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  His breathing was ragged, and his eyes were closed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get so carried away.”

  I was somewhat breathless, too. “I only—you know, stopped, pulled back, because I heard you. You thought STOP really loud, you know that?”

  He looked at me for one solemn moment, and then with a shout of laughter, threw himself back onto the sand.

  “What? What’s funny?” I was just a tad defensive.

  He was still lying back, shaking with laughter. But I could feel that it wasn’t derisive or mocking; rather it was joyous.

  Finally he lifted his head and looked at me, still sitting as he had left me. He dropped his head and chuckled again. “You. That you exist. That I found you. That I…” He raised his head again to look at me, but this time the laughter was gone. “That you let me kiss you. That you trust me.”

  I had no words to reply, and the feelings rolling off him were too strong for me to comprehend at the moment. He sat up slowly, his gaze never leaving my face.

  “Are you still listening to me? You know, like, listening, listening?”

  “I’m… not getting precise words from you. Not complete thoughts, because I’m tuning into what you’re saying verbally. That’s normal. But I’m still getting waves from you.”

  “Waves?”

  “Yeah, even if I’m doing a good job of blocking actual thoughts, sometimes I still get these waves of feelings from people. Especially if they’re particularly strong feelings.”

  He smiled broadly. “And what kinds of waves are you getting from me right now?”

  I giggled. “Are you sure you want me to tell you?”

  “No, on second thought, there are some things better left unsaid, right?” He stood up then and stretched. The sun was sinking ever lower behind us, and the puffs of breeze actually carried some chill. “Come on. I’d better get you home before the gators come out for their night time feed.” At my expression of abject terror, he laughed again. “Kidding, just kidding.”

  He pulled me to my feet then, squeezing my hand as he gazed down at me. Hands still linked, we set out for home.

  As we drove toward my house, Michael glanced at me with a twinkle in his eye.

  “So,” he announced, “I just remembered that I actually do have some more questions for you.”

  I might have been worried if I didn’t hear the direction of his thoughts. I looked at him expectantly. “Okay, shoot.”

  “Do you always go by Tasmyn, or does anyone use a nickname?”

  I laughed. “I can’t believe that’s what you want to know. Okay, well, most people just call me Tasmyn, but my parents call me Tas sometimes. I answer to either one.”

  He nodded seriously. “Good to know. And by the way, you didn’t ask, but I only answer to Michael. My parents named me after an archangel, and they felt it was only right that I use the whole name all the time.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “So no Mike or Mikey or Mick?”

  He shook his head. “Never. You said you moved around a lot. Where have you lived?”

  I cast my eyes upward thinking of the list. “Hmm… well, you know about Wisconsin… going backwards before that it was Texas, Massachusetts, California, Missouri, Texas again, Delaware, Washington State, Minnesota, Virginia…”

  “Wow,” he whistled. “How come you’ve moved so much? Is your family military?”

  “No, but my mom says we might as well be, with as much as we relocate. My dad is an engineering troubleshooter, and he works for a company with lots of different holdings, all over the country. They send him to a new location every time one of the plants is having a problem, or if they’re getting ready to update systems, stuff like that. It works out to be every two years or so, but sometimes less, sometimes more, depending on the work needed.”

  “Huh.” Michael looked impressed, I thought. “That makes it tough on you and your mom.”

  “I guess, sometimes. My mom is a freelance artist, so her work can be done wherever we live. And I just kind of go where they tell me we’re going.”

  “Still.” Michael shook his head again. “Sometimes I wish I could get away from central Florida, but I like knowing where my home is, having those roots.” He reached over to take my hand and squeeze it gently. A steady warmth flowed into me.

  I was still glowing when we pulled up to my house. I turned to Michael. “Would it be asking too much for you to come inside and meet my parents? Do you have time?”

  Michael pulled up on the brake and turned off the car. “Absolutely. I would love to meet them. And I think it’s a good idea. I want them to trust me and feel comfortable when you’re with me.”

