The little restaurant is in a restored brick mansion on the New Hope square. Candlelight illuminates our white-clothed table and reflects in Cally’s deep brown eyes.

She’s nervous, and it’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen. She pushes her food around on her plate and studies me through those thick lashes when she thinks I’m not looking. I noticed her the first day she walked into French class this semester, all that dark hair hanging past her shoulder blades, her eyes guarded when someone talked to her.

Does it make sense to say that I felt instantly connected to her, long before we ever had a conversation? She was a girl who understood loneliness the way I did, who didn’t want anything from me.

I picked her up at six, just like I promised, and she was waiting outside for me, no doubt to make sure I didn’t go into her house.

I wish she weren’t so self-conscious about her home and her family. I don’t care that she doesn’t have money. I have more than I’ll ever need, and I hate it. I’d trade every penny to have my parents back for a single day.

“Did you want dessert?” I ask.

“No thanks.”

I want to reassure her that I’m paying for this and she can order whatever she likes, but the words would only make her more self-conscious. Instead I order the chocolate lava cake, and when it comes, I pull my chair around the table so it’s next to hers.

The dark chocolate cake steams, the ice cream on top already melting. I cut into the center with my spoon. Gooey, melted chocolate rushes out.

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips. “That looks amazing.”

I scoop a bite—making sure to get cake, melted chocolate, and a bit of ice cream all onto the spoon—then I offer it to her. “Try it.”

I slide the bite past her parted lips, and pleasure lights up her face. My breath catches at the sight, and I immediately prepare another spoonful, then another.

When I offer the fourth bite, she puts her hand to her mouth and shakes her head. “It’s your turn,” she insists.

“I’m good.”

She licks her bottom lip but misses the smudge of chocolate just beneath. “Then why did you order it?”

Cupping her chin in my hand, I wipe the chocolate off with my thumb. Her lips part and she’s so close I can feel her breath as it rushes past her lips. I want to kiss her. Damn. I can’t believe how badly I want to kiss her. Instead, I say, “Go for a walk with me?”

She nods, and after I pay the bill, I lead her out of the restaurant and toward the path along the river, linking my fingers through hers as we walk. The night is clear and the stars shine bright, their pinpoints of light reflecting off the water. Cally looks up at the stars and her whole body seems to soften. I feel the tension rush out of her with her sigh.

“Thank you for tonight,” she says. “Most guys wouldn’t have gone to such lengths because of a stupid rumor.”

“You think I wanted to date you to satisfy the rumor mill?”

She focuses on the pavement in front of us, avoiding my gaze. “Didn’t you?”

“You’re not that naïve, are you?” That gets her to look at me. Her eyes are narrow and frustrated. “Cally, I took you to dinner tonight because I wanted to. I don’t like what they’re saying about you, but my reasons for asking you out were more selfish than they were noble.”

She stops and leans one shoulder against the trunk of a thick maple as she studies me. “How were they selfish?”

“I wanted a chance to have some time alone with a pretty girl.”

She stares at me for two heartbeats. “I really like you, William Bailey.”

I tuck a lock of hair behind her ear then shove my hands in my pockets to keep myself from touching her more. “I like you too, Cally Fisher.”

Her teeth sink down into her bottom lip and her eyes drop to my mouth.

I fist my hands in my pockets and let my exhale slowly. “I really want to kiss you right now.”

“I really want you to,” she whispers, flicking her eyes to mine.

I take a cautious step forward and press my hands against the tree trunk on either side of her head, then slowly lower my mouth until it’s a breath above hers. “Has anyone ever kissed you before?”

“Yes.”

Jealousy burns in my gut. It’s silly, but it’s there at the thought of another guy touching his lips to hers. “Who?”

“Davey Mills kissed me on the lips behind the school in second grade.” Her eyes flash with mischief and she bites back her smile.

“Lucky Davey,” I grumble. “Must have been memorable.”

“Yes. He kissed me during a game of truth or dare. I remember he had peanut butter breath.”

I chuckle, and her face breaks into a full-out grin. I close the breath between us and brush my lips over hers. Unlike Cally, I have some experience with this, so I’m surprised how much it affects me. Just a kiss. An innocent connection of lips. But the contact is electric and it sends a shockwave of pleasure through me.

I slide my hand into her hair, and she opens under me, meeting the sweep of my tongue with the hesitant touch of hers. She tastes like sweet tea and makes this soft little sound at the back of her throat. I break the kiss before I’m ready because my hands itch to touch her, to slip under her shirt and cup her breasts, to slide around her h*ps and squeeze her ass. She’s not ready for that, and I won’t rush her.

Her tongue darts out and skims over her lips. “Come with me.”

She takes my hand, and I follow her farther down the path and along the river until there’s a break in the trees. She leads me onto the grass and sits on the ground.

I sink to my haunches and settle beside her, the dew seeping into my jeans.

“Lie back.” She leans on her elbows and points to the sky. “This is my favorite spot.”

We settle onto our backs, bodies aligned, fingers entwined, and look up at the stars. From this spot, the sky is all I can see, and it feels like I’m being swallowed up in it.

“Tell me something no one knows about you,” I ask into the silence. It’s probably a stupid request, but I don’t care. I like her and I want to know more about her.

“Like what?”

“Tell me what you wish for when you look up at those stars.”

She’s quiet for a long beat, then another. When I hear the whoosh of her exhale, I think she’s not going to share anything, but then she says, “Lately, I’ve been wishing that my parents would get a divorce.”

That surprises me, and I roll to my side to look at her as she speaks.

