Page 12 of A Sanctuary from Shadow
Laughing, Zahra squeezed my forearm. “That’s not chilling.”
“No crap!”
She flitted me toward our main living area. “Put on your boots. I’ll greet your gentleman caller.”
Since our debate two days before, we’d been talking like historical romance characters. It wasn’t getting old either.
I zoomed through our privacy curtain of nylon string to my wooden desk chair. My phony Buggs boots stood beside it.
The door opened. Zahra said something welcoming, to which a crisp male voice replied something equally schmoozy. And unintelligible. My heart pounded too hard to hear above it.
Get your shit together, Amy, I scolded myself, then sucked in a deep breath and shoved one foot in a boot.
As Zahra and my date small-talked, my eyes roamed our room. Zahra’s side was minimalistic and mature—orderly and logical. She’d even made her bed, her monochromatic sheets and comforter tucked neatly around her mattress. Her only hint at abandon was in her series of colorful Rorschach Test posters. In contrast, I’d cluttered my side of the room in splashes of paperbacks, snow globes, Hinerz memorabilia, high fantasy artwork, and posters of the Bayview Boys.
It looked like a preteen lived there.
Cursing, I rammed on my second boot, then scurried to tidy my rumpled bed, where so many throw pillows amassed there was hardly room for me. I only had moments to toss my ruffled comforter over them, hoping Briar wouldn’t notice the lumps.
“Here she is.” Zahra led Briar through our curtain of strings. She beamed, swept her arm toward me. “All dolled up and ready to go.”
I clenched my teeth in embarrassment, wanting to pinch her.
Briar’s striking good looks were so out of place in my dorky, hodgepodge world. In a long-sleeved graphic tee and a pair of fitted jeans, he paused to take me in. I couldn’t gauge his appraisal of me, but whatever it was, he smiled. So, I relaxed—a little—when he held out his hand. “Come on, Larkspur. Let’s get some grub. I’m starving.”
After lunch at Chili’s, Briar took me bowling. Many scents hung in the air of Richland Lanes. Admiring the typical hokey décor, I took a deep whiff, my keen olfactory sense identifying what it could. The pungency of oil. The astringency of shoe disinfectant. The sweet tang of the pizza being eaten by the squealing troupe of children at a birthday party.
“Those kids are monopolizing most of the balls.” Briar chuckled as he returned to our lane, opposite the party. “But I think I found two that’ll work for us.”
Tying my clown shoes, I watched as he set his findings on our rack. One ball was a swirly green and weighed 13 pounds. The other, a 7 pounder, was neon pink. I rose from my seat at the control panel, nearly sneering at the girly ball.
“I think your fingers will fit.” Briar sat to remove his suede sneakers. “The holes aren’t too small.”
At least he got that right, I mused as I assessed my hold. My long fingers fit without sticking, but I doubted I’d get many strikes off a ball filled with cotton.
“Do you bowl much, Briar?” I examined his heavier ball. Were its holes too large for me?
He shrugged, tying his rental shoes. “Every once in a while. You?”
I bit back a smirk. “Same.”
“I didn’t know what you’d want to do today,” he confessed, finished with his shoes. “There aren’t any good movies out this week, and I didn’t think you’d be psyched for a hockey game.”
I wouldn’t have minded hockey but shrugged.
“Mini-golf or bowling seemed like our best options, given the limitations.”
I clicked my tongue, knowing he didn’t mean the weather. “And those games are kinder to the chronically uncoordinated.”
Briar grinned. “Just looking out for you, Larkspur. I remember how skittish you were in gym.”
Ihadbeen skittish in gym class and had never joined a single sports team in high school. Because I’d known my potential teammates wouldn’t welcome me—a beanstalk with the temperament of a mouse. Outside of school, however, I was an athlete. First in gymnastics, then in volleyball, but I was best at bowling.
I considered finding myself another ball but didn’t want Briar thinking me ungrateful for his help. He was only trying to be sweet, after all. So, I’d just use Briar’s ball on my second turns. At least I’d get spares if I couldn’t get strikes.
“Holy shit,” Briar said after my third spare in a row. His gaze narrowed as I glided back to my seat. “You only bowl every now and again, huh?”
I chuckled. “It’s true.”
