The Heir: A YA Fantasy Romance (The Heir Series: Book 1) Page 5

  “Oh, yes. You have come to the right place then.” I tried to sound professional, but instead I sounded like I just ran a marathon. I was so out of breath. I was sure that my heart wanted to attack me from the inside out to reach him, which made it kind of hard to speak. I looked down at my chest, thinking: that is still a strange feeling. For so long I felt nothing. Now, my body is trying to kill me. Is this what heartbreak means? Like, your heart literally breaking from your chest? I shook my head. That is a little gruesome—tone it down, Emma. Everything is alright; he’s just a boy.

  “I have heard that it is the place.” He leaned his elbows on the counter, his face still far from me but close enough that I needed to step back. “I still haven’t gotten my wish yet,” he smiled.

  “Oh, well, it can take some time,” I said, trying to steady my breathing at his reference to the dandelion wish that I had encouraged him to make.

  “Well, I am counting on that wish.” He winked at me—actually winked, and the annoying heat in my cheeks crept up, and I knew that they were probably a bright, unpleasant, and obvious crimson color. “A flower shop in a city named Roseville—that must not be a coincidence, Emma,” he said with a smirk. As he spoke, all my insides turned to goo. The sound of his voice, saying my name made me lose any ounce of cool that I had managed to possess.

  The name of Mary’s flower shop was The Rose Village, so obviously, it was very much inspired by the name of our city. Come on, Emma, get a grip on yourself and don’t look like a complete idiot, please. I begged myself, Please, act cool.

  “Yes, well, I guess my aunt thought it seemed to be the right thing to do. I love roses,” I blurted out that last part for no apparent reason and wanted to hit myself in the head for it. Why is speaking so difficult?

  “They are very beautiful. Can I get one rose, please?” I nodded as he pulled his elbows from off the counter and then clasped them once more behind his back; I was starting to see a trend with him. His hands behind his back must be some kind of habit of his.

  “We have a fresh selection right over there,” I said, pointing to a display.

  “I saw that. Do you think you could pick out the best one? I am not sure which one I want.” I walked from behind the counter and was grateful that on that specific day I had worn a cuter outfit than a t-shirt and cut-off jean shorts. I wore a summer dress, simple but feminine enough. It was incredibly hot in the summer, and I learned that dresses were always the way to go when the heat made it unbearable. Mary had said that it would be over one-hundred degrees that day, so I also pulled my hair up into a messy bun, which I hoped at that moment looked halfway decent. You can never tell with messy buns—after all, they are messy; it is in the name.

  “Of course, that is what I am here for. So, to help you, it would be good to know what the rose is for—” I trailed off. Why did I wish it wasn’t for a girl? Maybe it was for his mom. I laughed on the inside: who bought one single rose for their mother? Well, maybe it was her birthday, I told myself, hopeful.

  “Oh, it’s for me,” he said, emanating confidence as if it was the coolest thing in the world for a guy to buy himself a flower.

  “Yourself? You have a habit of buying yourself roses?” I raised an eyebrow, unable to stop my curiosity.

  “I wouldn’t call it a habit so much, but a hobby, yes.”

  I couldn't get enough of his voice. Now, that is a man, a man—buying himself a rose. “A hobby?”

  “Yes.”

  “Never heard of that one.”

  “It’s new,” his eyes captured mine, and I thought I would faint. I tried to act normal, but who was I kidding? Normal? I was not normal.

  “Well, then uh, any flower should work then, sir.” I motioned to the flowers in the crates beside us.

  “Shad,” he said, looking into my eyes, and he seemed to take a glimpse into my soul, making me think that quite possibly the eyes very much were windows to the soul.

  “Excuse me?” I gulped.

  “My name, Emma. You may use it; it is Shad.”

  “Oh, Shad, right—sorry.” I tried to keep my mind off of his soul as well as mine and on subject: flowers and roses. We are talking about roses. Breathing in deeply to clear my thoughts, I continued: “What is your favorite color then?”

