Faith wanted to walk to him, but nerves-and fear-kept her glued to the back door. What would he tell her? What would change between them? Would he stay this time?
He smiled at her, this slow, sexy thing that set her heart on fire. Screw fear. She had somewhere to be.
She hauled her dance bag higher up on her shoulder and smoothed the wrinkles out of her dress before starting across the parking lot. He took a step forward and opened the passenger door as soon as she made it to the car.
"You came," he said, sounding surprised. "I wasn't sure you would, after … everything."
"I like a good secret," she murmured, staring down at the asphalt, embarrassed and nervous after seeing the spark of fear and hope in his own eyes. "And I like a guy not afraid to dance."
He took her bag and waited for her to climb into the truck before closing her door and walking around. When he slid behind the wheel, he stared straight ahead. "Are you sure you're okay going somewhere with me?"
"Yes," she said softly.
He swallowed. "Because, uh, I thought the best place to go would be my house. I don't, um, I don't really take people there. It might help you understand some things."
She wanted to ask him why now, and why her, but she nodded. "Okay."
"Before we go, though, I feel like I need to tell you nobody's home." He glanced quickly at her, then looked away. "My grandpa's in San Antonio with his lady friend, and my dad left this morning to go to Chicago for a board meeting. They're both gone until Friday. If you aren't okay with going home with me, I understand."
She knew what he was saying-he was worried she was scared to be alone with him-but she couldn't be. This Kyle wasn't someone she was afraid to be alone with. "That's fine."
He nodded, a jerky movement with too much force behind it, and started the truck. They drove in silence through town, until she asked, "Where's the Charger?"
"First secret already, huh?" He laughed softly. "The Charger was given to me. It was my birthday present from Grandpa when I turned seventeen last year. The truck is mine. I bought it with my own money, and I love it. I thought the best way to start off my trek to honesty was to pick you up in the Toyota."
Faith looked at the worn upholstery, the broken radio, the door handle that jiggled as they drove, and a little bit of warmth stole through her chest. He had the coolest car in the whole senior class, but he loved an ancient truck because he bought it himself. She blinked fast to push back the tears threatening to brim on her lashes. "It's a good secret. And I like the truck, too. It's good for hauling azaleas."
"It is."
He drove her to the north side of town, and Faith's pulse sped up. The neighborhoods out here were far wealthier than her own, and her family was quite well off. Hell, these people were wealthier than Violet's family, and they had lakefront property. "Why are we in The Hills?"
Kyle sighed. "Secret number two."
He pulled onto a side street that was bordered by trees. Like the road to Violet's, their branches created a canopy overhead. The setting sun glowed through the leaves. The street wound up a low hill and ended at a gate.
Kyle pushed a button on a garage door opener clipped to his sun visor, and the gate pulled back. Behind it was one of the biggest houses she'd ever seen. It had to be at least ten thousand square feet. Made out of dark brick, its two-story front had ivy climbing one wall, and huge picture windows overlooking a riotous front garden. A circle drive curved around front, but Kyle took the second driveway that led behind the house to a six-car garage. Trees grew all over the yard back here, too. Between their branches, she could just make out a large covered patio and a hint of a pool.
"This is your house?" Faith's eyes hurt from being open so wide. "I mean, I knew you had money, with the car and all, but I thought your family was more like mine."
"Yes, this is my house." He sounded tired and teasing at the same time. "You're riding in a landscaping truck with a trust-fund gardener."
Faith covered her mouth and laughed helplessly into her hands. "Oh my God. I can see why you don't tell people. You wouldn't know who liked you for you and who liked you for … "
She trailed off awkwardly, but he nodded. "For the money. Yeah. My dad always asks why I don't bring many people home, but Grandpa knows, and goes along with it."
"Okay, if these are only the first few secrets, what are the rest?"
He parked in front of the garage and came around to open her door. "Come in and I'll explain everything."
They entered the house through what he called the mudroom and she called a damn enormous laundry and storage area. You could play soccer across the floor and not hit anything end to end.
