26 Kisses (21 page)

Half an hour later Killian is down on his hands and knees, inspecting an old dollhouse that’s missing half the roof and could use a new paint job. “Okay,” he says, wiping his forehead theatrically. “I give up. I have no idea what three-year-old girls want for their birthdays.” He looks pointedly at the dollhouse. “But I’m pretty sure it’s not this.”

“Come on.” I reach out and help him to his feet, peering around at the mounds of clothes, furniture, toys, and books inside Second Chance, Butterfield’s antique store. Penelope, the owner, pops out from behind the counter, her bright red hair piled into a messy bun on top of her head.

“Can I help you now?” she asks, practically sprinting over to us. “You’re looking in all the wrong places. You’ll never find anything over here.”

“That would be great,” I say, tipping my face up toward Killian’s and smiling sweetly. “
If
someone admits he’s not quite as much of a genius as he sometimes likes to think.”

Killian’s face scrunches up in an exaggerated pout. “I didn’t do anything to deserve this,” he says to Penelope. “She’s picking on me.”

Penelope laughs, and the keys on the giant ring clipped to her belt loop jingle. “Somehow,” she says, looking Killian up and down, “I doubt that. You look like a troublemaker.”

She leads us across the room to a tall wooden chest and throws it open, revealing a collection of beautiful antique dolls and dozens of exquisite miniature outfits. “You’re looking for something for your little sister, right?” Penelope asks.

“Yes.” I pick up one of the dolls, which has silky blond hair just like Kaylee’s. “She would love this.”

“They’re gorgeous,” Penelope says with the air of a satisfied collector. “I keep them hidden away so the tourist kids won’t come in here and mess them all up.”

I turn the doll over and catch a glimpse of the price tag attached to her foot, and my breath catches in my throat. “Actually,” I say, carefully setting her down on the shelf. “These might be a little out of my price range.”

“Oh.” Penelope blinks, as if she never even considered that a couple hundred dollars might be a bit much for an old doll, no matter how gorgeous it is. “Well, no problem.” She lovingly rearranges the skirt on one of the dolls and closes the cabinet.

“Maybe a board game?” she says, tapping her finger against her chin and surveying the crowded room. “I have some lovely vintage Monopoly sets. Or perhaps a jigsaw puzzle?”

“She’s a little young for Monopoly,” I say.

“What about this?” Killian rummages around behind an old ironing board and pulls a tiny rocking chair out from underneath some quilts.

Penelope claps her hands and rushes over to him. “There it is!” she says, lifting the rocking chair up to the light and inspecting it. “I was wondering where this had gone.”

Killian turns over the price tag and looks at me, eyebrows raised. “Twenty dollars,” he says.

“Whew.” Much more manageable on a summer job budget.

Penelope sets the rocking chair on the ground, and I crouch down to look at it. It’s absolutely adorable—painted a light pink and identical to the rocking chairs that a lot of people in Butterfield keep out on their front porches for kicking back and relaxing in the evening. I can already imagine Kaylee rocking away on my dad’s deck, grinning from behind her heart-shaped sunglasses, a sippy cup in one hand.

“Gosh darn it,” I say, straightening up and giving Killian a light shove. “You really are too smart for your own good.”

He smirks and mimes brushing off his shoulders. “Sign me up as a personal shopper for little girls.”

“What do you say?” Penelope asks. She toys with the price tag, her bright green nails garish against the soft pink of the rocking chair. “I raised the price on a lot of things a couple of months ago, but this one was hiding and escaped.”

“How much more should it be?” I ask, bracing myself.

Penelope glances at me and then up at Killian. “Twenty dollars is fine,” she says. “I hope your sister loves it.”

I smile. “She will.” We wind our way through the overloaded shelves and towering stacks of furniture, and I hand over twenty dollars at the counter. “Thanks so much, Penelope.”

“No problem. Come back soon!”

“We will,” I say automatically, and glance up at Killian as he holds the door for me. He’s not paying attention, his eyes are unfocused, and he’s whistling a tune under his breath.

The street is getting less crowded as shops start closing down for the night, but we pass a café bustling with activity and a wine bar with a line out the door. “This is crazy,” Killian says, nodding at the brightly lit sign. “Everything in Trawley shuts down at six o’clock. It turns into a ghost town.”

