The Truth About Jack (Entangled Crush) (7 page)

Chapter Eight

Dakota

Monday night is Bonding Over Food Night at Luna Cove. The acronym, BOF-Night, sounds vaguely obscene, but it’s generally pretty wholesome. It’s not like anyone
has
to join us; it’s just our tradition. We’ve all got our own little kitchens, so we generally fend for ourselves. Once a week it’s nice to break bread together. I’ve avoided the ritual the last couple of weeks, afraid I’d see Jane and Neville there. Tonight I decide I can’t hide from them forever. Besides, Dad’s barbecuing, and the smell makes my mouth water.

As I approach the people gathered in a ragged circle around the fire pit, the first person I see is Jane. She’s tied her red hair back with a paisley scarf and she’s wearing a yellow maxi-dress with a huge blue sun silkscreened across her ample chest. I find myself making eye contact without deciding to. She flashes a quick, sad smile that tells me she knows everything. Jane’s like that—omniscient. It surprises me a little that River told her about this thing with Cody, though. Usually River tries to keep the details of her private life carefully hidden from her parents.

I figured being several thousand miles away would only enhance her ability to keep secrets, but apparently it’s had the opposite effect. For the first time, it occurs to me that River might really be suffering right now. Her texts and emails stopped when I didn’t answer for a week or so. I guess she got the message. Maybe she regrets what she did.

Or maybe she’s so deliriously happy with Cody that she can’t be bothered.

I look away from Jane and scan the motley crew assembled tonight. Tomo’s here, showing off a fresh tattoo of a beautiful dragon that wraps around his calf. He’s in his early twenties, an exchange student who came to study at UC Berkeley for a year and never went home. I like Tomo, though we don’t hang out much. He’s very quiet, and we never seem to know what to say to each other. Next to him is Neville, River’s dad. He’s a bear of a man, six foot three, with wild salt-and-pepper curls and sparkly, amused eyes. River’s little brothers are playing some kind of game involving water balloons and slingshots. Fran sits next to Jane sipping a beer. She’s wearing enormous earrings and ancient overalls.

Emily stands near Dad as he bastes the ribs on the grill. In her black halter dress and sandals, she looks a little overdressed for this scene, out of place. For a second I feel kind of bad about refusing to have breakfast with them the other day. Apparently they’re actually dating, not just randomly hooking up. I want to feel happy for Dad but, if I’m being honest, what I feel is way closer to suspicious. My dad’s such a trusting person, so bighearted. Mom walked all over him, and the thought of watching this dark-haired stranger tear his heart out all over again doesn’t sound appealing.

A smattering of greetings erupts from the group as I sit down, which I answer with a shy little wave. It’s funny; the last couple of weeks I haven’t felt totally comfortable at Luna Cove. I mean, this is my
home,
always has been. The cast of characters has changed some over the years, but River’s family and Fran have been here all my life. And Dad, of course. I guess finding out about River and Cody, then having to deal with the appearance of Emily, has made me pull back a little. I’m like a turtle who has been startled into its shell, and now inching back out feels like work.

Jane beckons me over, and I go sit in the chair beside her. Fran sits on Jane’s other side, still nursing her beer.

“How are you, Dakota?” Jane’s voice drips with empathy.

From out of nowhere, tears suddenly sting my eyes. I half regret having shown up for this thing at all. “Okay.”

“You heard she got into RISD, right?” Fran says, leaning forward, elbows on her knees. “Pretty exciting! I bet River and Cody can’t wait for you to move out there.”

An uncomfortable silence falls over us. So Jane hasn’t told anyone. Maybe Neville, but not the others. That makes sense. It’s not her style to go broadcasting something private like this.

“Actually,” I begin, and have to clear my throat when my voice cracks. “I’m thinking about deferring for a year. To travel.”

Fran’s eyes go wide; her forehead creases like an accordion. “Really? But I thought you—”

“That’s a great idea!” Jane interrupts, squeezing my hand. “Travel is so wonderful, especially when you’re young.”

“Yeah,” I say, trying to smile.

I turn to see Dad watching me. I’d assumed he’d be too caught up with Emily to listen in, but I can tell by the mixture of hurt and confusion on his face that he heard me. I feel unexpectedly guilty, suddenly. It’s not normal for me to keep something this important from him.

