Renata Santos doesn't expect her heart to flutter when she catches a boy stealing flowers out of her backyard. But as she unravels his reputation, she realizes puppy-eyed delinquent Isaac Marshall may just be the sunshine she needs to turn her life...
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A S P H O D E L
[narthecium americanum] ➳ regret.
THE CONTENTS OF MY CHEST bundled up and rocketed painfully into my throat, rendering me speechless.
Creepy old men aside, two boys had meaningfully called me hot before in my life. One was my seventh-grade boyfriend, whose commentary preceded puberty and therefore was invalid.
The other had given me the necklace I'd lost two months ago.
If Isaac Marshall was anything like them, I could've just smirked and lowered the neckline of my camisole, let him in on the fact that I wasn't wearing a bra. Distracted, he would've been arrested in five minutes flat and I would've avenged my flowers, I'm sure.
But my heart was still running a marathon when I noticed him standing, all six-foot-something of him a curious statue on the edge of my backyard. Peonies were tucked into his elbow like a baby, and though their stems were hidden in his hand, pink flower tops spilled over his forearm like a tattoo.
Neither of us spoke — until he raked his hair over his forehead, and I spotted the chain looped around his wrist. Isaac looked like he was about to repeat himself, but I cut him off before he could embarrass me again.
"That's not a bracelet," I blurted out, my face flushing instantly to match the dying flowers. "Are you stupid?"
His mouth fell open. But all I could think about was how badly I needed him out of my garden before my parents woke up.
"Don't you dare move," I told him, taking a jerky step back from the window. Isaac's head disappeared beneath the sill and he called something indistinctly, which I ignored. "I'm coming to get it."
Trying to forget the pounding in my head, I nudged through the closet for a cardigan and a bra, slipping on both before I tiptoed past my parents' room and down the stairs. Mom was snoring but they had the radio on, which meant I didn't have much time.
In the kitchen, I lingered by the door to the back garden. I could see Isaac once again through the glass, and was surprised to find that he truly had not moved at all. His arm was still rigid against his stomach, the flowers all nestled like a delicate prize.
And his eyes, clear and mossy, were on me.
I shoved the sliding door. Standing in the threshold, I held out my hand, trying to look as firm as possible. "Give me the necklace," I said, not budging except to nod pointedly at him. "Now."
I don't know what I expected, but Isaac just stuck his hand into his pocket, his face taken up by a crooked grin and dimples so deep I wasn't sure they were real.
"Can't we talk first?" he asked. Amusement flickered through his irises and I struggled to keep my chin upright. "Now that you're down here and all. I didn't think you'd be all business already. It's only eight-thirty."
I gritted my teeth. "No," I said. "Give me the necklace or I'm calling the police."
Isaac raised his eyebrows, which had been knotted thick with concern.
"Or?" he echoed.
"Yes." I bit my lip. "If you give it to me, I won't report you for trespassing and we can pretend this never happened."
Newberry wasn't the best town, and I should've jumped at the chance to right Isaac's wrong. But trespassing only carried a light fine, and stealing flowers seemed like a stupid crime to dial in for.
Word around here spread fast, and I didn't want to seem petty.
Which was why I forced a tight smile onto my face when Isaac finally strolled over, casual as ever. "Well, can't say no to an offer like that," he said, tilting his head slightly so the morning sun slanted away from his eyes. Up close, they were starkly green, with flecks the same size as the moles that dotted the side of his face.
"Here you are."
He pulled his hand out of his pocket and released its contents into my palm. The metal of my necklace was cold on my skin, but tiny leaflets had fallen with them as well. My pulse spiked and I stuffed everything into the pocket of my cardigan, too dazed to even try to understand.
"Thanks," I said quickly, my cheeks flaring up again. I grabbed the side of the door, ready to slam it in his face. "Really, thanks. Um. See you at school—"
"Wait."
Isaac, too, held the edge of the door, keeping it open.
"I don't know your name," he said, leaning against the glass. I had a feeling it was impossible for anyone not to look cheerful with so many flowers carried against his shirt. "I'm Isaac."
"I knew that." My voice faltered slightly. "And it's very gutsy of you to introduce yourself to the owner of the garden you just stole out of."
"Oh." He glanced at the peonies, brows furrowing again. "Well, funny enough, that's exactly what I wanted to talk to you about."
"It's fine," I said, keeping a tight grip on the door. "I mean, they just bloomed, but it's fine. I just need you to get out of here as soon as —"
"So," he interrupted. "You're okay with me picking your flowers?"
"No. Definitely not." I shook my head vigorously to make my point. "I'm actually not okay with any of this, which is why I need you to leave right now."
Alarm crossed his face a second before understanding settled into the curve of his lips.
"You're afraid of me," he accused, and panicking, I shook my head again.
"Look." Isaac sounded like this was all very silly to him and he needed to get things straight. "Since you knew my name, I'm betting you've heard some stuff about me. Some of it is true," he admitted, pulling his free hand through his hair, "but I swear I wouldn't even be here if I didn't have to, and if you want, I can show you exactly why —"
As soon as he removed himself from the door, I leapt out of the way and crashed it into the frame.
He jumped back, and I would've laughed at the bewildered look on his face if I hadn't nearly taken my own nose off with the door as well. I pushed down the lock and let out a long breath, my heart thumping erratically as I met his gaze through the glass.
He mouthed something but I just bundled up my cardigan around me and shrugged.
What exactly did he want to show me?
It didn't matter. I felt for the necklace in my pocket and its weight was a reassurance — worth losing a bunch of peonies for, I supposed. I half-expected him to bang on the door, or even ring the doorbell, but with my back turned to him there was nothing to indicate he was even still there.
I hesitated only momentarily before scampering up the stairs, ready to sleep off the whole ordeal.