I shrug. “Tourists have to eat.”

He takes the rocking chair from me, even though it isn’t very heavy, and carries it to the Jeep, stowing it in the back and tucking some old towels around it so it won’t move around while we drive.

“Any other problems you’d like me to solve for you tonight?” Killian asks with a grin.

“Nope, I think that’s it.” I wait until he’s distracted with backing out of the parking space before I lean over and grab the Sharpie out of the cup holder. “But now I know what I’m going to write.”

“What? No!” He grabs my hand and then immediately drops it, as if it’s hot. “You missed your chance earlier.”

“Try to stop me,” I tease. I lean over and scrawl three words on the dashboard, not too big, but large enough that they’re definitely legible.
Now I’m a believer

“Hmmm.” Killian glances at what I’ve written, and a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “I suppose that’s acceptable.”

I look out the window, my face turned away from Killian so he’s not able to see that I can’t stop smiling.

I see Mel’s car parked at the curb outside Seth’s house as soon as Killian turns onto my street, and I realize I had completely forgotten they were going to work on the album—and that I am supposed to ask Killian to come to the beach party tomorrow night. I clench my fists and think frantically about how to bring it up as he pulls into my driveway and insists on carrying the rocking chair up to my house.

“Thanks,” I say, trying to block the screen door with my body just in case the front hallway is even messier than usual. “For carrying this, and for finding it in the first place. Kaylee would be stuck with a dumb stuffed animal from Target if it weren’t for you.”

“No problem.” He runs a hand through his shaggy hair, making it stick up in front. “So.” He shuffles his feet, seemingly at a loss for words. “I’ll see you later?”

“Definitely.”

He reaches for me in a way that looks like he’s going for a hug, but he turns it into a fist bump halfway through, slamming his knuckles into mine. “Cool,” he says, backing away and nearly falling off the front step. “Well, later.”

“Hey,” I say, my heart hammering in my chest. “Wait a second.”

He stops and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Yeah?”

I take a deep breath. “Mel and I are going to this beach party tomorrow night. Do you want to come?”

Killian tips his head to the side, and a slow smile spreads across his face. “Sure,” he says. “I’ll come. As long as . . .”

“As long as what?”

He clears his throat and looks down at his shoes. “Uh, I was just going to say as long as I don’t have to watch you kiss any other guys this time.”

All the blood rushes to my face. I actually get a little dizzy and have to reach for the iron railing.

“Actually, forget I said that,” Killian says, a red flush creeping up his neck. “But, yes. I’d love to come. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I lean against the house and watch him lope down the driveway, all long legs, big hands, and floppy hair. I stash the rocking chair inside and come back out, sinking down onto the concrete step and sending Mel and Seth a quick text to see what they’re up to.

My whole body tingles, like I’ve been up all night drinking Mountain Dew, and I can’t seem to get Killian’s smile out of my head. A few minutes later, my phone pings, but the text isn’t from Mel or Seth. It’s from Killian, a picture of something black and silver and gold. I open up the message and squint down at the screen. I can make out the words I wrote on his dashboard just half an hour ago, but something else is written above it.

Then I saw her face

Now I’m a believer

I fly out the front door and jog across the street, struggling to catch my breath as I ring the doorbell. Seth opens the door nearly a minute later, squinting against the outdoor light even though the sky is still filled with low-hanging clouds. “Vee,” he says, pushing his hair out of his face. “Hey.”

He swings the door open to reveal Mel, who’s standing right behind him, feet bare, long-sleeved Henley pushed up to her elbows. They both look slightly dazed, the way they often do when they’ve been working on new songs, each of them locked away in their inner world but somehow still connecting on the same creative frequency. The corners of Mel’s mouth turn down, and I know I’ve shattered whatever energy they had woven between the guitar and the piano.

“Everything okay?” Mel asks, pulling her hair back and securing it into a stubby ponytail.

I step inside, edging past Seth, and kick off my shoes. “Um, yeah.” I give her a meaningful look. “I did the thing you wanted me to do. For Friday.”

Mel looks puzzled for a moment and then she beams. “Oh! And?”

“Yes,” I say.