She winces but continues. “They make each other miserable, but instead of facing it or doing anything about it, they both hide. It’s the worst possible thing for my parents.” She faces me and forces a smile. “Pretty boring stuff, isn’t it?”

I trace the worry lines around her eyes until they relax. “It’s not boring at all. It’s real.” The girls I know are so proficient at being fake, they could give lessons. Cally is the opposite of fake. She’s authentic.

“I just think they could be happier, you know? And maybe coming out here and making wishes is juvenile, but I like to think of it as throwing positive energy into the universe and hoping it comes back something better.”

“You’re not like other girls, Cally.”

She rolls her eyes. “You say that like it’s a good thing.”

“It’s so refreshing. You have no idea.” I slide a hand into her hair and kiss her again. This time, I linger. Our lips brush, our tongues rub, and before I know it, she’s on her back and I’m on my side, pulling her body close to mine and resisting the instinct to slide my thigh between her legs.

She keeps her eyes closed for a long time after I draw back, and I’m struck for the thousandth time by how beautiful she is. Dark hair. Pale skin. Rosy lips. “I should get home,” she whispers.

I nod, but I stay there looking at her for a few more beats. She doesn’t rush me, doesn’t seem uncomfortable sitting in the silence.

When walk back to her house, I take her the long way, through town, knowing everyone will see us and talk. Wanting them to.

***

Cally

Three weeks and six amazing dates, and William Bailey doesn’t seem bored with me yet.

The gossip mill isn’t giving up on us entirely. There’s all sorts of speculation as to why a guy like William would spend so much time with a girl like me. But the worst of it has died down. Apparently, the possibility of us ha**g s*x in the bleachers isn’t nearly as juicy if we’re actually dating.

He showed up to my house tonight and asked my dad if he could take me on a walk. It was the sweetest thing, though my dad looked a little puzzled by it. We find ourselves down by the river again, the early spring breeze ruffling our hair, the sun loosing its grip on the edge of the horizon.

“This is my favorite time of day,” Will whispers.

I lean against him and sigh. “Sunset?”

“No.” He reaches over and slides a hand into my hair. “The part where I’m next to you.” Then he brings his mouth down to mine and kisses me softly.

I live for these kisses. These happy moments between the craziness at home, the demands of the girls, and the stress of school.

“You are beautiful. You know that?”

“Hmm,” I say. “I’m not sure. Tell me again?”

“You.” He presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth. “Are.” Another kiss right under my earlobe. “Gorgeous.” His hand slides up my side until his thumb is brushing the underside of my breast.

That light touch feels so good, and I arch into it, even as my brain screams it’s time to pull away. He lowers his mouth to mine and kisses me until I’m breathless. My body wants more, but I’m terrified of what it will mean if we go further. I need to know I’m enough. To know I’m not my mother.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, pulling back. “I can’t.”

He leans his forehead against mine and closes his eyes. He’s breathing heavily, and I like that I can do that to him. I like it too much.

When he pulls back and looks at me, he says, “I didn’t mean for that to happen. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not ready.”

“You don’t need to be ready for anything. I just got a little carried away.”

“It’s not that I didn’t like it. It’s just…” I draw in a shaky breath and force a smile. “I liked it a lot. I like kissing you, but that’s all we can do, and I’d understand if that meant you didn’t want to date me.”

He stiffens and turns toward the river, resting his forearms on his knees. “Not all guys are shallow jerks who only care about the physical stuff.”

“I don’t think that of you at all,” I protest. “But I want to be fair to you.”

“Then give me a chance,” he says, turning to me. “Be my girl, Cally. I don’t want there to be any confusion about what we are to each other.”

My stomach flips at the idea, and I can’t figure out what I could have done to deserve someone like him. “Did you miss the memo?”

The breeze floats by, and I can smell him. Boy soap and aftershave. It’s a scent I could snuggle into and drift away on.

“What memo?” he asks.

“The one that says the quarterback is supposed to date the head cheerleader?”

“Hmm. I’ve dated a cheerleader before. It’s pretty much overrated. Though”—he drops his gaze to my legs—“I wouldn’t complain if you wanted to wear the uniform.”

I swat him, and my hand stings when it connects with his solid chest. “Ouch.”

“That’ll teach you to hit me.”

I giggle, then admit, “I like that idea.”

“Oh, the uniform.”

“No,” I squeak. “Of…being your girl. But I need to tell you something first.”

He brushes my hair from my face and traces the line of my jaw, his eyes following his finger. “What’s that?”

“That night Kenny was harassing me at the stadium?”

His body tenses. “I remember.”

I swallow. I need him to know more than the rumors. I need him to know the truth. “He said he’d gotten a hand job from my mom.”

“Jesus,” he hisses. “He’s such an ass.”

I pull my lip between my teeth and chew on the corner before confessing, “I don’t think he was lying.”

“Why would you say that?”

“We don’t have much money. My parents are terrible with it, and then there’s not much coming in and…” I take a breath, wondering if I dare say the rest out loud when I’ve never even told Hanna and Lizzy. “My mom’s been taking Vicodin since Gabby was born.”

“Did she have some sort of complication?”

I shake my head. “No, she just…likes it. She hides in her pills. I don’t know where she gets them, but I have no doubt in my mind that her addiction is to blame for at least part of our money trouble.”

“I’m sorry.”

“She’s always had this little massage business, but it’s changed in the last couple of years. The ladies don’t come to her anymore, and people whisper about her. About what she does. The worst part is that I think the rumors are true. I think she got desperate and…” The truth is too sickening to put into words. “Are you sure you want to get involved with me?”

“I don’t care what your mom’s done. I only care about you.”