🌹Rosalie🌹

The streets are eerily quiet. It's something I'm still getting used to in this town. After a certain hour, it's like the town itself goes to sleep alongside its residents. It's almost comforting to think about. How this whole town is so interconnected, beating to the same heartbeat.

It makes me wonder what would have happened if my life were here when we lost everything. Back home, no one really bat an eye. No one checked in on us or gave us sideways glances. I was thankful to be able to disappear.

I don't think it would be that easy here. I think every aspect of every individual's life is not solely their own. Not here. Here, people breathe the air exhaled by their neighbors. They rely on one another. And I haven't quite figured out yet if that's a good thing or something else entirely.

Nolan is just as quiet as the solemn streets we pass by. My heart is still a weighted lump in my chest, my stomach spinning in aching circles. I don't know what happened tonight. I don't know why Nolan asked Genevieve to change the dare or why he came to check on me. I don't know why I'm sitting in this car with him right now. What I do know is how badly I want to be home.

Home is a tricky concept though. What I want more than anything at this moment is to be in my bed back in New York, in the home that raised me, surrounded by the very four walls that were supposed to be my safe haven.

We pass the shops and continue onto the small two lane road. The vast open fields now swallowed by darkness. My own reflection the only thing looking back at me as I try to look out. The dark, tired circles beneath my eyes shine. I look away, not ready to see the rest of my flaws looking back at me.

"You looked like you might have had fun tonight," Nolan says, peering over at me briefly before looking back at the road. "At the game, I mean."

I'm not sure if this is an attempt at small talk to fill the awkward space I've created or if he's actually trying to form conversation. "It wasn't terrible," I admit.

He smiles, one brow lifted and it has me fighting back my own smile. "Not terrible. That feels an awful lot like a victory coming from you."

"Don't get ahead of yourself. I'm not trading tutus for pompoms any time soon."

He chuckles, and it has me wondering if I've managed to get that dimple of his to show. Along the dark open road, it's hard to see. "I won't hold my breath."

"You were...pretty good out there," I admit, letting my words linger in the air for a beat.

"Just pretty good?"

I roll my eyes. "You know, humility is a virtue."

"Humility is overrated."

"Says the guy with the inflated ego."

His laugh spreads between us, and I welcome the warmth of distraction from the rest of the night.

"There's nothing wrong with having confidence, Red."

"You're right, there's not. But confidence without humility is just egotistical peacock feathers and chest puffing."

"So...I'm a peacock then?"

I shrug. "If the shoe fits..."

"There are worse things to be in life," he replies, and I can't help but smile.

As we pass the last hill before we turn onto the road that will lead to our house, Nolan flips his blinker on. I sit up. I may still be considered new to town, but this isn't the way home.

"Where are we going?" I ask, watching as he turns down another side street.

"We're making a pitstop."

"A pitstop? Nolan, I just want to go home." The words sound pathetic. But after tonight, all I want to do is disappear, just like I did back in New York.

He glances at me, a softness to his eyes before he turns back to the road. "I want to show you something."

I follow his gaze. He flips his blinker on again, this time turning into a driveway. I lean forward and read the sign above some type of large garage door, Murphy Automitives.

When I turn back to face Nolan, he pulls the car into a spot and cuts the engine. "What are we doing here?" I ask.

"Listen..." He breathes out, taking a moment. "I don't know what happened back there, but I know something upset you, and I couldn't let the night end that way. All I could think was when I get upset, I come here." He looks back at the auto shop in front of us. I don't know what to say, what part of his speech to over analyze first. But before I get the chance, he looks back at me and asks, "Can I show you?"

I still don't have a set of words. A part of me wants to ask him to take me home, to insist it. But another part of me is curious. When I offer a small nod, he opens his door. I quickly follow behind him. He leads me over to a side door and pulls out a key.

"Are we allowed to be here?" I ask, glancing around the empty parking lot. The lights are all off, only the dim backlight of a few small street lamps add a distant glow to the space around us.

"Do you trust me?" he questions, that playful gleam in his eyes.

"Do you want an honest answer?"