"This is the kitchen," he said, going through the next door. "We spend a lot of time in here."
"Who's ‘we'?" she asked. "Your grandpa, your dad. Anyone else?"
"Rosanna's here a lot, but she doesn't live here." He paused. "She's, uh, our housekeeper. She takes care of us because, as she put it, ‘Three men, living alone? You boys would live on hamburgers without me.'"
He said the quote in a falsetto and a slight Hispanic accent. Faith grinned in delight. "She sounds awesome. How old were you when you lost your mom?"
"She died when I was three. She and my grandmother. They were in a car accident. After that, Grandpa decided to move in with us, and we've been together since." He shrugged. "I'd say I missed them, but I was too little to remember. So it's been just us. My dad owns an investment firm, and my grandpa used to own J. Sawyer furniture."
"Wait a minute. You're that Sawyer?" Faith's mouth dropped open. "Mom's been trying to talk Dad into buying one of those dining sets for years."
Kyle scuffed his shoe against the floor. "Yeah. They're a little pricey."
"But they're gorgeous. Wow," Faith breathed, turning in a circle. The kitchen was high end, and she had a feeling the whole house would be. She went to their kitchen table-a six-seater, handmade out of gleaming oak. "Did your grandpa make this?"
"It's one of his first. He made it for Grandma when he came home from Vietnam."
"Beautiful." She ran a hand along the wood. It was satiny with age and use. "Where's your room?"
He jumped. Literally jerked like she'd crossed a rug and shocked him with the static. "You know what, that was rude of me to ask. Never mind."
His expression was a war between uncomfortable and determined. Determined won. "No, it's fine. It's upstairs."
He led her through a butler's pantry into a living room with all leather furniture, dark wood floors, and the newest electronics on the market. "This room is so guy."
"Be thankful I'm not taking you into Grandpa's den. Total man cave."
She laughed as he took her to a large staircase in a formal foyer at the front of the house. A crystal chandelier hung down from the twenty-foot ceiling overhead. "Kyle, I have house envy."
"Is that a good thing?"
She made a face. "I'm not entirely sure."
Upstairs he led her down a hall with walls covered with pictures of a boy growing up. In the first few, a beautiful woman with dark hair and shining blue eyes held a toddler with a big smile. Later, though, they changed to sports pictures and family vacations deep sea fishing or camping. The line between the two was stark.
Tears pricked at the back of her eyes. How had this life been, without a mother to hold him on her lap when he skinned his knee? Or teach him what girls were really like? Is that what made him run so hot and cold?
He opened a door. "Here we are."
Faith peeked inside. "This is as big as my second story."
And it was. In the corner, under a slanted roof, was a bed with a navy bedspread. The headboard was carved out of the same oak as the dining table. Definitely handmade, probably also by his grandfather. A window seat was cut into the slanted wall. On the other side of the room was a desk, a couch, and an entertainment system that rivaled the one in her living room.
She patted Kyle's arm. "I'm so sorry you have to live in such squalor."
"I know." He nodded solemnly. "But I make do."
She slipped inside and went to the couch. He followed more slowly and didn't sit until she patted the seat next to her. "Okay, I'm here. What did you want to tell me?"
His knee started bouncing. "It's kind of hard to know where to start."
"Maybe the beginning?"
He nodded and took a deep breath. "That would be seventh grade, but we've talked about most of that. It really started in eighth grade, the worst year of my life."
"Eighth grade was hard for me, too," she said. "But what was awful about yours?"
"Cameron Zimmerman."
He said it with such bitterness that she leaned away, breath stolen from her lungs. Just how horrible was Cameron? "Worse than the stuff you've already told me?"
"More stupid middle school stuff," Kyle mumbled. "Not important."
God, guys were so buttoned-up sometimes. Especially this guy. "You can't say he made your life hell, then tell me it's not important." She put her hand on his. "You said you were going to tell me everything."