  I led the way through the dwindling light to the front door and went inside. I could smell my mother’s spaghetti sauce from the kitchen.

  “Mom!” I called.

  “In here,” she answered, her voice coming from the back of the house.

  Michael followed me into the kitchen. My mother was at the sink, rinsing a pot, and she looked up when we entered.

  “Tasmyn—oh!” She saw that I wasn’t alone, and I felt her surprise as she turned, drying her hands. “Hello. You must be Michael.”

  I had my mental guard down with Michael, and now it wasn’t back up quite yet. I could clearly hear my mother’s flustered thoughts: I’m not expecting company! Did she invite him for dinner? She looks happy, though… so good to see her really smile… has she ever been happy like this?

  I decided to be merciful. “Mom, I wanted you and Daddy to meet Michael. Is he here?”

  She smiled at us, almost shyly. “Yes, he’s sitting outside, in the back. Why don’t you go on out and see him?”

  My father was sitting in his lawn chair, a book draped over his lap. He turned as we came outside. I saw his eyebrows rise when he spotted Michael.

  I plunged right into it. “Daddy, this is Michael Sawyer. He wanted to meet you.” I wondered if there were something else to say, but I couldn’t think of anything.

  My dad was on his feet, holding out his hand. “Michael. Good to meet you. Rob Vaughn.”

  They shook hands in that sober and purposeful way that men have, and I tried to hide my smile. My father was attempting friendliness and welcome, but what I was feeling was suspicion.

  “Thank you, sir, for letting Tasmyn come to the park with me today. I appreciate it.”

  “Well, thank you for bringing her home safely. So you live here in King?”

  Michael smiled. “Actually, we live right outside town. My parents own a nursery.”

  My father nodded. “Well, that’s wonderful. Good business to be in down here. You’re a junior?” Mentally I rolled my eyes. I knew I’d told them Michael was a year ahead of me.

  Michael shook his head. “No, sir, I’m a senior this year.”

  My dad’s eyes widened. “That right? You making plans for next year then?”

  I decided the third degree had gone on long enough. “Daddy, you can quiz Michael another time. I’m sure he needs to get home. His parents are expecting him.”

  My father waved us off, “Sure, okay. We’ll talk another time, Michael. Looking forward to it. Nice to meet you. Thanks for stopping in.”

  My mother, having recovered from her surprise, stuck her head out the door.

  “Rob, Tasmyn, dinner’s ready. Michael, would you like to join us? It would only take a moment to add another plate to the table.”

  Michael hesitated, and then shook his head again. “Thanks, really, Mrs. Vaughn, but my mom and dad will be waiting for me to eat, and I have a test in English tomorrow that I should study for.”

  My mom smiled. I knew she was relieved. “Well, another time, maybe?”

  Michael smiled back at her, and I saw my mom’s mouth drop a little. Apparently, susceptibility to Michael’s charm wasn’t limited to one generation of the Vaughn family.

  I walked Michael to the door and out onto the porch. “Thanks for a beautiful afternoon,” I said quietly.

  “And you didn�
��t even get eaten by any horrible creatures,” he teased. He glanced at the door, but my parents were still in the kitchen. I could hear them rattling pots and pans.

  Michael reached his hands to my shoulders and drew me near. He leaned his forehead against mine, and I closed my eyes, letting my mental block drift away.

  Thanks, Tasmyn. You’ll never know what this afternoon meant to me. Your trust in me… it means the world. May I kiss you good night?

  My mouth curved and instead of answering, I moved my face up, so that my lips touched his. He held my face very gently and kissed me with such heartbreaking tenderness that when he released me, I was breathless.

  He traced one finger around the curve of my cheek down to my chin, and then kissed me very briefly again.

  “Good night,” he whispered. “See you in the morning.”

  Friday was a day I thought would never end. I had my first three-minute speech due in the class of the same name, and since I hate public speaking, this was not my idea of fun. Somehow I got through it with dignity intact. The teacher gave me the same nod he did the rest of the class, so I assumed I hadn’t bombed completely.

