I don’t know what to say. So I say something dumb. “You want to come in?” He hesitates. He’s never been inside my room before. “Okay.” I’m embarrassed by the girliness of my bedroom, the sheer amount of pink stuff I have lying around. I kick a pink teddy bear under my bed, snatch a bra from where it’s draped over my bedpost and try to discreetly dump it into my hamper. Then I tuck a strand of runaway hair behind my ear and try to look anywhere but straight at Christian.
He seems embarrassed, too, unsure of what to do in this situation. Imagine our mortification when at exactly that moment there’s a gentle knock on my door and Dad comes in.
“Oh, hello,” he says, looking at Christian.
“Dad! Don’t you. . this is. .”
“Christian Prescott,” Dad supplies. “I’d recognize those eyes anywhere.” Christian and I look at each other, him all confused about Dad knowing anything about him, me freaking out because I don’t want Christian to think I’ve been waxing poetically about his eyes to my dad.
“I’m Michael. Clara’s father,” Dad says, extending his hand.
Funny how he says that exactly the same way, every time.
Christian doesn’t hesitate. He takes Dad’s hand and shakes it firmly.
Dad smiles. “It’s remarkable, really, how much you resemble your mother.”
“You knew my mother?” Christian’s voice is almost painfully neutral.
“Quite well. She was a charming woman. A good woman.”
Christian glances down for a minute, then up to meet my father’s gaze. “Thank you.” His eyes flicker over to me, linger on my face like he’s seeing it in an entirely new way. Then he says,
“Well, I should go. I just wanted to make sure Clara was okay after she left in the middle of class today.”
Dad couldn’t look more approving of the idea of Christian looking out for me. “Don’t go on my account. I’ll leave you to talk.”
And he does. And he closes the door on the way out. What kind of Dad leaves his teenage daughter alone in her room at night with a boy and the door closed? He’s got a lot of catching up to do, parent-wise, I think. Or maybe he doesn’t really see parenting as his role. Or maybe he’s just that confident that Christian would have to be crazy to do anything inappropriate with an angel on the other side of the door.
“So,” Christian says after a minute. “Your dad’s an angel.”
“So it would seem.”
“He seems cool.”
“He is. Cooler than I ever would have given him credit for.”
“I’m glad for you,” he says.
He is. I can feel it. He’s sincerely pleased to find out that I get to have a dad who cares about me, who is powerful enough to protect me, who can be here for me now during this rough time. He also has something he wants to tell me. It’s right there, like the words are hovering on the forefront of his mind, something he thinks will connect us now more than ever. But he holds it back.
“Come on, what is it?”
He gives me this mysterious, closed-lipped smile.
“I want to take you somewhere, after school tomorrow. Will you go with me?” I find my voice. “Sure.”
“Okay. Good night, Clara.” He goes to the window and steps out.
“Good night,” I murmur after him, and then I watch him summon his wings, those gorgeous speckled wings, and lift off.
Chapter 17
The Part Where I Kiss You
I drive myself crazy wondering where Christian means to take me, but when he shows up at my locker after school the next day, part of me hesitates. I’m not sure why. Maybe because of the steady way he’s looking at me now, warm gold flecks in his eyes.
“You ready?” he asks.
I nod. We walk out into the sunshine. There’s not even a whisper of Samjeeza here. Dad must have scared him off for good, because suddenly Mom is totally okay with Jeffrey and me leaving the safety of hallowed ground.
Christian unlocks his truck and I climb in. I try not to scan the vicinity for Tucker as we make our way out of the parking lot. He called me last night and we tried to talk about my dad, but neither of us had much to say. I couldn’t come right out and tell him that my dad’s an angel, even though he’s probably already guessed. It would be too dangerous for him, knowing that, a tidbit that Samjeeza would just love to pluck out of his head. The less he knows, the safer he is, I’ve realized, and anyway, he shouldn’t be here — he has a rodeo competition tomorrow and left school earlier than usual today to get in some extra hours of practice. He was preoccupied. He didn’t ask me what I was up to and I didn’t share.
Christian turns up a dirt road that curls up the mountainside behind town. I spot a sign, crane my neck to read what it says.
ASPEN HILL CEMETERY.
All at once it feels like everything inside me turns to stone. “Christian. .”
“It’s okay, Clara.” He pulls off to the side of the road, puts the truck in park. He opens his door, swings down,
