“She does regret it,” I correct.
“I get this weird vibe from them lately. I don’t know.”
Lillia definitely doesn’t want anyone to think she’s dating Reeve, because she’s not. A couple of random grief hookups do not a relationship make. But I can’t tell him they aren’t together either. Not after my conversation with Lillia. “Are you pissed?”
“I mean, yeah, I’m not happy with Reeve. He’s my best friend. Was my best friend. Shit. I don’t even know.”
Oh Lord. I don’t want to have a Lillia therapy session with Alex right now. I try to keep him focused on the task at hand. I tap the letter from USC and say, “Here’s what you need to do. Pick your favorite one of those last three songs, and then round out your demo with two others that sound different.”
“Actually, there is something new I’ve been working on.” He picks his guitar back up, opens his notebook, and flips to one of the last pages. “It’s rough, but it’s starting to come together. . . .”
The first three songs were super-quiet and whispery, but this one explodes from the first note and fills the whole room with sound. Alex’s hands are flying over the strings of his guitar, and it’s like everything is vibrating.
From what I can gather, it’s a song about crashing and burning and living like there’s no tomorrow. It’s about Rennie.
And . . . it’s awesome. Truly freaking awesome.
When he finishes, I give him a standing ovation. “That’s what I’m talking about, dude!”
“You liked it?” He blushes. “I actually wrote it the night I heard from USC. After what happened to Rennie . . . It’s like, life’s too short. I don’t want to have any regrets, you know?”
I nod. “Good for you. I bet Ren would be happy to hear that.”
“Thanks. I’m glad you and Rennie had a chance to make up before the accident. You two went way back, and yeah, you had your issues with each other, but it’s good that everything was forgiven.”
“Yeah. True dat,” I manage to say, even though the back of my throat is suddenly itchy. For weeks that’s all I’ve wanted to hear from somebody. “Seriously, Lind. The song killed.”
Now Alex is the one who’s not listening to me. He’s off in his own world. “I think I’ll call it ‘No Regrets.’?”
“?‘No Regrets.’ I like the sound of that.”
“You know what? Me too.”
Chapter Fifteen
LILLIA
REEVE AND I FIND TIME to see each other whenever we can, always in secret. I’ve gone to his dad’s office and helped him reorganize their filing system; he’s come to the barn and watched me ride Phantom. Phantom likes him because he always brings apples. I told Reeve to stop, that it would spoil him, but Reeve sneaks them when he thinks I’m not looking. One night we just play cards in the back of his truck and listen to the radio.
We never talk about Rennie. Sometimes we don’t even kiss. But what Reeve said about needing to see me to breathe—I feel the same way. Like if I’m away from him too long, I’m underwater.
After one of my riding lessons, Reeve invites me to his house for dinner later that night. I get nervous for a second that he’s told his family about us, but he says his mom just wants to thank me for helping him get into prep school.
So now I’m at Jean-Jacques Patisserie, staring down at all the cakes and tarts in the glass display case. There are so many beautiful cakes to choose from. A mille-feuille, which is sort of a crepe cake with layers of pastry cream; a chocolate-raspberry bombe; a tall white chocolate cake with real gold sprinkled on top like it’s a Christmas ornament. I’m thinking the white chocolate cake because it’s got the wow factor, but then I remember how I made a mess of things the last time I went over to Reeve’s to meet his family. How I wore my fancy blue dress and I bought that huge poinsettia arrangement, and Rennie opened the door in a football jersey, and she looked like she belonged and I looked so out of place.
I should have just gone to Milky Morning and gotten a cookie tray. It’s too late for that now.
I stand there debating for so long that the saleslady comes over twice to ask if I need help. “Do you have anything more . . . rustic?” I ask. “Or, like, homey?”
The saleslady frowns. “Homey? Let’s see, we have a beautiful strawberry tart with a pistachio brûlée.”
“Umm . . .”
“Or how about a peanut butter–chocolate mousse cake?” she suggests.
Eagerly I nod. “Yes, yes!” Peanut butter is definitely homey.
She opens the display case and pulls out the cake with a flourish, and it looks like something my mom would describe as “truly decadent”—ganache was poured on top, and it has hardened into a shell, and there are chocolate shavings piled high like a modern sculpture. Chocolate-covered peanuts border the cake like a pearl necklace. This is the least homey cake I have ever seen.
I shout out, “Wait! I’m so sorry. Can you wait just one minute? I just need, like, two seconds to consult with my friend.”
The saleslady looks annoyed, but she gives me a fake smile, and I fake smile back and turn around and whip my cell phone out to call Kat. She would know what I should bring to the Tabatskys.
She takes forever to answer. “What up, what up, Lil.”
“Um, so, remember how I helped Reeve get a postgraduate year at a prep school?”
“No. I mean, you mentioned that it happened, but not that you helped him.”
“Ugh. Well, I didn’t really help him. I just gave him the idea.” Kat’s quiet, so I just keep going. “Anyway, his mom is so happy about it that she wants me to come over for dinner.” Hastily I add, “Just as friends. So, like, if you were going over to his house for dinner, what would you bring for dessert? If it was between a peanut butter–chocolate mousse cake and a strawberry tart?”
“Lil.”
My heart thumps. “Yes?”
“Did you or did you not shut that shit down like we discussed?”
The lie is right there on the tip of my tongue, Yes, of course, but I’m having a hard time saying it to Kat. “Well, basically. I mean—”
Kat groans. “Girl! What did I tell you?”
“Kat, please,” I whimper. On the other side of the room, the saleslady clears her throat and looks at the clock. Crap. The bakery is going to close soon. “Please. You can yell at me later, but for now will you just help me? Which is less fancy, peanut butter–chocolate mousse cake or a strawberry tart?”