He laughs, sliding the key in the door and pushing it open. He holds a hand out, gesturing for me to go first. I step inside, slowly shuffling along the dark space. In the next minute, he flips on the lights. A large, open garage comes into view. A few cars are lined up, clearly in the middle of being worked on. Tools and machinery line the walls, tires stacked along another.

"I started coming here when I was ten," he says. I turn to see him watching me. He takes a few steps back, slowly making his way to the other side of the garage. "I got super into cars as a kid. My dad worked out a deal with Taylor's dad, Billy, to let me help around the shop. I didn't do much at first, just took out the trash, washed the rags. I didn't care. I just liked being here, learning everything I could."

I watch as he tells more about himself. I still don't know why I'm here, or why he's letting me see a piece of him. But I don't plan to stop him. Instead, I listen to every small bit he's willing to give me.

"When I got old enough to actually help, Billy started to give me more responsibilities, began to teach me things. I spent a lot of time watching videos online, asking questions, just getting my hands dirty. About two years ago," he pauses as he reaches out a hand and grips the cover to a car. In one swift movement, he pulls it off, revealing a car that looks like it's missing half its parts. "I bought this. Believe it or not, this is actually an upgrade to how it looked when I first got my hands on it."

When all I can seem to do is stare, Nolan laughs. It has me shaking out of my shock. "I'm sorry," I say. "But why did you buy this?"

He smiles. "It's a 1967 Chevy Camaro. My dream car. Well, it will be. Once I finish rebuilding it."

"Wait, did you say rebuild it?"

"I did. With Billy's blessing, he said I could keep the car here, work on it when I have time, and he's even helping me find the best deal on some used parts."

I rest my fingers along the car, slowly running them along the cold hood as I make my way from the front to the driver's side. Peering through the window, I notice the fresh leather seating, clearly something he's redone. "This is incredible, Nolan," I say, lifting my eyes to meet his.

"Thank you."

I continue down the car, rounding the back before making my way along the opposite side. I don't know anything about cars, but I can only imagine the amount of hours it would take to transform something like this. As I reach the other side of the car, I let my hand drop and bring my eyes back to his. He's watching me, his gaze soft.

"Is this where you go every night?" I ask, piecing together the fragments he's offered.

"Yeah."

"Why? I mean, why all the sneaking around?"

His shoulders raise, his chest full of air before he breathes it out on one heavy exhale. He takes a step around the car, inspecting it in a way that I'll never understand. When he brings his eyes back to mine, he says, "Football is the goal. It always has been. Anything else is a distraction."

The way he looks at this car, the way he lights up, makes that statement feel like something foreign coming from him. I study the way his eyes drop, the way they linger on the car in front of him.

I take a step back. "Those don't sound like your words."

He looks up, the bluish tint to his eyes igniting under the lights overhead. He nods, knowing I see through the front he's putting on. "My dad means well," he begins. "He cares. A lot. Sometimes too much. He knows I work here on the off season, he actually encourages it. Says it builds character and that it's always good to have a backup plan. He just doesn't want it to take away hours I could be on the field, getting better."

I nod. I can see that his dad cares about him. And knowing what Casey has told me about how he gave up a shot at the NFL to raise Nolan, tells me he's got a huge heart. One that cares more about the people around him than himself. Maybe in some ways that can be a flaw. Maybe it's possible to care too much.

"Okay," Nolan clears his throat. "My turn."

"Your turn for what?"

"To ask a question." He shrugs, so casually as he opens the hood to the car and begins to work.

"Is that what we're doing?" I question, one brow raised.

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he looks over at me. "I think it's only fair."

I hesitate, leaning into the challenge behind his eyes. "Fine. But you have to let me help."

He stands, the shock clear across his eyes as he watches me. "Do you know anything about cars?"

"Not a clue," I admit. "But I'm also not the kind of girl to sit back and watch. You brought me here, show me what to do."

He smiles, a small shake to his head as he reaches for a rag and wipes his hands. "Okay. Come here."

I take a step forward and look under the hood. It's an intricately beautiful puzzle. Every single piece is threaded perfectly together, intertwined so eloquently. I've never really looked under the hood of a car, never taken notice of it before. But knowing Nolan did this, that he's worked to put this together, makes it more of a work of art than a machine.

