Ready?”
“Yeah, I guess.” I hesitate as I reach out to take his hands. At this point, whatever rules we had have gone out the window.
If Covey notices, he doesn’t say anything, simply interlaces his fingers between mine and heads for the spiral staircase that leads upstairs to the gallery where the event is being held. We take the steps in sync, silence between us save for the sound of our footsteps against the marble.
