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But still. “I can’t believe you. You really had to do that in the high school hallway? With yourbrother listening?”
“Please, if we have to hear about every girl he’s kissing through Babble, he can listen to us talk about it, too. This is revenge for that detailed novel Grace Hockessin sent in last year.”
For the first time, I couldn’t blame anyone for wanting to gush about their kiss with Reed. If I had someone to gush to, I’m sure I would’ve written a novel, too.
I fought the urge to look behind me. “I guess, yeah, Josh seemed nice. Perfectly…”
“Kissable?”
“Yeah. Perfectly kissable.”
We made our way outside, and Rachel walked me to where I’d locked my bike up that morning. The leather seat was blistering hot when I pressed my palm to it.
“I was thinking, before going to Allen’s Alley, we could meet up and stop by a few of the shops on the main strip,” Rachel said, watching as I flipped my backpack around to search through the pocket. “I’m in a shopping mood.”
“When are you not?” Reed asked. I hadn’t realized he’d followed us over. “You haven’t unpacked from your last mall trip.”
Rachel held a hand up to silence him. “I’ll text Maisie to see if she wants to come.”
“We can see, but I don’t know when she gets out of tutoring,” I reminded Rachel.
My bike lock key had gotten buried beneath my books in my bag, and when I tugged it out, the lanyard strap snagged on something at the bottom of my backpack. I fumbled with it, and the strap ended up slipping from my grip. My keys clattered onto the ground on the opposite side of my bike, just out of reach.
Without having a second to react, Reed bent down and swiped them up. He jingled the keychains before offering them to me on one long finger. We locked eyes.
Absolutely nothing about the action was sentimental. Not a single thing, but something about it shocked me enough that it took me a second to take them from him.
“I’ll pick you up around five, okay?” Rachel said, causing the world to veer back into focus, the white noise of the outside resuming.
“Who said you’re taking the car?” Reed demanded, but Rachel was already walking away. For a beat, Reed lingered, almost like he would say something more. He never would’ve lingered before. He probably never would’ve picked up my keys before, either—he probably would’ve joked about me being klutzy, or even kicked them further out of reach.
Then again, it was probably me reading way too much into everything. I was doing exactly what I never wanted to do.
I threw my leg over my bike and used my tiptoes to keep me off the hot seat, readjusting my backpack. “See you later,” I told Reed.
“Bike safe,” he responded, and we parted ways like that. On an awkward, stilted sort of goodbye where we couldn’t quite look the other in the eye. Among the consequences I should’ve thought of before kissing Reed, I never realized not being able to talk normally with him would’ve made the list.
* * *
Jefferson, though it was rival territory, was home to the best antique shop in the surrounding area, Timeless Treasures. It was a place Rachel, Maisie, and I frequented as often as we could. The store’s aisleways were narrow, lined with displays of costume jewelry, vintage silverware, rustic signs, and many more knick-knacks. I loved combing through everything. The whole store smelled like wood, lacquer, and paint, and it was a comforting mix of scents I’d grown to love. The shop owner, Mrs. Hewitt, went to a convention every Saturday to find new objects to stock, and each time, she was on the hunt for something specific for a special customer.
“Sorry, Rachel,” Mrs. Hewitt said as soon as we walked in, the bell on the door ringing a dull note. She looked up from her spot at the register, giving us a warm, wrinkled smile. “No new dolls for you. There was one, but it was a modern-day American Girl Doll.”
My best friend sighed, settling in her disappointment while Maisie and I started browsing the store. We’d pushed back our usual bowling time so that she could finish tutoring and come with us. Alex had picked her up from her house and brought her here, and as a hater of all things antiques, he stayed out in the car.
“This is new,” Maisie said to me, picking up a cigar box from one of the shelves. The red wood it was made out of was scratched beyond belief, the logo illegible, but it had a pretty gold latch. “I could keep my protractors in this.”
I squeezed her arm affectionately. “I love that you have enough protractors to fit into a container.”
“I’m like the Girl Scout of math lovers—always prepared,” she said with a wink, moving on.
The floorboards creaked as we meandered through the shop, alerting Mrs. Hewitt to the exact square foot we were standing on. “That’s such a bummer,” Rachel was telling her, and I glanced up at her through the stacks of books and other odds and ends. “Do you think next week’s swap meet will be better?”
“Next week’s is more jewelry based, I’m afraid, but I’ll keep my eyes peeled. I’ll make sure my granddaughter, Rosie, is paying attention, too.”
After years of coming to the store, we knew that Rosie was Mrs. Hewitt’s granddaughter, and a junior. I thought she went to Jefferson, but I couldn’t remember. She sometimes helped man the place if Mrs. Hewitt was busy, and though she was quiet, she was always nice.
One of the tables in the center of the shop housed the more expensive things, things that Mrs. Hewitt could easily see from her spot at the register. I looked at a quill pen and inkwell in the center, and I found my feet dragging as I moved past it. The thought was intrusive, and though I was torn on thewhybehind my actions, I pulled out my cell and snapped a photo.