Mel nods, but she still looks distracted, like she can’t quite remember what it is we’re supposed to be talking about. Seth looks at both of us and shakes his head, turning and beckoning for us to follow him down the basement stairs. The shag carpet and wicker furniture always makes me feel like Seth’s basement is a wormhole back to the 1980s. Mel’s guitar is propped up against the giant beanbag chair, her water bottle and a Tupperware container filled with carrot sticks sitting nearby. Seth’s iPad and laptop sit on an end table next to the piano, ready to record.

“Can I hear what you’ve been working on?” I ask, flopping onto the gray sectional.

“Uh,” Seth says, looking at Mel.

“No,” Mel says firmly, flipping the laptop closed. “It’s really rough. Not even really a song—just some chords and stuff we’re trying to fit together.”

“Is it the song you played for me at your house a few weeks ago? Because that was good.”

“Oh . . . no.” Mel bends over her guitar and fiddles with the tuning pegs, her face unreadable. “That was totally different.”

Seth drops onto the piano bench and crosses his ankles. “What song?”

“Nothing.” Mel clears her throat. “Just forget it.”

An awkward silence fills the room. “Come on, you guys,” I say, still buzzing with nervous energy and desperate to find something else to pay attention to so I don’t have time to obsess over Killian. “Let me hear something. I don’t care if it’s finished or not.”

They glance at each other, and Mel finally shrugs. “Okay.”

I burrow into the couch and close my eyes as Seth plays a lilting piano intro. Mel joins him on the guitar, and the notes dance around me, a soundtrack for my thoughts as my mind drifts back to earlier today, poking around in the antique store with Killian and feeling, for once, like I belonged somewhere.

Mel misses a note and swears quietly, then brings her hand down hard across the strings. “That’s about it for now.”

“I like it,” I say. “But not as much as the one you played for me the other day.”

“Now you have to play that one, Mel,” Seth says, leaning back on the piano bench. “I want to hear it.”

Mel goes completely still for a second. “Nah,” she says, lifting the strap from her shoulder and pushing the guitar aside. “I’m kind of done for now.” Her glasses slide down her nose, and she regards me over the thick black frames. “Seth, did you hear about Vee’s summer resolution?”

Seth raises his eyebrows. “I don’t think so.”

I stare at Mel, confused. Seth is the last person in the world who would see the humor in the Twenty-Six Kisses Challenge, and not just because he used to have a thing for me—although Mel doesn’t know that, of course. The kissing challenge is exactly the kind of teenage shenanigans he hates. Why is she bringing it up?

She rambles on, ignoring me. “We decided Vee needed some motivation to move on from Mark, so she’s going to kiss a bunch of guys this summer—one from
A
to
Z
. And you’re already through . . . What letter, Vee?”

I open my mouth and shut it again, desperately trying to figure out a way to change the subject—but I’m stuck. Mel has thrown me under the bus. “
I
,” I say finally, watching Seth’s knee bounce up and down rhythmically. “I’m through
I
.”

“She’s had these fantastic kisses . . . on a Ferris wheel, at this really swanky party at her dad’s house. I’m superjealous.”

In my head, I’m screaming at Mel to shut up. Seth’s face has gone completely blank, the way it does whenever he gets so upset with the people around him that he literally can’t bear to associate with them anymore.

“Well,” he finally says, his voice flat. “That’s fun.”

I stand up, too angry to even look at Mel. I don’t understand what just happened—she basically forced me to ask Killian out and then she spilled the beans about the kissing challenge to Seth. And for what? “I’d better go home.”

Seth puts his hands over his face and rubs his eyes. “Yeah. I’m pretty wiped too,” he says. “I don’t think I can work on this any more today.”

“Okay.” Mel yawns and stretches, pushing herself deeper into the beanbag. “Do you want to watch a movie or something?”

“No.” Seth drops his hands. “I might take a nap.”

“Oh.” Mel looks at Seth, who stares down at his fingers twisted together in his lap. “Okay. I guess I’ll head out, then.” She stands up and grabs her guitar.

I unfold myself from the deep sectional and follow her up the stairs. “See you later, Seth.” He doesn’t respond.

Mel and I walk through the spotless kitchen and down the hallway lined with old family pictures. I always feel slightly creeped out in Seth’s house when he’s not right beside me. It’s immaculate and silent, like no one really lives there. I stop briefly to study the largest picture on the wall, a snapshot of Seth, his parents, and Luke. Seth once told me it was the last picture taken of all four of them before Luke died.