First stop had been the local video store. She’d snuck in, skulked around the sparse fitness section for a few minutes, and then grabbed the cheapest and most painless-looking workout videos she could find: Sweatin’ to the Oldies, Pilates for Beginners, and a Paula Abdul dance aerobics tape clearly left over from 1987. After throwing a wad of cash at the clerk, she stuffed the tapes into the bottom of her gym bag and raced out of the store, hoping no one had spotted her. She wasn’t about to break a sweat in public again, not after her pathetic showing this morning, but she also wasn’t about to let anyone know she’d be sweating to the oldies at home with Richard Simmons. The potential humiliation factor was through the roof.
Next stop: Angie’s, Grace’s only “fine clothing shop.” Harper usually shopped online—most Grace gear was pretty much a fashion faux pas waiting to happen—but the ski trip was fast approaching, and she had no time to waste waiting for a package that, given the incompetence of her local postal workers, might never arrive. Just one problem: Angie’s was a desert clothing store, and even in the middle of winter, their cold-weather selection was limited to a shelf of thick socks, thin gloves, and a few wool sweaters covered with giant snowflakes.
“Pathetic, isn’t it?”
Harper recognized the voice and turned around slowly to meet the familiar smirk.
“Fancy meeting you here,” she greeted him with a smile.
“A true delight,” Kane drawled sarcastically, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and lighting up—despite the prominently placed NO SMOKING sign just above his head.
If Harper was surprised to spot him in a women’s clothing store, she didn’t let on, nor did she reveal her true delight at running into him. They had so few chances to speak privately these days—and of course it was only in private that they could crow about the triumph of their secret plan. Harper never got tired of winning, and she never got tired of rehashing her victories. Too bad Kane and Kaia were the only ones who could ever know about this, the greatest victory of all.
“See anything you like?” Kane asked.
Harper dropped the light blue cashmere scarf she’d been fingering—it was the only worthwhile item in the store. And it was gorgeous. It also cost about as much as the entire ski trip—and thus was way out of her league. Not that she’d ever admit it to Kane.
“Nada. This place is a fashion wasteland,” she complained, grabbing a cigarette from him after deciding that the clerk was too immersed in her latest trashy romance novel to notice. “So, having a good time?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Shopping? Surely you jest.”
She smacked him lightly on the arm. “Not the store, Kane—the girl. You. Beth. Is it everything you’d hoped for?”
His face finally broke into a wide grin.
“And more,” he confided. “She can’t get enough of me. And no wonder. You should have seen the look on her face when Adam showed up raging about what she’d done. She had no idea what the hell he was talking about. Totally crushed.” He waggled his eyebrows at Harper and smirked, as he did every time he fondly recounted this point in the story. “I, of course, was there to pick up the pieces. You can imagine she’d be quite grateful.”
“That’s nothing,” Harper claimed. “You should have seen the look on Adam’s face when he saw the pictures. He …” But she trailed off, for there was nothing particularly amusing about the memory of her oldest friend’s reaction to seeing the doctored photos of Beth and Kane. He’d collapsed in on himself, and Harper had been the cause. Knowing she could alleviate his pain with a few words—confess that the pictures were fake, that she and Kane were to blame, that Beth was, as always, pure and innocent—that had been the hardest part of the whole thing. But she couldn’t do it—wouldn’t do it. She wasn’t proud of what she’d done, but there had been no other way.
“Come on, Grace, don’t get sentimental on me now,” Kane charged. “This is a time for swagger and celebration.”
“Sometimes I just wonder …”
“What, whether we did the right thing?”
“Well, don’t you?” she countered.
“Why bother?” he asked, smirking. “What’s done is done. Adam and Beth were doomed—we just helped things along a bit. Think of it as a mercy killing.”
“I suppose Adam is much better off now without all that dead weight,” Harper mused.
“Hey, watch it,” Kane cautioned her in mock anger. “That’s my girlfriend you’re talking about.”
“Your girlfriend, right.” Harper took a long drag on her cigarette, relishing the sharp taste of the smoke billowing out of her mouth. Adam hated it when she smoked, so she’d been trying to cut back. It had seemed a small price to pay, but God, she missed that nicotine buzz. “I guess I should congratulate you, now that we’re coming up on two months. What is this, your longest relationship ever?”
“Very funny, Grace.” But the smile had disappeared from his face. “Did you ever stop to think this one might be different?”
“Did I ever stop to think that the great Kane Geary, who’s made a life’s work of dating his way through town, who gets bored after about ten minutes of anything, might actually be tamed by Beth, of all people? Blond, bland, boring, Beth?” She finished off the cigarette and pondered the question. “No, I guess the thought never occurred to me.”
“You underestimate her, Grace. You always have.”
“And you overestimate her, Kane,” she pointed out. “That’s the part of this I’ve never understood. Why Beth, of all people? She thought you were scum, she was dating Adam, she’s so not your type. Why her?”
Kane smiled cryptically.
“Why not?”
The most memorable moment in my life was the time when I …
Growing up in a small town, I always believed that someday I would …
If there’s one thing I know in life, it’s that I …
Pathetic!
