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“He’s too bland for you. And I bet you he’ll figure that out eventually if he doesn’t already know it,” Charlie said to me the night of prom as I waited for Martin to show up. My date didn’t ditch me. Martin was exactly on time. Charlie rolled his eyes behind my mom as she took pictures.
But after that day, my best friend never said a word against him. Not even when I called to tell him about the engagement.
I knew, though. When you’ve grown up with someone, you pick up on the way they don’t say things. And Charlie didn’t say a lot of things concerning Martin. Specifically, he barely ever said my ex’s name.
Suddenly, I have a strong urge to hear everyone in this room say my boyfriend’s name. Next to mine.
I want to hear ‘Paige and Dash.’
Paige and Dash are on their way over.
Paige and Dash brought an appetizer.
Paige and Dash left to walk Pumpkin.
Paige and Dash look so cute together.
Paige and Dash…Paige and Dash…Paige and Dash…
“Paige?” Dash murmurs my name close to my ear, making me shiver in delight at the hot puff of his breath.
“Dash?” I respond, creating the pairing as best I can.
He stares down at me, one eyebrow curving up in that perfect arch. Well, not exactly perfect. There’s just a bit of point at the bridge, like it was too rigid to fully bend and instead threatens to snap. “Mrs. Keller asked you a question.”
“Oh!” I scan the room for her, finding everyone staring at me with a mixture of expressions, none of which I can interpret. Aren’t these the people I’ve known most of my life? Shouldn’t I be able to read them as easily as the books on my shelves? Although, I guess those I have to study in-depth and take detailed notes on. Maybe if I could stare at their faces for a good ten minutes, I’d figure out what they’re all thinking. “Sorry. I wasn’t listening.”
“Great. I’m gone for a year and suddenly I become boring.” Charlie’s sarcastic voice clarifies his thoughts, and I smirk at him. He’s not offended, and if my guess is right, I’d say he’s intrigued. By what? I don’t know.
“I asked if you’d like a drink, dear. I’m mixing sangria.” Mama Keller wears a tiny smile as her gaze flits between me and Dash.
“Sangria? Isn’t that a summer drink?”
She shrugs. “My home is in the South for a reason. It is summer no matter the time of year.” Her teeth shine beautifully white against a plump set of lips I’ve always envied.
Sometimes I’ll watch a music competition show, and a contestant will walk on the stage looking like the minute they open their mouth nothing will come out but a scratchy off-key note, but then they shock the crowd with a gorgeous set of pipes.
No one has ever been deceived by Rosa Keller’s looks. Whenever a new person learns that she is a jazz singer, nine times out of ten their first response is “Of course.” Because Rosa Keller is the embodiment of Jazz. If the music became a corporeal being, gifted with skin and bone, it would solidify into Momma Keller. She’s that glorious, and every word she speaks hides a hint of melody.
“Well, I can’t say no to that.” I reach for a glass.
“And what about you, Dash? Or are you a beer drinker like my son?”
“No—”
“He doesn’t drink.” My father’s curt answer overpowers Dash’s before he could even get it out. I glare across the room at the man who raised me, suddenly ashamed of him. Of course, he knows Dash doesn’t drink, what with him being on parole. Or he knows Dash shouldn’t drink, which may have been why he was so fast to answer for him. But if Dad had just given him two seconds to speak, he would know that Dash follows that rule. He followsallof the rules. Probably better than the majority of people on parole.
I want to rage at my father at that moment, suddenly able to read his expression, too.
Disdain.
How dare he?He, who was so accepting of Martin, the guy who ended up betraying me and breaking my heart.
And what’s more, he knows exactly why Dash went to jail. That, more than anything, should encourage him to give the guy a second chance. Unlike me, I doubt Dash has had many of those in his life.
Suddenly my leg aches, and I reach down surreptitiously to rub my old scar.
My dad knows nothing about our relationship, and I’m almost overwhelmed with the urge to start listing off all the reasons this parolee has so easily slipped into my heart.