"What do you miss most about New York?" he asks, and I quickly look over at him, forgetting I agreed to answer a question.

He hands me some kind of tool. I don't hesitate or offer any signs that I have no idea what he just placed in my hand. "The opportunities," I admit. His hand is soft against mine as he guides me where I need to work, how to use the object in my hand. I follow his lead. "The studios there were so much bigger than what I have here. The connections they had, the showcases, the competitions, everything was like this direct pipeline to a future I've been dreaming about since I first slipped into my ballet shoes. Being here...it just feels like a lot of doors have been closed. Like I'm trying to forge the keys to locks I don't have the blueprint to."

He nods, slipping the tool out of my hands and tossing it back where he got it. He takes my hand again, this time placing it on a part of the car to work. "I'm sorry. I can't imagine losing everything like that. Moving forward in such a different way."

I do as he shows me, reaching in and pretending I have a clue as to what the heck I'm touching. "Yeah. It hasn't been ideal, but it's not a solid enough reason to give up. Just means I have to work harder." His eyes are on me, and I can't seem to figure out if it's to closely inspect my work and make sure I don't completely destroy his car, or if he's searching my words with intricate detail. "Okay, my turn," I quickly bounce up, wiping my hands together as I take a small step back to watch him work this time. "Is Genevieve the girl you snuck into the house my first night here?"

He doesn't turn away from the car, but I can see the small arch of his brow at my question. "Yeah."

I sit back, thinking about what Casey had said about their arrangement, about Nolan's aversion to commitment. "But she's not your girlfriend?" I ask.

"No."

"Why?" The follow up question spurts from my mouth without hesitation. "I mean, why string her along?"

"Genevieve knows what she signed on for. The door is always there for her to leave."

"But she doesn't?"

"No. She doesn't."

"That's kind of the definition of stringing her along."

He laughs, lifting himself from under the hood to look over at me. "Maybe." He crosses his arms across his chest. "Okay, I've got another one. Are red roses really your favorite flower?" My breath catches, his eyes challenging. Before I can ask, he adds, "My dad insisted I pick them up the day before you guys got here. Said they were your favorite and he wanted you to feel at home."

I let out a breath, the warmth and ease releases across my chest. This isn't my dream destination, or the path I would have ever chosen, but Darren has been nothing but kind and welcoming since the moment we got here. And apparently before we got here as well. "Yeah, they're my favorite. I know I'm a walking cliché."

His eyes drop, that playfulness turned to something else. "I wasn't thinking that."

I watch him, trying to search what lies behind those guarded eyes. "I just like that they're beautifully flawed," I admit, unsure as to why I'm giving him such a vulnerable answer.

He studies me, the moment quiet as we watch one another. It's as though my heart is beating outside my chest, like he's suddenly privy to pieces I didn't mean to share.

"I don't think they're flawed," he adds, and I find myself holding my breath. "They're just covered in armor to protect what's inside."

That breath I was holding is captured within my chest. My thudding heart wraps its arms around it, holding it hostage as I look into the bluish-gray abyss staring back at me. He's seeing me. Seeing things no one has ever stopped long enough to notice. But how? He doesn't even know me. He hasn't cared to get to know me.

"Why did you ask Genevieve to change the dare?" I blurt out.

He shifts slightly, the tenderness of the moment turned to something else. He clears his throat. "You looked uncomfortable," he states. "Painfully so. It wasn't right to bring you into something you didn't ask to be a part of. Especially when it was clear you didn't want to be kissed."

My cheeks burn, my insecurities on clear display. "I was that obvious?"

"Yeah," he admits. "But to be fair, I wouldn't want to kiss Scott either." He smiles, and I'm thankful for his joke. I just wish it would ease all the worried tension.

I nod, trying my best to brush everything off.

"So," he begins again. "Was that it? You just didn't want to kiss Scott?"

"I don't even know him," I quickly defend myself. "This might be a foreign concept to you, but not everyone enjoys making out with people outside of a commitment."

"It wasn't a judgment, Red," he says, taking a small step forward. "I'm just trying to learn more about you."

