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Authors: Heather Lyons
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lot? Comparisons, I mean?”
He gives a small laugh. “Every day.”
“Huh. You seem so different from one another. You even look totally different.”
Surprise softens his features. “You think? Most people have a very difficult time telling us apart.”
I blush again, realizing my slip. “It’s just, uh, from what I could tell so far, you seem different from one another.”
Kellan studies me intently for a moment. I try not to squirm. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for the tardy sort.”
“And you are?”
He chuckles. “Occasionally.”
I laugh, and all of the crummy feelings plaguing me since waking up this morning evaporate.
He grins at me mischievously. “So. Here we are. At school.”
“Yes, but not in class,” I offer, remembering my foolish words from Friday night.
“Hmm . . . .” He crosses his arms across his chest, tilting his head to the side. “You’re right.”
Out of the blue, I become aware of a very strong, distinctive pull toward him, almost as if there’s a cord connected between the two of us. It tugs at me in strong, mouth-watering ways. Okay, Chloe. Breathe . “So, what class do you have next?” I ask, trying to sound casual.
His lips curve upwards. “What would you say if I told you I don’t have any more classes today?”
“Surely you’re not planning on ditching!” And then I want to groan, because HELLO. Do I sound like the ultimate goody-goody or what?
“Why not?” And then, after a short pause, much more seriously—”Come with me.”
Positive I misheard him, I offer a sophisticated, “Huh?”
He doesn’t repeat anything. Instead, he holds out a hand.
And I take it.
When his fingers curve over mine, it strikes me how right his hand in mine feels. Like our fingers are meant to fit together.
Rather than discussing destinations or the insanity of our actions, I lean back into the warm leather seat of his car and ask, “This yours?”
With a completely straight face, he says, “It’s stolen.”
“Just this morning, or late last night?”
An eyebrow quirks up. “Yesterday afternoon.”
I laugh as he fiddles with the stereo. “So. Why yellow?”
“Why not?”
“They say that a car’s color says a lot about its owner.”
“Is that so?” He glances over at me, amused as he shifts gears. “What do you think yellow says about me?”
“Hmm. I would say that yellow indicates a need for . . . being recognized.”
He laughs out loud at that. “Is that what I’m doing?”
“Maybe,” I smile, although it’s obvious he doesn’t have to seek attention. The last few days have shown me that attention follows him whether he wants it or not.
He surprises me when he asks, “Your car is blue, right?”
“How did you know that?”
He ignores the question and asks instead, “What does blue say about you?”
“Maybe it means I’m looking for peace.”
“Really.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Well, since you think we’re so different, what do you think my brother’s car’s color means? His is white.”
I picture the SUV I’ve seen several times already. Grappling for something that won’t shriek, I love your brother, I offer, “White means . . . a need to blend in.”
Kellan glances at me, somewhat surprised for a second, before snorting. “He’d find that interesting.”
“Is it accurate?”
“I guess you’d have to ask him, wouldn’t you?”
I wish I could. Yet, here I am instead with Jonah’s twin, heading to parts unknown, and my tightly leashed life suddenly feels less restrained than it has in a long time. And I know it has a lot to do with the guy sitting in the seat next to me. Which is crazy, crazy, CRAZY, because it ought to be Jonah, yet it’s not.
A quick glance at the speedometer tells me Kellan’s driving fast for rain. But rather than being alarmed, I’m not bothered in the least because, for some bizarre reason, I completely trust his instincts. I don’t know when it appeared, but it’s here all the
He gives a small laugh. “Every day.”
“Huh. You seem so different from one another. You even look totally different.”
Surprise softens his features. “You think? Most people have a very difficult time telling us apart.”
I blush again, realizing my slip. “It’s just, uh, from what I could tell so far, you seem different from one another.”
Kellan studies me intently for a moment. I try not to squirm. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for the tardy sort.”
“And you are?”
He chuckles. “Occasionally.”
I laugh, and all of the crummy feelings plaguing me since waking up this morning evaporate.
He grins at me mischievously. “So. Here we are. At school.”
“Yes, but not in class,” I offer, remembering my foolish words from Friday night.
“Hmm . . . .” He crosses his arms across his chest, tilting his head to the side. “You’re right.”
Out of the blue, I become aware of a very strong, distinctive pull toward him, almost as if there’s a cord connected between the two of us. It tugs at me in strong, mouth-watering ways. Okay, Chloe. Breathe . “So, what class do you have next?” I ask, trying to sound casual.
His lips curve upwards. “What would you say if I told you I don’t have any more classes today?”
“Surely you’re not planning on ditching!” And then I want to groan, because HELLO. Do I sound like the ultimate goody-goody or what?
“Why not?” And then, after a short pause, much more seriously—”Come with me.”
Positive I misheard him, I offer a sophisticated, “Huh?”
He doesn’t repeat anything. Instead, he holds out a hand.
And I take it.
When his fingers curve over mine, it strikes me how right his hand in mine feels. Like our fingers are meant to fit together.
Rather than discussing destinations or the insanity of our actions, I lean back into the warm leather seat of his car and ask, “This yours?”
With a completely straight face, he says, “It’s stolen.”
“Just this morning, or late last night?”
An eyebrow quirks up. “Yesterday afternoon.”
I laugh as he fiddles with the stereo. “So. Why yellow?”
“Why not?”
“They say that a car’s color says a lot about its owner.”
“Is that so?” He glances over at me, amused as he shifts gears. “What do you think yellow says about me?”
“Hmm. I would say that yellow indicates a need for . . . being recognized.”
He laughs out loud at that. “Is that what I’m doing?”
“Maybe,” I smile, although it’s obvious he doesn’t have to seek attention. The last few days have shown me that attention follows him whether he wants it or not.
He surprises me when he asks, “Your car is blue, right?”
“How did you know that?”
He ignores the question and asks instead, “What does blue say about you?”
“Maybe it means I’m looking for peace.”
“Really.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Well, since you think we’re so different, what do you think my brother’s car’s color means? His is white.”
I picture the SUV I’ve seen several times already. Grappling for something that won’t shriek, I love your brother, I offer, “White means . . . a need to blend in.”
Kellan glances at me, somewhat surprised for a second, before snorting. “He’d find that interesting.”
“Is it accurate?”
“I guess you’d have to ask him, wouldn’t you?”
I wish I could. Yet, here I am instead with Jonah’s twin, heading to parts unknown, and my tightly leashed life suddenly feels less restrained than it has in a long time. And I know it has a lot to do with the guy sitting in the seat next to me. Which is crazy, crazy, CRAZY, because it ought to be Jonah, yet it’s not.
A quick glance at the speedometer tells me Kellan’s driving fast for rain. But rather than being alarmed, I’m not bothered in the least because, for some bizarre reason, I completely trust his instincts. I don’t know when it appeared, but it’s here all the
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