Page 59 of A Summer of Stars

“Yes, I know. Only when I talk,” I argued with a laugh. I could see it in her closed lips that she wanted to laugh too. “I dare you not to roll your eyes the next time I say something, then.”

“Then I dare you to give me an honest answer.”

“About the hair?”

“About the hair.”

I exhaled and found her gaze. I wasn’t sure what it was, but she made me bold. “A secret for a secret?”

Hesitation, then, “Okay.”

“It’s my original hair color. The blond originally started so I’d look less like my father. A habit I’ve decided to break this weekend.”

Surprise nudged her brows up. “That felt like half of the truth.”

“It’s the whole truth, just half the story. Your turn.”

She bit the inside of her cheek. “I changed my mind.”

“That’s definitely not how this works.”

“It is when you’ll look at me differently after I say it.”

“I promise I won’t.”

She pressed her lips together, turning her head to the side as she spun again. “This place is beautiful during the winter,” she said, changing the topic. “The snow covers every rolling hill, every balcony, and the rooftop like a gingerbread house smothered in frosting. It makes everything look like a painting.”

I exhaled. If she didn’t want to talk about it, then she didn’t want to talk about it. I wasn’t looking to start a violent game of arm wrestling in the middle of the ballroom.

“That sounds beautiful.” Regardless of my annoyance about her inability to be honest, it did sound beautiful.

It rarely snowed in Valencia because of where it rested on the coast of Spain. The winters were mild, so trips to the beach were feasible year-round. Abuela and I used to kick off our shoes and walk through the sand every night, talking about what we were thankful for. We’d go back and forth, responding faster and faster with no silence in between words, like a competition.

“Does it snow a lot in Rhode Island?” I asked.

Her brows furrowed. “I—yes. I didn’t realize you knew where I was from.”

“We may not be friends, but when I met you three years ago in New York, your face was everywhere. I recognized you immediately. The protégée from Rhode Island on a world tour of tennis domination. I don’t even remember what I said to you when I saw you, I was so taken aback.” I laughed, thinking about how flustered I must have looked standing in the rain, approaching her.

“Are you saying you had a crush on me?” Disbelief struck her.

My voice barely a whisper, “What if I did?”

Her eyes fell to my lips, and I wasn’t sure if it was my or her breath that hitched.

“My secret,” she said.

“Yes?”

“You won’t judge me?”

“Of course not.”

“I used to be married. Does that make you think any less of me?”

Her words silenced me, but not for the reason she feared. Of course she had been married. She washer. It didn’t surprise me that a man would waste no time marrying her. What surprised me was how one wasted their time losing her. A woman who never backed down from a challenge.

“I could never think less of you,” I said.