Beth slumped against the wall of the kitchen, ignoring the sticky grease patches that quickly dampened her polyester uniform. Her college applications were due in a couple weeks, and if she wanted to make up for her horrible SAT scores … She shivered at the memory of filling in all those tiny bubbles as tears spattered against the test booklet. It was bad enough Adam had broken up with her without any warning, had accused her of cheating on him, had tossed her away without a second thought—but she could never forgive him for doing it all the night before the SATs. If he were trying to ruin her life, he’d made a pretty damn good start.
No, if she didn’t come up with an amazing application essay, something that would blow the mind of any admissions officer who read it, she could kiss her future goodbye.
“Manning! Table seven’s still waiting for their food!” her manager called. One of the other waitresses, blowing past on her way back to the main dining area, shot her a dirty look: You may think you’re better than us, it said. You’re wrong.
Without college, she’d have a future, all right—a long and unprosperous life of flipping burgers at the Nifty Fifties diner, smiling pathetically at all her former classmates as they breezed through on spring break before heading back to their real lives in the real world. Not like she had any time to deal with her applications, the magic ticket to a new life—she was working double shifts to pay for this ski trip that Kane was insisting on, and every spare minute was spent at home, babysitting her little brothers. Leave it to me to get busier over winter break, she thought bitterly.
Beth stood up and tried to muster enough energy to face her customers, still furiously writing and rewriting in her head.
I’m a boring girl from a boring town, but I make a mean burger and fries….
“Waitress! We’ve been waiting for our food forever!”
Beth looked over to table seven—and almost turned on her heel and fled back to the kitchen. Spending her vacation at the diner, mopping up spilled milk shakes, ducking grease spatter, and taking orders from every surly, hygienically challenged customer who walked t
hrough the door, was bad enough. This was worse. It was what she hated most about this job: taking orders from her friends.
Scratch that—her former friends.
Christie, Nikki, Marcy, and Darcy were all dating guys from the basketball team. Which guys? Beth could never keep track—sometimes, she wondered if they could, either.
Before she’d started dating Adam, back when she was just another faceless nobody, they’d refused to acknowledge her existence. Oh, they knew her name, all right—the Haven High seniors had been trapped in one building or another together since kindergarten. There were no strangers in a small town. But you would never have known it, not from the blank stares when she crossed their path, from the way they looked right through her, as if she didn’t exist. As if she were nothing.
Then she’d started dating Adam—captain of the basketball team (and every other team that mattered), perennial homecoming king, Haven High’s golden boy—and suddenly, the Nikkis and the Christies of the world had welcomed her with open arms. More than that, they’d begged her to join them.
Come to Christie’s sleepover party and home spa day!
Hang with us at Nikki’s for tanning and iced Frappacinos!
Let’s all buy this super-cute pink scarf—and then wear them on the same day!
And so, despite her overstuffed schedule, despite never trusting them or her newfound status, she’d given in. Any free time she’d had that didn’t go to the newspaper or to the diner or to her family or to Adam—and granted, after all that, there wasn’t much left—went to the girls. It had been fun; it had also been, as she now realized, a mistake. A big one.
For as far as they knew, she’d cheated on Adam, broken his heart. So in their eyes, he was still Prince Charming, while she’d been transformed into the wicked witch.
She’d been a stranger, she’d become a friend—now, apparently, she was the enemy.
“Waitress!” Nikki called, waving her over. “Is there a problem? We’re starving.”
You know my name, Beth retorted—silently. Aloud, she said only, “It’ll be here as soon as possible, Nikki.” Through gritted teeth.
“It better be,” Nikki growled.
“Or what?” The words slipped out before Beth could stop herself.
“What did you say?” Nikki asked with incredulity. She turned to her left. “Christie, is it just me, or is the waitress being rather rude?”
“I’m sure she wouldn’t be rude, Nikki,” Christie responded in a voice oozing with false goodwill. “Since she knows that then we’d simply have no choice but to complain to the manager.”
“You’re right. I’m sure I must have misheard,” Nikki conceded. “You can go now, waitress,” she said haughtily, flicking Beth away like a speck of dirt on her white pants. “Just bring us the food when it’s ready—and try not to cheat us on the bill. If you can help yourself.”
Beth forced a smile and walked away with a steady step. Maybe, if she pretended hard enough that the mockery didn’t bother her, it would stop. Or, at the very least, her feigned indifference might eventually transform itself into something real. But for now, it was all still an act—and the show wasn’t over yet. She was only steps away when she heard Marcy’s intentionally loud complaint: “I just don’t know what’s wrong with the service these days.”
In spite of herself, Beth hesitated, and turned around.
“Well, you know what my mother always says,” Nikki replied, glaring directly at Beth. “These days, it’s impossible to find good help.”
Beth wanted to crawl into a dark hole. She wanted to quit her job, run home, hide under the covers, and wait there until graduation. But instead, she just strode across the restaurant to take her next order, figuring that, at the very least, her shift couldn’t get any worse.
Wrong again.
“Hi, beautiful.”