“What’s this about travel?” He tries to sound nonchalant.

I shrug and look away. “Something I’m thinking about.”

“Instead of school?”

“Not forever.” I sound defensive, even to myself. “Just for a while. Anya calls it a gap year.”

Dad turns back to the grill. “Not sure that’s such a good idea, Ducky.”

“Why not?” And why is it whenever someone uses that stupid nickname these days, they’re telling me something I don’t want to hear?

Tomo and Neville, who’ve been engaged in animated conversation, must sense the tension in the air, because they go quiet. Even the boys’ water balloon fight tapers off.

“You might get distracted, is all.” I’ve never heard this particular tone in Dad’s voice, a mixture of frost and fire.

“I will not.” I know I should drop it; this is hardly the time or place to have what should be a private discussion. Something about the moment gets my hackles up, though. “That’s just dumb.”

His back is still to me; I see his shoulders stiffen. “What’s dumb is throwing away a chance like this for no reason.”

“I’m not throwing it away!”

“Ray,” Jane begins gently, but he cuts her off.

“You’ve always wanted this.” He spins away from the grill and glares at me. “Why would you screw it up?”

I recoil, caught off guard by his flaring temper. Usually Dad’s so easygoing. Once in a while, though, if something pushes his buttons, he shows this other side—his fierce, Scary Dad side. Adrenaline courses through me as I take in his tense shoulders and his determined scowl.

“I’m not screwing it up. I just want a break is all.”

“A break?” He barks out a laugh, but there’s no warmth or humor in the sound. “From what, exactly? You’ve had all the freedom in the world your whole life. Now it’s time for a little structure, and you’re running away from it. Just like—”

He stops himself, but in my head, I finish the sentence for him:
just like your mom.
She supposedly loved her year at RISD, yet for some reason she never went back. Instead she went to Spain, met a boy, got distracted. Her education got postponed indefinitely. Now she’s pretty much a failure at everything: failed artist, failed hippie, failed mom. Maybe she’s a really good receptionist, though. Dad comparing me to her—even if he stopped himself before he said it—pisses me off.

I force myself to breathe. “Lots of people take a year off.”

“But you’ve had seventeen years off already!” He shakes his head. The look of disappointment on his face pushes me over the edge.

“You want to know why I don’t want to go to Rhode Island right this second?” My voice rises in a challenge.

“Please,” he replies, his tone sarcastic. “Let me in on that little secret, Dakota.”

“Because that’s where my boyfriend is having sex with my best friend!” The tears erupt now, held back for too long. They blur my vision and I run blindly away from the circle of shocked faces, tearing up the hill to my yurt.

…

Jack

There she is.

As I walk into Café Vida, seeing her curled up on the couch by the window almost knocks the wind out of me. I get that sick-happy feeling in the pit of my stomach, half drunk, half nauseous; it takes conscious effort to breathe. Stupid, since obviously I’m here to catch a glimpse of her. It’s not like her presence is actually surprising. Still.

She’s wearing an orange and yellow striped T-shirt and cutoffs, golden-brown legs poking out from the frayed edge of her shorts. Her hair looks damp, like she recently showered. She has earbuds in and her laptop open, a mug of something steaming on the coffee table in front of her.

As I walk toward the counter, I touch the stubbornly unruly shock of hair that always sticks up, reassuring myself that I forced it into submission this morning. Her eyes find mine and I have to force my face not to do anything stupid. I try a tentative smile, one I can easily turn into a yawn if she looks repelled. She smiles back, though. Her grin has more warmth than my stiff little effort at friendliness probably warrants.

Come on, Sauvage. Be cool. You’ve got this.

Joaquin and I ended up talking for a couple hours yesterday. It was much less awkward than I would have expected. He had plenty to say on the subject of hot girls.
Don’t show you’re interested. Compliment her hair. Don’t try to be funny, or she’ll put you in the friend zone and you’ll never escape. You’ll have to go shoe shopping and act all mellow when she talks about other guys.
Now, though, his advice runs together into a confusing mess. It reminds me of the time Attila tried to teach me Romanian. When he tested my conversation skills, so many words tried to come out of my mouth all at once, I ended up repeating one phrase over and over:
acest domn va plati pentru tot.
This gentleman will pay for everything.

