Page 27 of Good Directions

“Not about you being able to sing. That I meant, sincerely.” Even in the dim light, I can see the pink rise in her cheeks, her embarrassment taking over. Sawyer looks away from me, shifting even more uncomfortably. I need to try to make her feel at ease here. “So, karaoke is your thing?”

“Yeah, sorta. But…” she trails off, still not looking me in the eye. “That’s not something I really advertise.”

Gotcha.

“Secret’s safe with me.”

“Psshh!” she scoffs. Now she’s looking at me. And that spark that was in her eyes a moment ago when I touched her? That’s long gone. Replaced with a doubt that tells me her walls are going right back up.

“It is. Promise. Cross my heart.” I mark an X over my chest like I’m five, hoping for at least a smile. But she doesn’t crack. “Would it help if I told you something about me that most people don’t know?”

Stillness surrounds us, the only noise filling the space the thrum of the music from downstairs, a weird dance mix of a country hit pumping through the speakers. My heart beats out of sync with the drumbeat, making the moment feel louder and longer than I’m sure it really is.

“Only if it’s real,” she answers, her eyes softening again.

Oh, this is real, Sawyer…

I step in closer to her, my fingers twisting around that same wayward strand of hair that distracts me every time she’s near me, trying to tuck it into the rest of her messy waves. She sucks in a breath, looking up at me, her pretty pink mouth begging to be kissed.

But this is not that moment.

“I’m afraid of armadillos.”

“That’s not funny, Anton!” Sawyer smacks my chest, clearly unamused. “I told you it needed to be real. You’ve stumbled upon something that is private and personal, and now I’m sure will be used to tease me somehow. And then worse, you pretend to offer up something in return and you hand me this nonsense about being afraid of armadillos? Are you really that much of a jackass?”

“It’s the truth.” I look at her squarely in the eyes, keeping my own expression level, trying to let her know that I’m letting her in. I’m lowering my own walls. “You can go back and ask my mama. They freak me the fuck out.”

“You’re…you’re afraid…”

“Of armadillos. Yes,” I confirm. “The summer I was seven, my dad took Gus, Milo, Hux, and me camping. Jace and Ewan were around but were too little to join us, and Willa was a newborn, so it was just us four and Auggie. Somehow, one not only got into our tent, but my sleeping bag. I woke up in the middle of the night to the little fucker rooting around in there with me. I woke up the whole tent screaming ‘armadillo!’ To this day, when my siblings or I need to send a distress signal to each other, that’s our code word.”

Sawyer laughs, clapping her hand over her mouth when she realizes what she’s doing. Disappointment fills me as her beautiful smile disappears behind her hand, and I want to know what other stories I can tell her to bring it back.

“Sorry, it’s rude to laugh.”

“Laugh all you want. My siblings do.”

“And that’s really all a secret?”

I look at her, tilting my head to question whether she’s really still questioning this. “You actually think I broadcast that I’m freaked out by armadillos and that my family uses the word as their personal distress signal as a way to mock me?”

“Good point.”

She looks down for a second, then back up, that rebellious strand slipping out of place again. I chuckle, fighting the urge to fix it again. Once is enough for one night.

“And that’s actually two things.”

“What is?”

“That’s two things most people don’t know. My fear and the distress signal. So, by my count, you’re one up in the secret department.”

Lifting a shoulder, Sawyer turns to go. “Good for me.”

The bedazzling on the back pockets of her shorts catches the light, drawing my eyes to her as she heads down the stairs. Desire shoots through me—as does a reminder to mind my manners—and I count to ten before following her.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“I should head back,” she says, stopping at the bottom. “Got an early morning.”