Kane peeked his head out from behind a menu and smiled up at her. Surprise.
Beth nibbled on the inside of her lip and hoped he wouldn’t notice the tears that had formed at the edges of her eyes. She hated for him to see her like this—in uniform, serving people, being humiliated. Had he seen her with Nikki and crew? Had he heard?
“What are you doing here?” she asked, masking her distress with annoyance.
“I heard the place has the cutest waitresses in town,” he deadpanned, grabbing her hand and twining her fingers through his own. “Thought I’d come check it out.”
“So what’s the verdict?” Beth asked, flushing.
“Jury’s still out,” he said, rising to give her a kiss. “But maybe you’d like to offer a bribe that would tip the scales?”
Beth wriggled out of his grasp.
“Kane, stop,” she protested, backing away. She didn’t want him near her. Not with grease patches dotting her shirt, not when she smelled like coleslaw and onion rings. “I asked you not to come here when I’m working,” she snapped. “It’s distracting.”
“Your wish is my command—I’m out of here,” Kane promised, a knowing smile fixed on his face. “I just wanted to give you this.”
He handed her a small box, elegantly wrapped in light silver paper. Beth didn’t know what to say.
“It’s not my birthday, and—”
“I just saw it and thought of you,” he explained, resting a hand on her lower back. “Open it.”
Slightly flushed, Beth carefully pulled off the wrapping paper and lifted the lid of the box. Inside lay a beautiful sky blue scarf. It was exactly the same shade as her eyes.
“Kane, it’s beautiful!” she exclaimed. She lifted it to her cheek and sighed at the soft caress of the fabric.
“Is this—?”
“Cashmere,” he confirmed.
“But it’s too nice, I couldn’t—”
“You’ll look beautiful in it,” he assured her, wrapping it softly around her neck. “And this way, you’ll be nice and cozy up in the mountains this weekend.” He raised an eyebrow. “Just in case I’m not enough to keep you warm.”
Beth laughed and snuggled against him—suddenly, she didn’t care what she was wearing, or how she looked or smelled. She just cared that she had a warm body to lean against, warm lips to kiss.
“Meet me back here at the end of my shift?” she whispered as they finally broke apart.
“You can count on me.”
And she was beginning to wonder if it might just be true.
www.matchmadeinhaven.com
username: Spitfire
password: MStevens88
Friday’s entrée at the Haven High cafeteria: meat loaf
(Miranda thought this last log-in requirement was a master stroke—how else would the Web site screen out all the perverts and cyberfreaks?) She hit enter, and the final version of her profile popped up on the screen.
User Profile: Spitfire
Sex: female
Age: 17
Height: 5′2″
(Okay, so she’d added an extra inch and a half—but who knows, maybe she was still growing.)
Favorite color: scarlet
Favorite food: -----
If I were an animal, I’d be: an elephant
(It wasn’t sexy, but had the virtue of being true.)
Best lie I’ve ever told: Mom, you look great today—have you lost weight? And can I have a raise in my allowance?
Celebrity I most look like: Scarlett Johannson
(Um … maybe if you squinted? While you were high?)
Three things I can’t live without: 1) my iPod, 2) my best friend, 3) chocolate chip cookies
I am … always ready to laugh, or to make you laugh. Honest, loyal, fun (and totally willing to hold a grudge on your behalf).
You are … someone who thinks these questions are as stupid as I do. Someone who knows how to have a good time without making an ass of himself—and if the latter can’t be helped, at least is able to laugh at himself. Someone who knows what the word “latter” means. Basically, you’re smart, funny, confident, and you love that
I’m all those things too.
The confident thing was a lie, of course, but she’d thought it would look good, and might attract the right kind of guy. The kind who wasn’t a desperate freak too pathetic to find his own flesh-and-blood dates. If any of the guys on matchmadeinhaven.com actually fit that profile—Miranda was seriously skeptical.
But, crazy or not, she’d decided to go for it. What, other than the final shreds of her dignity, did she have to lose?
chapter
3
“Here’s your uniform, and here’s your mop.”
“My … mop?” Harper took the outstretched polyester hoop skirt, holding it between the tips of two fingers as if afraid of catching its germs. She just stared at the mop, however—no way was she touching that thing, much less pushing it around.
“What, did you think I was going to start you out as a waitress?” Mr. White, the Nifty Fifties manager, threw his head back and burst into mean-spirited laughter, his double chins jiggling in time with his throaty cackles. Finally he stopped, rubbing his bald spot thoughtfully. “Well, you’re pretty enough to be out front, I’ll give you that.”
Harper held herself still as his beady eyes swept over her body. He was gross—but if it meant losing the mop, well … let him look.
“But you’ve got no experience,” he continued. “You can start training as a waitress as soon as your supervisor thinks you’re ready.”
“My supervisor? Aren’t you my supervisor?” Harper looked around the restaurant, wondering which of the crater-faced losers would be bossing her around. Maybe this was a good thing, she thought—at least she wouldn’t have to humiliate herself, serving people she knew. Safe in back with the mop, she could work completely undercover.