Miles is working the counter as usual. God, am I ever going to get away from this guy? He’s like a bad dream I can’t stop having.

“What’s up, man?” Miles eyes me with that irritating expression that’s perpetually stuck on his face, like he’s just heard something hilariously embarrassing about me and he’s trying not to laugh. Irrationally, his tats and lip piercing bug me more than ever. He’s obviously destined for four years of frat parties followed by a boring corporate career. Why does he insist on pretending he’s edgy?

“Nothing much.” I stuff my hands into my pockets to hide the fact that they’re balled into fists.

“What can I get you?”

Before I manage to answer, I see Miles’s gaze slide sideways, his attention drawn by someone behind me. His face loses its antagonistic smirk and morphs into amiable. I feel my heart swoop like a hawk diving for prey when she speaks.

“Can I get another chai?” Her voice is lower than you’d expect from a girl that small, huskier.

I turn my head just enough to catch her in my peripheral vision.

“I’m sorry, did I interrupt your order?” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. She’s like a fairy, so small and golden.

I turn to face her. “No! Not at all.”

“Go ahead. You were here first.”

“Please, your chai takes priority.” This comes out way goofier than it sounded in my head.

She smiles. Dimples pop on either side of her mouth. Jesus, actual dimples. Adorable. She’s way out of my league.

Miles shoots me a look so cold I almost snort with laughter. Then he grins at her and hurries to fetch her chai.

“You should try the scones.” She nods at a plate piled high behind the glass. “The raspberry ones? They’re delicious.”

“Huh. Maybe I will. Our cook makes raspberry muffins; they’re my favorite.”

One blond eyebrow arches when I say
our cook
. Typical me—I never think about the kinds of luxuries other people go without, never consider how pretentious it sounds, dropping that stuff into conversation.
Our cook. My chauffeur.
God, what’s wrong with me? After Lucy, I’m paranoid girls will like me for my money, yet I can’t seem to keep myself from peppering casual conversation with little tip-offs like this.

Miles comes bustling back, proffering a steaming glass mug and a biscotti. “Here you go. Thought you might like a little treat too.”

Little treat!
Like she’s a dog. Man, I might suck at this stuff, but at least I can count on this guy to make me look cool by comparison.

“Thanks.” The way she says it, I can tell she doesn’t really want the biscotti, but she’s too polite to reject his offering outright. I resist the urge to punch the air.

“You live around here?” I try to sound natural and easy, not a pompous ass who brags about his family’s cook, but someone normal enough to make small talk at a café without having a heart attack. Sadly, my heart has other ideas. It’s pounding like I just sprinted up the super steep hill to our house. I’m pretty sure if it beats any harder I’ll go into cardiac arrest. That’s always attractive. Let’s hope she digs the grimacing, convulsing look.

“Pretty close to here.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. It’s a perfect ear, tiny and seashell pink. “What about you?”

I start to answer, then close my mouth abruptly. There are multiple issues with admitting the simple truth. First, it could lead to me explaining about Sauvage Vineyards, which I very much don’t want to do. I know from experience when people find out my family owns SV they’re like,
Ohhh, I see.
What they think they see varies, depending on the person, but it’s never good. Some, like Lucy, get this impressed, avid, interested look, like they just found out I’m related to royalty (which I am, I guess, on Mom’s side, but only very distantly, and only Scottish royalty, so whatever). Others get this dismissive, sarcastic look like they’ve already decided I’m way too rich and spoiled to understand the stuff regular people go through. Either way, I can’t stand the thought of Dakota judging me based on SV and its reputation as a mega-successful winery.

Then there’s the other reason, namely that Geyserville has like, less than nine hundred people, last I checked, and so the chances of both me and “Alejandro’s cousin” living there are kind of slim, a coincidence that’s likely to raise alarm bells. She’s too shrewd not to get suspicious.

The other thing making this situation acutely uncomfortable is Miles. He’s standing there at the counter, wiping it down with a damp towel like he’s just minding his own business. He looks at us sideways every few seconds, though, and I can practically see his ears swiveling toward us like a cat’s.