Speechless by Hannah Harrington

Author:Hannah Harrington
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, azw3
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2012-10-03T04:00:00+00:00

it’s called texting LOSER.

He grins. “Point duly noted.”

He eases around a bend that takes us to the long stretch of road along the lake. I squint out the window at a few figures in the distance. Ice fishers. In the summer, Dad likes to take me fishing at the docks by the yacht club. You can’t eat anything you get—they’re mostly skinny rainbow trout anyway—so all we do is catch and release, but he likes the sport of it, I guess. I like to sit on the planks, the warm wood digging into the backs of my knees, legs dangling, and cast my line over and over lazily, enjoying the sun.

Snowflakes hit the window and melt, trailing down in tiny rivulets. Summer feels so far away. All there is now is cold and snow, snow and cold.

We end up at Rosie’s. Not such a surprise. Sam turns off the engine and says, “Tuna melts.”

I raise my eyebrows at him.

“I said I’d teach you how to make them,” he continues. “So let’s do it.”

No one’s around when we walk in, except for Dex and Lou, mopping floors and cleaning off tables.

As soon as Lou sees me, she drops her rag. “Oh, sweetie, what happened?”

I must really look like a mess. I shrug and swipe self-consciously at my eyes.

“Do I need to kick someone’s ass?” Dex asks. He points the mop handle straight out, wielding it like a weapon. I crack a small, teary smile.

“Just a rough day,” Sam says. “You know how it goes.”

Lou drags me into the bathroom and helps me clean up, dabbing under my eyes with a damp paper towel, her fingers lightly guiding my chin. When I’m this close, I can see how clear and smooth her skin is. Like a model’s. I should ask what product she uses.

“You know, you have killer eyes. Very expressive,” she says.

She’s only saying that to cheer me up, I know, but I’m still flattered. Lou has wide-set violet eyes, so light they’re almost translucent. Not like mine, which are a muddy-green, or maybe brown, never settling on one shade.

“You get away with this no-talking thing. All you have to do is look at someone, and it’s all right there.” She waves a hand in the general vicinity of my eye area.

I don’t know if I like the idea of that. Having everything I’m feeling written right on my face. It makes me feel too exposed.

“So Dex wants to repaint,” she goes on, like it’s the natural flow of the conversation. “He gets like this sometimes. Last summer he did a surfer theme—he put surfboards up on the wall, and these glass bowls with shells on every table, like this is Southern California or something. Tacky as all get-out.”

I laugh at the thought of it, and she smiles a little, surprised, maybe. I haven’t really laughed around her. Or anyone. It hasn’t been intentional; I just haven’t had any reason. Laughing isn’t the same as talking, really, so I’m safe. It’s not like anyone’s going to call foul.

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