  “Green,” he answered.

  “Oh, well, there are no green roses. Oh, I know!” I smiled as I dashed to the register. We had a pamphlet that showed each rose and the meaning of each color. I pulled the paper out from a stack behind the counter. “I made these last year and had totally forgotten about them.” I handed the pamphlet to him, and he read it over. He wandered over to the display of roses for a little while, and I stayed at the register, watching him. The way he stood and carried himself even seemed attractive to me. He had an air about him, which I could not really put into words, but it pulled me in, and I wanted to know him, really know him; who is he?

  “I think this one is perfect,” he smiled, waving a lavender rose in his hand.

  You’re perfect—I pushed that thought away, worried that it might spill from my mouth.

  “Great choice. It is a beautiful one,” I noted as I rang him up. He caught my eyes again and gave me a wickedly beautiful smile.

  “Yes, Emma, beautiful indeed.”

  A shiver danced through me. What is wrong with me?

  He left, stepping through the door, and while my heart moved to a normal rhythm after his departure, I could not help but remember that he had jump-started my heart only a day earlier. Could he know what a gift that was? I could not help but stare at the door, the space where he had just been a moment earlier, and I missed him. I shook my head in embarrassment. This is crazy. You can not miss someone you don’t even know, Emma.

  I closed up the shop for the night, feeling lighter and happier than I had been in months. Summer meant it was still light out, and as I reached the car, I noticed something on the windshield. I stopped dead in my tracks as I looked and saw, there lying on the car, the lavender rose. Underneath the rose was the pamphlet folded carefully to reveal the meaning behind the lavender rose, which I had not remembered until that moment:

  Lavender Rose: Love at first sight, enchantment.

  I dropped the paper. I could not move for a full five minutes with my mouth hanging open. I stared at that delicate blossom that was left on my car. I was partly in shock again because I still felt my heart thumping and pumping in my chest, and the new song I made up in my head just for Shad played ever so loudly, swirling within me. Finally, shaking off the stupor, I opened the car door and went inside. I sat down in the driver’s seat, with the lavender rose clutched in my hand. I closed my eyes and listened to the beats of my heart, keeping perfect time to his song.

  Lavender Rose

  I SPENT MORE TIME EARLY in the day inside of the attic. It was becoming a sort of escape for me. I pulled out my mother’s wedding dress and admired the lace and silk. When the heat became too much, I had to abandon my parents’ pasts. Mary had offered to help me move the boxes downstairs, but I couldn’t move them. I had taken my father’s books down. Mary had donated them, but I wasn’t ready to move everything else. And, other than the few letters that still sat unread on my dresser, everything else would stay up there.

  After my morning in the attic, I needed to cool off. We had a pool in our backyard, so I decided I would take a swim that afternoon.

  I hurried down the attic stairs and into my bedroom. When I opened my dresser, drawer I gasped when I saw the lavender flower that I had saved from the hood of my car, lying there, on top of my swimsuits—which was odd because I distinctly remembered laying it on the counter in the bathroom. I walked to my bathroom and peered at the counter. I saw two dried up, shriveled leaves there. I frowned, confused. Maybe Mary moved it. But why would she? And why would she put it in my drawer? Deciding I must have moved it there when I was changing earlier, I shook my head and picked up the dried-out rose. I smiled at it and wondered if I would see him soon, or not—Shad,
the boy who lived across the street and had a hobby of buying roses. I hoped he was in the same grade as I was or that he would attend the same school at least. He would be going to the same school, I assumed, because he lived directly across the street, and doesn’t that mean we are in the same school boundaries or something? I thought. Unless, he was enrolled in a private school. He looked like he came perhaps, from a semi-wealthy family. He wore what looked like expensive clothing. I had noticed that much. But if he was wealthy, he wouldn’t be living in middle-class, cookie-cutter wonderland. I shook my head and touched a finger to a lavender petal for a moment, then refocused on my task: pool. I really needed to stop those daydreams about Shad and remember what I needed to do right then. Okay, I can do this. Be normal, Emma. You need to find a bathing suit. Do normal people give themselves pep talks? Do normal people talk to themselves in general? I decided to avoid getting into that. I was afraid of the answer. I shook my head to clear it and placed the flower on top of my dresser, taking a mental picture of it sitting there.

