brilliant creative who’s been dealt a whole lot of crap in his lifetime, and yet he’s used it for good. He sells his art all over the world. He’s humble, lives a small life on this tiny island. My grandpa saw a lesson in the way Harve lived his life, in the way he saw the world. He wanted that for me, too.”
Harve owns Trash or Treasure?
The kick drum of my heart booms louder, beats a truth into my veins that causes my body to heat from the inside-out. Drew didn’t bring me here to save me from boredom. He brought me here to show me what his grandpa had showed him.
I exhale, my throat tight as Drew’s hip brushes against my shin.
“Sometimes a fresh start means taking what’s already there and making it into something new. Something functional or even beautiful.”
My bony kneecaps press into his hard abdomen, our eyes, level, and I adjust for him to step closer. I feel the intake of his next breath, and the one after that.
“I’m sorry for being such a horrible assistant today. You’ve helped me so much and I…”
“You’ve helped me too.”
I can’t quite believe that, not when he’s literarily rescued me more times that I care to count.
Drew combs a hand through his maple-brown hair, and suddenly my fingers are alive, itching to touch what’s felt off limits until now. I don’t ask, I just reach. Drew stands stalk-still, like prey targeted by a hunter, his eyes focused on my face, then dipping to my lips. I roll a lock of his shaggy hair between my forefinger and thumb. It’s softer than I imagined, sleeker too. But Drew’s silence and heavy gaze make me wonder if I’ve overstepped. Slowly, I lower my hand.
Drew catches my wrist mid-air.
Before I can utter a single phrase, Drew’s mouth is a whisper away. The feather-light graze of his lips against mine makes my skin tingle and my toes curl. This kiss is unexpected, but it’s not unwanted. Not at all unwanted. I tilt my head to the side, invite him closer.
He reaches around to my back, slides me forward to the edge of the table and—
Drew breaks away from me, the heat between us gone in an instant. He’s bent in half, his left arm cradled by his right, his body crumpled in on itself. With eyelids pinched tightly, his face matches my dusty white Converse.
“Drew!” I hop off the bench onto wobbly legs. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?”
“Keys. Pocket.” He grunts out through clenched teeth. “Drive me home.”
I fumble instead for my phone. I should call 911 or maybe I should run and grab Harve or—
“Joss! My keys. Just…get me home.”
I grab the warm metal key ring from his pocket and run to Drew’s car. I pull it up to the pavilion in record-setting time and pop open the passenger side door with my foot. He slides into the seat, a grimace set on his mouth.
Drew’s silent, ashen face twists my belly into knots.
“I’m driving you to the medical clinic.” The only one on Lopez Island.
He shakes his head, eyes half-shut, head pressed to the back of his seat. “No. To the house, please .”
Only a guy like him would say “please” in a moment like this, but it works. He wins. Against the nagging in my gut, I do as he says. I drive him home.
Thirty minutes after popping a white pill from a brown prescription bottle, Drew’s color returns to his face, the rigidity in his body relaxing into a familiar ease.
I make him a sandwich, peanut butter and jelly, since the groceries here are slim pickings. But I need him to eat something , I need him to show me I made the right decision in taking him home. That he’s not about to keel over and die.
“Joss, sit down. I’m fine now.”
I don’t sit. I stay standing. And then I pace.
“What the heck was that back there? I feel like my heart is still a second away from exploding.”
His lips twitch. “Good to know I can affect your heart.”
I try my hardest not to give in to his smile, but he knows how to get to me. And right now, I want to hate him
Harve owns Trash or Treasure?
The kick drum of my heart booms louder, beats a truth into my veins that causes my body to heat from the inside-out. Drew didn’t bring me here to save me from boredom. He brought me here to show me what his grandpa had showed him.
I exhale, my throat tight as Drew’s hip brushes against my shin.
“Sometimes a fresh start means taking what’s already there and making it into something new. Something functional or even beautiful.”
My bony kneecaps press into his hard abdomen, our eyes, level, and I adjust for him to step closer. I feel the intake of his next breath, and the one after that.
“I’m sorry for being such a horrible assistant today. You’ve helped me so much and I…”
“You’ve helped me too.”
I can’t quite believe that, not when he’s literarily rescued me more times that I care to count.
Drew combs a hand through his maple-brown hair, and suddenly my fingers are alive, itching to touch what’s felt off limits until now. I don’t ask, I just reach. Drew stands stalk-still, like prey targeted by a hunter, his eyes focused on my face, then dipping to my lips. I roll a lock of his shaggy hair between my forefinger and thumb. It’s softer than I imagined, sleeker too. But Drew’s silence and heavy gaze make me wonder if I’ve overstepped. Slowly, I lower my hand.
Drew catches my wrist mid-air.
Before I can utter a single phrase, Drew’s mouth is a whisper away. The feather-light graze of his lips against mine makes my skin tingle and my toes curl. This kiss is unexpected, but it’s not unwanted. Not at all unwanted. I tilt my head to the side, invite him closer.
He reaches around to my back, slides me forward to the edge of the table and—
Drew breaks away from me, the heat between us gone in an instant. He’s bent in half, his left arm cradled by his right, his body crumpled in on itself. With eyelids pinched tightly, his face matches my dusty white Converse.
“Drew!” I hop off the bench onto wobbly legs. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?”
“Keys. Pocket.” He grunts out through clenched teeth. “Drive me home.”
I fumble instead for my phone. I should call 911 or maybe I should run and grab Harve or—
“Joss! My keys. Just…get me home.”
I grab the warm metal key ring from his pocket and run to Drew’s car. I pull it up to the pavilion in record-setting time and pop open the passenger side door with my foot. He slides into the seat, a grimace set on his mouth.
Drew’s silent, ashen face twists my belly into knots.
“I’m driving you to the medical clinic.” The only one on Lopez Island.
He shakes his head, eyes half-shut, head pressed to the back of his seat. “No. To the house, please .”
Only a guy like him would say “please” in a moment like this, but it works. He wins. Against the nagging in my gut, I do as he says. I drive him home.
Thirty minutes after popping a white pill from a brown prescription bottle, Drew’s color returns to his face, the rigidity in his body relaxing into a familiar ease.
I make him a sandwich, peanut butter and jelly, since the groceries here are slim pickings. But I need him to eat something , I need him to show me I made the right decision in taking him home. That he’s not about to keel over and die.
“Joss, sit down. I’m fine now.”
I don’t sit. I stay standing. And then I pace.
“What the heck was that back there? I feel like my heart is still a second away from exploding.”
His lips twitch. “Good to know I can affect your heart.”
I try my hardest not to give in to his smile, but he knows how to get to me. And right now, I want to hate him
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