It's strange, how one moment I can hardly stand to be around the guy to somehow believing that he's genuinely interested in getting to know me. But there's something in the warmth of his gaze, in the way he stands across from me, in the fact we're in this very auto shop working on a car he built.

I don't know what compels me to say what comes next or what kind of delusional spell I've been put under, but with one small breath I say, "I've never actually kissed anyone before."

I expect him to laugh, for his eyes to bulge out of his head. When no sense of shock falls over his face, I feel like I can actually breathe.

"Why?" he asks, no judgment behind his tone, just pure curiosity.

"I don't know. I guess dance was my life in New York. Much like this car," I pause to point at the Camaro behind him, "dating would have been a distraction. I never made time for it. Before I knew it, I was waking up, about to be an eighteen-year-old girl who has never been kissed." Hearing those words out loud, watching as they leave my mouth, hits me in a way I wasn't expecting. "I'm going to be eighteen in a month, and I've never been kissed," I state again, more to myself than to him.

"There's nothing wrong with that," he quickly says.

Part of me wants to laugh at his statement. Of all the people to tell me my virgin lip status is normal. Really? "Nolan, I'm going to be eighteen. When the time comes, I'm not going to have a single clue what to do. And whoever I'm with is going to know. How many eighteen-year-olds do you know that wouldn't know where to put her hands or how to move her mouth, or God, what the heck to do with my tongue." His eyes widen slightly, his lip curling up and I quickly cover my face with my hands, completely hating myself for sharing so many embarrassing details.

His hands are suddenly on mine, slowly pulling them away from my face and revealing the vibrant shade of red flourishing my cheeks. "It's not as difficult to figure out as you think," he whispers. "When the time comes, you'll learn fast. You'll be okay."

I watch him, his face only a few inches from mine, his hands still wrapped around my own. "You really think so?"

His eyes dip to my mouth, probably analyzing just how novice my lips are, how absolutely terrible it will be when they finally touch someone else's. Can he tell they've never been kissed? Is there some type of neon flashing sign he's inspecting? Oh God, why hasn't he said anything yet?

When his eyes roll back up to mine, I can't help but swallow far too loud for the quiet space we've created. "Yeah," he finally says, dropping my hands and taking a small step back. "You'll be fine."

I take a breath, nodding slowly. His focus shifts back to his car, tinkering with something. But all I can think about is how royally screwed I'll be when the time comes, and how terrified I was to potentially blow that moment on a dare with a field of witnesses.

"I feel like I've missed this window," I keep going, the tailspin of thoughts overflowing like Niagara. "Like all I can do is overthink it. And when it comes time to kiss someone who actually matters, I'll be a complete disaster."

"So then don't think about it," he casually states, not pausing to lift his gaze from whatever he's working on.

"That's easy for you to say. You probably had your first kiss in like the fifth grade when it was perfectly acceptable to fail at it because you're not expected to have years of experience perfecting the craft."

He laughs, bringing his eyes back to mine, the light sparkling across them. "You're funny when you're flustered, Red."

"I'm not flustered."

"You're kind of flustered. Listen, if you're that worried about it, just go kiss someone. Get it out of the way now so that when the right person comes along, you've had time to perfect the craft."

He's mocking me. Great. But he isn't completely wrong in what he's saying. There's only one problem. "So I should just walk up to the first guy I see and say hey, you wanna make out?"

"Not exactly what I'm saying. Although, you'd be surprised at how effective that is."

I push his shoulder, and he laughs. "Nolan, that's not helpful."

Rubbing his shoulder like I actually hurt him, his smile widens. "I'm just saying, if you're worried about your first kiss being with someone who matters, then get it out of the way with someone who doesn't."

I hate that he's making sense right now. I just wish it were that easy to put myself out there. Or that Blueridge wasn't the size of a pea. The odds of me finding someone without the entire town finding out is slim to none. I look at Nolan, watching as he waits patiently for me to admit he has a point. But as I study him, I realize something else entirely, an absolutely insane idea.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I say, "Will you do it?"

He's waiting, looking at me like I haven't asked the whole question. "Do what?" he finally asks and I exhale a heavy breath.

"Kiss me," I say, stating it clear as can be.