  I had three swimsuits. One was a solid black one-piece that had seen better days. One was bright purple with hot pink flowers on it—a two piece, but conservative. The last one was a green palm leaf print one-piece, with a white background. It was my favorite. I had purchased it with my mom the year before. Physical Education in school required a few months of swimming. I loved being in the water, and I also loved the feeling of floating and just being.

  Closing my drawer, I walked into my bathroom and stripped down. I pulled my swimsuit on and applied plenty of sunblock because, unfortunately, my skin hated the sun. My mom was fair-skinned, and I was the same as her. My hair was a dark blond; my mom often told me that I had golden hair, but it wasn’t anything near the color of gold in my opinion. I took after her in my appearance, or so I had been told: fair skin and light hair. It was in my eyes where I took after my father. I had the same bright emerald green eyes that he had. I gulped, trying to shake that thought away before it could take root and grow, sprouting into an image of that awful night that I had tried so hard to forget. I rushed from my room and down the stairs, grabbing a towel from the linen closet on my way.

  Mary was gone all day. It was her full day at the flower shop. She had three employees, including me, and she liked to work half-days every day. On Fridays, she worked the entire day, open to close. She had not really left me alone at all that summer. I was part grateful and part annoyed. She acted like I was a little bubble that would burst at any moment. I had already lived the nightmare that was my life. I survived the summer. I had my good days, and I had my bad days, but really, all in all, I was feeling better. Time was helping.

  I walked out the side door and onto the cement patio. I looked around as I laid my towel down on the hot ground. I walked to the pool’s edge, and I looked at my reflection in the water. I saw myself shift in the slowly moving ripples. I reached down to touch the cool, glassy surface, when a hand grabbed my ankle and pulled me into the pool’s depths. I sank and kicked up with my legs to catch my breath. I looked around, wiping water out of my eyes. I was afraid. Then I saw Ryker with his sandy blond hair and blue eyes, smirking at me.

  “Ryker! You almost killed me!” I spat, splashing water into his smug face.

  “I did not; you could never die from being pushed into a pool by me—lifeguard—remember?” he said very matter-of-factly. I had forgotten that he had been a lifeguard the previous summer at the community pool. Why he was so proud that he knew CPR, I could not tell you, but he was.

  “I didn’t know you were home,” I blurted out with no humor in my tone.

  “We just got home like an hour ago,” he smiled.

  “You seem better, Emma.”

  “I feel a little better. Every day is a little more bearable,” I shrugged.

  “I hate that I was away for so long. My dad really wanted some quality time as a whole family.” Ryker pulled me into a hug, and his chin rested on the top of my head. He was warm and calming to me. I breathed in. He was home, and I was home, with him.

  “Where did you guys go again?”

  “Camping,” he said with a laugh.

  “What! That’s funny, you and camping,” I said, smiling at him as his arms released me.

  “Hey, I can camp. Seriously, I have skills,” he retorted as he splashed water at me.

  “I vaguely remember a boy who looked like you, trying to build a fire back here in the fire pit and—” He swam to me and covered my mouth.

  “Okay, okay, so I am not good at making fires; I get it.” His hand, pressing on my mouth and touching my lips, felt strange. I looked into his grey-blue eyes; his eyes had always been beautiful, like the ocean after a storm, or the sky on a partly cloudy day—such a beautiful, unworldly blue. His eyes looked at my lips as his fingers released my mouth. I cleared my throat and pulled away.

  “I came out here for a swim, so if you don’t mind,” I said, then dived under the water, feeling the need to escape him.

