The blue sky shone bright through the skylight above my head. I was on my back in the middle of the four-poster bed, gazing up, my laptop and three textbooks face-open at my side. This morning had been surprisingly productive. While Mel visited with her extended family, I studied, focusing on social science though not rewriting my thesis…which was what I should have been doing, but whatever, at least I wasn’t trolling Facebook.
“Spring, the guys’ll be here any minute,” Mel called as she whipped past my door.
I’d been ready for an hour and was now comfortably letting all my reading from earlier sink in. Machiavelli. Susan B. Anthony. The Cotton Gin… White puffy clouds rolled by, obscuring my view of blue as evening approached.
My eyes popped open when I heard knocking at the front door downstairs.
“They’re here,” Mel hollered from the bathroom. “Will you run down and let them in? Otherwise Grandpa will talk their ears off. He’s mucho embarrassing.”
Some conventional girls would never answer the door for a date, let alone a blind date. I reminded myself that I didn’t care about conventions, so I rolled off the bed and grabbed my jacket.
Knock knock knock.
“Coming!” I called to our impatient dates as I headed down the stairs. More knocking. “Jeepers, hold your horses, Dicaprio.”
I paused before the closed door, taking an extra second to prepare before I reached for the knob.
A bouquet of bright wild flowers was thrust under my nose. “If you don’t kiss me in three seconds, I’ll die of death,” the presenter declared from behind the garland. When I said nothing, he lowered the flowers, stepped forward, and came within an inch of my mouth.
“Oh.” He opened his eyes in the nick of time. “I…I thought you were Mel.”
Tyler. Still crowding my comfort zone, he stared at me vacantly, then stepped back and hid the flowers behind his back. “Uhh, she around?”
“Sure.” I opened the door wider, a bit stunned. “Come on in.”
He was alone.
We walked together to the couch. His little mistake must have unnerved him, because he wouldn’t look at me; he kept moving his eyes from the floor to the bunch of flowers on his lap.
“So, you must be Tyler?”
“Yeah,” he said after a soft snort of laughter. “We have a date tonight—me and Mel, I mean, not you and…” He broke off.
When he wasn’t talking, I could see how Mel would consider him delicious. The boy definitely had the makings of a Leo, pre-Titanic. He had one of those cherubic baby faces that you couldn’t help staring at. Huge, round blue eyes, silky blond hair that looked like it was washed with baby shampoo, and full pink lips that I’m sure Mel couldn’t wait to sink her teeth into. Heck, I’d almost had the chance.
If this was Mel’s date, I was mildly interested in seeing mine.
“I feel so stupid,” Tyler mumbled. “Mel will never let me live this down.”
“She never forgets the embarrassing moments of a friend,” I agreed. “But don’t worry, it’s our little secret.”
Tyler laughed, finally relaxing, then he focused on me. “Have we met?”
“Not before…” I nodded toward the front door. “I know Mel from school. And home.”
Tyler took a beat, his big blue eyes filling with comical mortification. “Now I really feel stupid.” He slapped his forehead. “You’re Spring.”
“Correct.”
“I’m so out of it. Jet lag, I guess.” Tyler hadn’t flown home from Seattle, he’d driven. And there was no time change. Mel was spot-on about him being a cutie pie, and also about that sack of hammers.
“I totally forgot you were coming. Oh, yeah. We’re doubling or whatever, right?”
Whatever? I sensed a dark cloud hovering over me.
“With your cousin,” I said, hopefully jogging his memory.
“Right.” He stared at where his wrist watch would be, but he wasn’t wearing one. “He should be here by now.” Then he actually looked around the living room, maybe thinking his cousin was playing hide-and-seek. “He’s usually punctual.”
“Hi, guy.”
Tyler swiveled around then sprang to his feet, presenting the flowers to Mel. I pretended to read a magazine while the two love birds reunited, rather boisterously. A few minutes later, Mel dashed upstairs to freshen up and grab a sweater. Tyler plopped down next to me, more at ease.