  Michael and I ate lunch inside again, and Anne teased him about wanting to keep me to himself. He didn’t deny it; he only laughed and rolled his eyes at her.

  “Of course I want her all to myself. We have a lot to talk about, stuff to catch up on. You,” he pointed at her. “I’ve known since we were in kindergarten. We’re talked out.”

  Anne stuck out her tongue at him but winked at me behind his back. Michael shook his head in mock disapproval.

  “Sorry about her. She’s always been incorrigible.”

  Anne laughed. “He’s just still mad that I won the hamster care award in first grade.”

  “Hey! I had that thing sewed up until you took Mr. Whiskers home and gave him a makeover.”

  “See?” Anne looked at me triumphantly. “I rest my case.”

  “Whatever.” Michael deliberately turned his back on her and addressed me. “So… would you be interested in coming out to the nursery tomorrow? I have to work in the morning, but I could pick you up at lunchtime, and you could spend the afternoon with me. I think you’ll like it… and my parents want to meet you.”

  It had all sounded so promising until that last part.

  “Why? Why do your parents want to meet me?” Panic drove my voice up several octaves.

  Michael remained serenely calm as he took a bite of a huge lunchmeat sandwich. He regarded me with amused eyes as he chewed and swallowed.

  Anne popped her head around his back. “Don’t worry, Tasmyn, Michael’s parents are the absolute best. I love them. His mom is so cool.”

  I wasn’t worried about loving them. I was worried about them loving me.

  Michael had already figured that out. “They want to meet you because I talk about you all the time at home. They’re curious. And they will adore you. Trust me.”

  “You talk about me? All the time?”

  “Pretty much.” He shrugged. “I talk to my parents. I tell them things. If that makes me weird, well…” He spread out his hands in a take-it-or-leave-it gesture.

  “That’s not what I mean. But what if they expect to meet the girl you’ve been talking about all week?”

  Michael’s eyes narrowed and he frowned. “Now I’m confused. What are you talking about?”

  I sighed, patiently and sadly. “What have you been telling them about me?”

  Brow still furrowed, he considered. “Just…good stuff. The truth. I told them that you’re gorgeous, smart, friendly, kind… funny…”

  I nodded knowingly. “I was afraid of that. See, now they’re going to expect me to be what you said. And just think of how disappointed they’re going to be when I turn out to be plain and ordinary.” I thought for a minute, biting my lip. “Of course, you’ve known me less than a week, so maybe they’ll realize that your descriptions weren’t exactly dependable.”

  “I doubt it. They trust me.”

  I blew out a breath. “Point taken. I’ll try to relax and be charming and gracious. What should I wear, though?”

  “Why would that matter?”

  Anne leaned around Michael again. Obviously she had been following the conversation more closely than I had thought. She shook her head and pointed at Michael. “He’s a male. He has no clue about these things. I can help you, though. If there’s room for me in Michael’s car today and if you don’t mind me inviting myself over, I’ll come home with you after school and we’ll put you all together.’

  To say I didn’t mind would have been a gross understatement. One of my fondest dreams, borne out of dozens of teen novels and sitcoms, involved having a girlfriend come over to play dress up and make up. I had spent the majority of my teenage years doing that by myself, and the idea of living my fantasy was thrilling. I couldn’t even modulate my excitement as I answered her.

  “Really? You’d do that?”

  Anne laughed. “Of course. It’ll be fun.”

  I could feel her anticipation. She was just as excited as I was, and that made me even happier. And Michael was looking at me with a combination of pride and smugness. I knew even without listening to him that he was glad I was making friends.

  When I walked into History after lunch, I wasn’t thinking of much beyond my afternoon plans. Which could have explained why I found myself sprawled flat on my face, books scattered, between the desks.

  Or it might have had something to do with the elegantly sandaled foot that was placed directly in my path.

