I could tel Ruth didn’t believe me, but she wasn’t going to chal enge me any further. Stil , she refused to let me out of the car until Michael appeared. We spent several long minutes making smal talk while she looked at the car clock—she didn’t want to keep Jamie waiting, I could tel —
and I scanned the otherwise empty road for Michael’s car. When he final y arrived, we both let out a sigh of relief.
She was reluctant to go. “Are you sure you’l be al right, El ie?”
I smiled assuredly. “Of course, Ruth.”
“It doesn’t seem particularly safe out here . . . ,” she said.
“I’l be with Michael.”
“Okay. But don’t be afraid to cal if you need me.” She paused, then added with a smile, “And please go home within the hour like we promised your mom. I don’t want her mad at me. She can be scary.”
I gave her a hug—thankful for the ride and the bridge back toward friendship—and hopped out of the car. Immediately, I was grateful she hadn’t let me out sooner. The salty air was bracing and strong, practical y slapping me in the face with its cold dampness. If I wasn’t so confident in my flying skil s, I might have clung to the road instead of braving the cliffside path nearest to Michael’s car.
Ruth was stil waiting, so I raced over to his car. Waving good-bye, I opened the door and slid in. Straightaway, Michael pul ed me toward him, and over the gearshift, he kissed me. I’d been feeling guilty about deceiving my parents and using Ruth to help me, but his lips and his hands wiped al that guilt away. I needed to be with him.
“So where are we going? In an hour, I have to be home.”
“Actual y, I thought we might stay here, down in the cove.” He smiled. “It’s where we had one of our first dates, after al .”
I laughed. “You’re cal ing that a date now?”
He laughed too. “So are you game? Or is it too cold for you?”
I could tel he was daring me. After al these weeks where I taunted him and pushed him, he was turning the tables back on me. I had to rise to the occasion. “It depends on how we’re getting down there,” I answered coquettishly.
“I think it might be the right conditions for an afternoon flight.”
We’d never flown in daylight before. It was too risky. But if ever a safe time and place existed for the gamble, Ransom Beach in late fal was it.
“Let’s go,” I said.
Checking to make sure Ruth was gone, we got out of the car and walked over to the edge of the cliff. For a moment, that first, terrifying experience of watching Michael jump from the very spot—not knowing that he could fly—revisited me. I felt a little dizzy at the intensity of the memory, and I stopped to steady myself.
“You haven’t become afraid of heights overnight, have you?” Michael asked, teasing me again.
I squared my shoulders and looked down the sixty-foot drop. “Of course not.” Just to prove my point, I grabbed his hand and dove.
Flying during the day was different. Al the shapes and sounds and smel s we normal y guessed at were clearly discernible. Al the hidden dangers were made apparent. Daylight made the experience more exciting and more frightening—simultaneously. By the time we landed on the sand, I wanted more.
But Michael declined my invitation for another flight. He wanted to stay in the cove. Its protective boulders made the temperature surprisingly warm, and Michael’s arms made it even warmer. So instead, we stood for a long minute in our sheltered spot, holding each other and staring out at the rough sea.
“There’s something I want to tel you—need to tel you—about last night,” he whispered softly in my ear.
He had mentioned this earlier. But, in the chaos of the day, I hadn’t given it much thought. Particularly since I had my own news that I’d decided to share with him.
“There’s something I need to tel you, too,” I said.
“I think I should go first,” he persisted.
“Al right.” I suddenly felt uneasy and sick, like he was about to confess that he’d hooked up with another girl last night.
Michael took a deep breath and opened his lips to speak, when—over Michael’s shoulders—I saw another person amble down the beach in our direction. A man. He wore jeans and a fleece, but he was barefoot and had his shoes slung casual y over his shoulder as if going for a beach strol on a beautiful summer day. What was he doing out here?
I placed my finger on Michael’s lips and said, “Wait. Someone’s coming.”
He craned his neck to see who it was. Spinning back to face me, he clutched me tighter—as if he was worried I’d fly away—and said, “It’s okay, El ie. He’s here to meet us. He is what I wanted to tel you about.”
Even though Michael’s words registered in my head and he intended them to be a comfort, I couldn’t stop staring warily at the man as he came closer and his face became more distinct. The blond hair, the blue eyes, the handsome, chiseled features—I knew I’d seen him before.
He was the guy in the coffee shop several weeks ago, the one I’d bumped into. The one that Ruth couldn’t take her eyes off of. The guy who stood by Missy’s side at the Fal Dance, and the one I saw in shadows in flashes. He was Zeke.
What on earth was he doing out here? Meeting us?
The guy noticed my gaze, and smiled that creepy, disconcerting smile. And I got real y, real y scared.