He laughs. He actually laughs. Except when he sees the serious look on my face, that humor of his fades, and the seriousness takes over. "I'm sorry. What?"

"You said to get it over with. And I have a feeling you're the only guy in this tiny town who has a mutual need to keep this quiet. I have no intentions of this going any further and I know you don't either. It sounds perfect."

He's still watching me and suddenly I feel like I have a second head. I'm quickly regretting every word I've shared, wondering at which point I thought this was a good idea. Actually, at what point did I think telling Nolan I've never been kissed in the first place was a good idea? The heat burns my chest and ignites across my cheeks.

"Nevermind," I quickly add, shaking my head and dying to get out of here. "It was a stupid idea." Without another word, I turn away from him, my body aching with the need for cold air.

I only make it two steps before Nolan's hand is on my arm, gently tugging me back. My heart drops to my toes, my chest left frozen. When I turn around, his eyes are on mine, that blue tinted color staring with so much calm sincerity.

"Is that really what you want?" he asks. "To get it over with?"

I take a breath, letting it fill my lungs. I nod. "Yes."

He takes a step forward, his hand still along my arm as he pulls me closer. I swallow the lump in my throat, push it down and pray my breath can stay steady as his chest comes mere inches from mine.

"Just one kiss?" he whispers. I peer up at him, taking in just how tall he is. I have to tilt my head back to keep contact with his eyes.

"Just one."

His hand slides gently along my cheek, his fingers trickle along my skin before slowly tucking my hair behind my ear. My lips part on instinct and I quickly push them back together, waiting for exactly what comes next. When his hand lands behind my ear, slightly along my neck, angling my face to his, I freeze.

He leans in, his chest against mine. "Red. Breathe."

I let out a breath, and in that very moment his lips are on mine. They're soft, gentle. It's slow, the way he grips me, the way he pulls me in and holds our faces together. In the next beat, he pulls back, but he's still holding on, only an inch apart as his eyes find mine. He doesn't say anything as he looks at me, but the way he lingers, the question behind his gaze, I find myself nodding. And suddenly, his lips are back on mine, my head tilted further back.

I feel his mouth part, so incredibly slow, as if he's waiting for me to grant him access. I follow his lead, opening my mouth and waiting to taste him. When his tongue slides across my lips, something tingles within me. Our tongues meet, his glides so effortlessly across mine. I haven't a clue what I'm supposed to do in a moment like this, but somehow all thinking has escaped me. My hands move up his chest, wrapping their way around his neck before I'm running my fingers through his hair.

When his mouth leaves mine, our breaths tangled together in frantic rhythm, I slowly open my eyes. He's watching me, his hand still along my neck. We stay that way for the smallest moment, holding onto what just happened.

We kissed.

Nolan is my first kiss.

My soon to be stepbrother is my first kiss.

Holy shit. I just made this really weird.

"Red," he says, a smile across his lips. Lips I just kissed. "Breathe."

I watch him as I let a heavy gulp of air inflate my lungs. I hold it in before blowing it out. "Thank you."

Slowly, his hand slides from my skin and he takes a step back. "Yeah," he says. "You good?"

"Me? Yeah."

He nods, takes a step back and closes the hood of his car. He doesn't say anything as he reaches for the cover and secures it back in place, concealing the car beneath. I watch as he smooths it out, his back to mine, our conversation from before snuffed in the quiet echo of the shop.

When he finally turns back, his eyes barely catch mine as he asks, "You ready to head home?"

That's it? Am I the only one freaking out right now? I mean, he's probably kissed every girl in this town. This was just another day for him. But I just kissed a boy. With my mouth. That actually happened.

"Red?"

"Yeah," I quickly answer. "Let's go home."

"Hey." He stops me, my eyes falling to his. He studies me for a moment, probably taking note of my flushed cheeks and frantic thoughts on obvious display. "When it comes time to kiss someone who matters," he pauses, the air still between us, "you have nothing to worry about."

With that, he walks past me, heading straight toward the door we came in. I don't know what the heck that means, but I don't pause long enough to ask. Instead, I head straight out of the garage and prepare to never speak of what just happened.