  Overheard

  OKAY, HERE IT IS, MY first day of junior year. I am a new me, a braver me, and not a sad miserable me, I thought. Well, truth or not, that was what I told myself as I sat up in bed.

  Summer seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. It had already been seven months since my parents took their last breaths. It seemed like I had spent an eternity away from them, and at the same time, like it had only been a single day since my father had smiled at me and my mother had held me in a hug.

  I did not see Shad for the rest of the summer after our two first encounters. I tried to spot him from my house—coming out of his, but I never saw him. I started to wonder if he ever even left his house.

  Ryker and I spent time together those last two weeks of summer; it was very hot outside, so other than swimming in the pool, we mostly stayed inside and watched movies. Ryker really loved watching movies, and while it wasn’t my favorite activity, I learned to endure it for his sake. But summer break, summer vacation was at its end. I was ready to embrace the new year, or at least I will attempt to appear as if I am embracing it.

  My classmates knew me, and of course, they knew what had happened to my parents. I wished that I could have been the one who got to decide who would be permitted to know about it. I could still remember the sad faces I saw at the end of my sophomore year, after my parents died. I hated it. It was one thing to feel bad for me but another thing to pity me. I did not want to be the girl everyone pitied. I mean, even Karen Manning, who Ryker informed me was my ex-best friend, had been nice to me after the car crash. Something happened to our friendship there, between seventh and eighth grades. We went from best friends forever and friendship bracelets to hating each other. Sometimes, I wished I knew what had happened, but then Ryker told me about her behavior freshman year at cheer practice, and I realized that not being her friend was probably the best choice I had ever made. Ryker was easy to be friends with, no girly drama, and that was something I had been thankful for. Ryker was always very brother bear and protective when it came to boys. For some reason the idea of me dating was not appealing to him. Regardless of his overprotective nature, I would be forever grateful for our friendship. I desperately wished, however, that I had a girlfriend to confide in, but never Karen Manning—never again. Oh, how I wished I had someone to gush to about Shad. After the rose on my car, I could not help but ache to ask him why he did that—that is if I even had the guts to ask. He knew where I was most of the time—at work. He knew I was his neighbor as well, but still—nothing. It puzzled me because he was so bold. Why hadn’t he visited me again? I really needed to talk that over with a girlfriend. He is probably not interested in me, and can I blame him? No—no I can’t because I am a mess, I thought. Maybe that would be my first goal: make a friend who was a girl who I could talk to about boys. I mean, I had Mary, but she was my aunt and also a parent figure now, so that would be a little strange. Mary told me that I should make friends at school. I was not entirely sure how to do that when I literally kn
ew everyone. She reminded me that people moved in and out all the time. I was bound to see a new face.

  That made me think of the incredibly gorgeous boy next door. I felt my heart flutter and wanted to punch myself. Why was it that this random stranger made me feel all those feelings, but my best friend was making me feel nothing? What, was I in some alternate reality or something? I was confused and irritated, to be honest. From what I saw, Shad was going to be pretty popular at my school. I mean, every girl was going to drool over him. The captain of the cheer squad would snatch him up for sure and make him hers. He probably played football—match made in heaven. For all I knew, Shad and the cheer captain, they could become high school sweethearts, never leave town, and have babies. I shuddered. I did not like that idea. That gorgeous, tall, dark, and handsome guy really should not belong to anyone—not to anyone but me. I could not shake the thought that he belonged to me. What? Why do I keep thinking that? I don’t even know him. I shook away all my thoughts and tried to focus. I needed to focus.

  I climbed out of bed and decided it was a good sign that I was annoyed and thinking of high school drama. I was thinking about teenage things. That was a good thing, right? My mother would be proud, I knew that much.

  I remembered back to a time one year earlier, when my mother came into my room to talk with me. Most of my life before their death still seemed so blurry, but not that memory. I realized that as soon as it came into full focus. It was as if I could see her there—even though so much time had passed—sitting on my bed with her golden blond hair and petite figure, her blue eyes and her peach lipstick smile.