  My face burning with embarrassment, I struggled to my feet and pulled the closest books toward me. There was a low level of derisive laughter and a buzz I knew was the thought noise of my classmates. In her seat just behind me, Nell lounged, one foot crossed over the other, a small mocking smile playing on her lips.

  “Really, Tasmyn,” she murmured, just loud enough for me to hear her, “you must be more careful. I see you on the floor more than I see you on your feet.”

  The day before I had been able to play verbal war games with Nell, but today that power was lost. I glared at her in silent fury and sat down at my desk. Mr. Frame entered the room at that moment, and I was forgotten as he announced an impromptu Friday quiz.

  “We’ve been talking about how the Civil War actually had its roots in the earliest days of our country. I want you to take just one of those causes and write me a one page essay on how that cause evolved to help bring about the war. You’ll have 30 minutes.” He looked around at the room of dismayed faces. “And people, I don’t think I need to say it, but no open books during this quiz.”

  There were groans all over the room, but I had already pulled out a piece of notebook paper and begun writing. This was my type of quiz; I could express myself without worrying about ambiguously written multiple-choice questions.

  I covered one page and half of another in about fifteen minutes and carried it to the front. Mr. Frame grinned at me. “You didn’t groan,” he observed to me in a low voice. “I think you were the only one.”

  I smiled back and replied in the same quiet tone. “I like this kind of quiz. I only hope I didn’t write too much.”

  His eyes scanned the pages. “I’m looking forward to reading it.” He winked at me as I returned to my seat.

  We only had time for our weekend assignment of reading by the time all the quizzes were completed and turned in. Trig went by relatively quickly, if painfully; I sensed my peppy teacher’s enthusiasm for my talent in Math was diminishing quickly.

  By the time I made it to my locker, both Michael and Anne were waiting for me. “I’m hurrying,” I promised.

  “Don’t worry. If I’m late for work, I’ll just blame you. That’ll make my parents’ expectation more realistic, right?”

  I grimaced at him and ran my eyes over my books. I needed Trig and History; I’d already finished my English and French reading, and nothing was due in Speech or Chemistry.

  Slamming my loc
ker shut, I turned. “Okay, all set.”

  Anne climbed into the back seat of the Mustang and flipped the seat back into position for me. “Are you sure you don’t want sit in the front?” I asked for the third time.

  Michael sighed in exasperation. “Tasmyn, let her sit there. I want you next to me.” As he turned to back out, I glanced down at the gearshift. He followed my gaze. “I was thinking that maybe tomorrow afternoon we could work on your driving lesson. Lots of country roads out by us.”

  Anne let out a squeal in the backseat. “Tas, you don’t drive?”

  “I’ve never driven manual, only automatic,” I corrected.

  “Oh, you’ll have fun,” she assured me. “My dad made me learn to drive on his truck. And Michael is probably a better teacher than my dad.”

  We pulled up in front of my house, and I slipped out, then moved the seat so Anne could exit. She started up to the porch. “I’ll just wait up here while you two say good-bye,” she said, looking at us meaningfully. “Make it snappy, Michael.”

  I leaned back into the car. “Have fun at work.” I was still too new at this to initiate any physical contact.

  Michael smiled at me. Keeping one hand on the wheel, he used the other to frame my face and leaned in to kiss me quickly. My heart thumped in response as I heard him think Wish I could stay… tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. I grinned back at him.

  “Yup, tomorrow,” I whispered. He laughed before he stole one last kiss.

  “Go,” he instructed. “Before Anne comes back and drags you out. See you tomorrow. Have fun!”

  Other than the most obvious surprise—my special talent—I had been a fairly predictable child for my parents up until our move to King. But this last week had definitely tested my mother’s capacity for absorbing shock. I thought of this with some amusement when I went into her office, Anne trailing in my wake.

  My mom was sitting at her drawing board, with several pages pinned up on the walls around her. She was completely caught up in her work and had barely noticed that I was even home.