“So,” he said, flicking the magazine in my hand, “I’ve heard a lot about you.” Lovely. “Mel’s told me a million stories.”
“None are true,” I sing-songed. “I’ve heard some things about you, too.”
“Those are all true.”
The mahogany grandfather clock in the corner struck six. “We’d better get going soon,” I said. “You sure your cousin’s coming?”
Tyler walked to the fireplace mantel and took down a framed portrait of the Gibson family from about ten years ago. “I haven’t talked to him since yesterday, but yeah.” He set the frame down then disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a bag of potato chips and a soda.
My stomach rolled, warning me of incoming awkwardness. Mel had told me stories about Tyler, many of which ended with him being quite…flaky. The last thing I wanted was to be the third wheel. I could just as easily watch the basketball game on TV. Or better yet, work on my thesis.
“Like I said.” Tyler crunched on some chips. “He’s always on time. He has the address, but I doubt he’s got GPS on the Harley.”
“He’s riding a motorcycle?” I asked. “In March? In Washington?”
“I know, right?” He didn’t seem worried, but that did nothing to ease my anxiety. He put down the chips and leaned forward. “Your hair is wicked awesome. How do you get it to do that?”
“They’re braids,” I said, displaying a single rope. “I pay someone every two months.”
“Wicked.”
“Thanks.” I looked away but could feel his eyes still lingering on me, so I grabbed another magazine.
“Don’t you want to know anything else about Trip?”
“Trip? That’s your cousin?”
He nodded, still chewing.
“Uh, sure,” I answered, letting the magazine drop to my lap. “So?” But Tyler only kept on with the chewing and grinning. “He has a motorcycle?” I prompted.
“Only when he’s in town, or at home, I think. Not all the time.” He scratched his head. “He keeps his one here in a storage unit. Ha-ha. I guess he doesn’t trust me enough to leave it in our garage.”
“Is he in school?”
“Back east for a while.” He crammed four chips into his mouth. Mildly repulsed at his manners, I was only half listening. Unlike Mel, Tyler was not a fountain of information. “He’s west coast now—well obviously, right? Since he’s coming tonight.” He held up one finger. “Wait, I think my mom said something about him being overseas again after Duke. He’s always traveling. I can’t keep up.”
Sounded like cousin Trip might be just as flaky as Tyler.
Flake or no flake, he’d better show up soon. He had the tickets.
“Anyway,” Tyler continued, more sureness in his voice, “he was back east, but now he’s in California.”
“Where in California?” I asked politely, as I flipped to the middle of the magazine.
“Stanford.”
I glanced up from the magazine. “Huh. That’s where we go.” I lowered my eyes and flipped another page. “Small world.” After reading exactly two lines of the article about the new renovations in old town Vancouver, my mind grabbed onto something he’d said. A moment later, the magazine began sliding from of my hands, and I couldn’t feel my legs.
No.
“Did”—I coughed, my voice strangled—“did you say Duke?”
Tyler nodded.
“And Stanford?”
He kept nodding and popped open the can of soda.
“No way.” I swallowed hard and stared up at Tyler’s baby face.
My mind grabbed onto something else. Hadn’t Henry once mentioned he sometimes spent time with his extended family in Washington? And isn’t “Trip” a common nickname for “the third?” I shut my eyes, the rest of my body joining my legs in numbness.
“He’s in law school,” I muttered, mostly to myself.
“Hey!” He sounded shocked. “How’d you know?”
I waited for his brain to connect the dots. It was slow coming.
“Oh, duh.” He slapped his forehead, as if that would help. “I’m such an idiot.”
This was confirmation enough and I sprang from the couch. “Mel!” I called from the foot of the stairs, not bothering to hide the panic in my voice. “Melanie Deborah Gibson! Get down here!”
“Five more,” she called back.
“No!” I yelled in alarm. “Get down here instantly! You won’t believe—”
I jumped and spun around at the sound of fist on wood.
