Somebody Else's Sky (Something in the Way #2)(69)

She wheeled her bike over to us, the chain clinking.

I nodded at the plastic bag hanging from her handlebar. "Shopping for a birthday present."

Lake's eyes lit up. "You remembered," she said before cinching her eyebrows. "Or I guess Tiffany told you."

June ninth. Lake's eighteenth birthday. Couldn't forget today if I tried. "She didn't tell me."

Either she blushed or she'd gotten too much sun. The pink tip of her nose and the bridge had a light smattering of freckles. I had the urge to run my thumb over them, to spend my afternoon covering her head to toe in sunscreen. "What're you guys doing here?" she asked.

Gary thumbed the coffee table in the bed of the truck. "Delivering some furniture."

"For who?"

He nodded at one of the houses. "This lady bought it from us. We're meeting her husband."

Lake looked around me. "You guys made that?"

"Well, Manning did."

"We did it together," I said.

"But you designed it." He grinned. "I'm just an extra pair of hands. And I'm making sure you don't scare off your customers."

It was just a table, not much to it except that I'd oxidized and stained the wood and added some metal detailing on the legs and corners. I'd built one for our upstairs neighbor, and his girlfriend's mom wanted one, too. The money wasn't much but every little bit helped and I had the time. I glanced over my shoulder and wished it was more. Something worth looking at. 

"It's so good," she said. "I can't believe you can do all that. I knew you could make things but not that you were . . . creative."

As I went to speak, I realized I'd been holding my breath. "I'm good with my hands, that's all."

Her cheeks went pinker as she tucked some hair behind her ear. "Oh. Y-yes. I . . ."

I had to look away. She was way too cute when she was flustered. "Your friends left you," I pointed out.

"They'll be back."

A car pulled up behind ours, and Gary craned his neck over the top of the truck. "I think this is them. I'll go see."

Lake set her bike on the sidewalk and came to stand right by me. The threads of her cut-off shorts drifted against my jeans. She lifted her hair off her neck and fanned herself, showing me the delicate curves of her shoulders. She was eighteen. Fuck. Never had there been a greater test of my will.

"You're always saying at dinner how you're looking for work. Why don't you just make things?" she asked.

I blinked slowly, trying to pull myself from the trance her nearness always put me in. "What kinds of things?" I asked, hearing the rasp in my voice.

She reached behind me. I could've stared at her all day, except that she got too close, her cheek right by my face, smelling like lemon and Coppertone. I could almost convince myself I detected watermelon on her lips. I turned to watch her small hand glide along the table's edge.

"These things," she said. "The wood is so cool. Smooth."

Her short, bare nails were pale on her tan fingers. I'd never seen her bite them except her thumb sometimes when she was nervous. She had hangnails and golden hair on her knuckles and more freckles.

"Don't you normally work today?" I asked, changing the subject for my own sanity.

She chewed her bottom lip, bringing her hand back to her side. "I ditched. Val says you don't work on your birthday."

If it were anyone else, I would've laughed and told them to suck it up. Lake not working on her birthday made me happy, though. Part of me didn't even like the idea of her working at all. She should just have fun, shop with her friends, ride bikes along the beach, at least until college started. "So you're getting into trouble instead."

She smiled a little. "What trouble? I'm just talking to you."

"Exactly."

"Maybe you're the one getting into trouble," she said.

I tried to enjoy the way she blushed as she flirted with me. The way the color of her eyes deepened. But a thought nagged the back of mind. Fun as it sounded, I could never get into trouble with her. Not even little things, like sneaking in somewhere we shouldn't be or getting caught drinking on the beach or taking off for a weekend in Vegas. All things she should be able to do. Being on parole meant playing by the rules and staying within state lines. I couldn't go far away with her. I couldn't soar.

Which would mean she couldn't, either.

"Tiffany mentioned that you applied somewhere other than USC," I said.

"Oh. Yeah. It's supposed to be a secret so my dad doesn't find out."

Pissed me off how she wouldn't even entertain other options because of her dad. He should've been encouraging her to look at lots of school for a decision as big as this, but instead he'd just packed on more and more pressure. "So where is it, this mysterious school?"