11

My phone vibrated in my pocket as TJ and I trudged down the frozen dirt path that wound through the farm, branching off into different areas where every type of Christmas tree imaginable grew.

I pretended I didn’t feel it, knowing I’d awakened Kendall’s inner obsessive beast, and 99.9 percent sure it was her, already checking in.

Too bad, I thought. I’d been dying to see TJ’s workshop ever since he’d told me about it, and going there with him was strictly for me. Tonight was supposed to be a night off from investigating, and I planned to keep it that way. We had reached the spot at the top of the hill where the Douglas firs grew, the section of the farm that backed up to Kevin’s yard. It gave almost a bird’s-eye view of the white barn and the pond in front of it, a breathtaking sight in the daylight, especially during sunset.

“This is the spot where I took that picture I told you about, the one I tried to draw,” I said. “It’s so pretty here.”

TJ paused alongside me. “Not many people see beauty in a rickety old barn, but I think so too. It’s really peaceful.”

“Peaceful is the perfect word. The pumpkin patch is fun, but the tree farm… It’s like Narnia.”

He chuckled. It was more of an appreciative sound than a wow-that-was-stupid laugh. “What was it about your drawing that you didn’t like?”

“I don’t know. Everything was in the right place and it looked like a barn and a pond, but that was the problem. It was just a barn and a pond. It felt so—flat. I couldn’t capture it the way I saw it.”

“Maybe it needed a centaur or a talking goat. That would’ve added some life.”

We both laughed, and I almost forgot I had any reason to hang out with TJ other than the fact that he was a pretty nice guy. Almost, except that my pocket vibrated yet again as we continued down the hill.

Fine, Kendall. I’ll do some digging while I have him alone.

“So how do you like Herring Cross?”

TJ shrugged. “So far, so good. It’s like any other high school: jocks, cheerleaders, geeks, rule breakers. People like you and me who are somewhere in the middle. The usual fare.”

“Uh, judging by what you said the last time we talked, I think you forgot a category.”

“And what’s that?”

“Assholes? You tell me. You’re the one who needed a change of scenery.”

He ducked into his shoulders and chuckled. “Oh that. It’s funny how one bad experience can tar whatever came before it, huh? Anyway, welcome to my workshop.” We’d come to a stop in front of the tall double doors that served as the entrance to the barn, and I got the feeling TJ couldn’t have been more grateful to end the school conversation. Again.

He pulled a key out of his pocket and opened the padlock holding the two doors together. Then he swung one open, flipped on a light, and made a sweeping motion with his arm, as if to say after you. I stepped inside. My gawking was immediate and intense.

Off to the left were empty stables, some of which had neatly stacked bales of hay on the floor and saddles and reins tacked to the stall walls. They reminded me of the bedroom of a kid who’d gone off to college: unoccupied for the time being but ready and waiting for someone’s return.

A room with a high, beamed ceiling spread out before us. In its center sat a long table. It was made of thick, sturdy wood and looked like it belonged in the banquet hall of an ancient castle. The walls on either side of it were lined with plywood shelves and cabinetry, and they housed bottles of dye, cutting blades, mallets and other medieval-looking tools, and rolls of rawhide, some dyed and some not. At the far end, an old-fashioned sewing machine and a cup-by-cup instant coffee machine sat side by side like old friends.

“Where did you get all this stuff?”

He smiled, sheepish and proud at the same time. “Some of it we had. Some of it I ordered online.” He must’ve seen me eyeing the coffee machine, because he added, “Do you want some coffee or hot chocolate to chase that beer?”

“Hot chocolate sounds perfect.”

“Great.” He walked over to the machine and busied himself. “I special order this awesome organic Aztec hot cocoa with real dark chocolate in it. Did you know the Aztecs used cacao as currency? They thought it brought wisdom and even offered it to the dead for their journey into the afterlife—” I was listening intently, but TJ cut himself off with a wince. “Sorry, sometimes my dork flag flies out of control.” He motioned toward the table, looking embarrassed. “Have a look around.”

As much as I liked the impromptu lesson on Aztecs and chocolate, I was itching to explore. The room, his shop, was amazing. And the whipped cream atop the sundae of awesome? The staircase at the opposite end that spiraled up to a loft, where smaller versions of the barn doors were closed over a window that must’ve overlooked the farm. A telescope sat perched on a tripod in front of it. I could almost hear Nick saying I bet that’s really a bong, but I pushed his voice out of my mind. I wanted to run up the stairs, fling open the doors, and ogle the view and everything else in the barn. Hell, I wanted to pack my suitcase and move in.

“This is the coolest place I have ever seen.” I turned in circles, taking in my surroundings. I realized the temperature was much more comfortable inside the barn, and I put my mittens inside my pockets. “So much warmer than outside too.”

“I had the space heaters running for a while before I went up to the party. Once they get going, they do a pretty good job of warming it up in here.” He motioned toward tall, narrow heaters tucked in each corner of the room as he handed me a delicious-smelling, steaming cup of cocoa.

I almost melted into the floor at the first sip. “Mmm. Oh my God, this is amazing.”

TJ grinned. “Good, right?”

“If more people knew about this, Montezuma wouldn’t get such a bad rap.” I closed my eyes and let the chocolatey steam warm my face. When I opened them again, my gaze fell on the empty stables. “What happened to your horses?”

“We had two when I was younger, but they both died. One was my dad’s and the other was my uncle’s. They’d had them since they were kids, but this hasn’t been an animal farm in years. Uncle Roger keeps saying he’s gonna buy another horse, but I think my dad would flip. They’re expensive and a lot of work, but I think it would be awesome to have horses around again. Then they could do the hayrides instead of me.”

I smiled and started to walk the length of the table, running my fingers along the smooth edge as I went. A large strip of black leather lay stretched across the tabletop, and a cutting blade rested on top of it. “Is this what you’re working on now?”

“That’s actually the piece I made my belt from.” He walked over to the table. “I can make one for you, if you want, since you seemed to like it.”

I blushed again at the memory of my eye contact with his fly. “I would love that, but I don’t want you to go through any trouble. I’ll order one once your website is up.”

He shook his head and waved off my comment. “It’s no trouble at all. I can start it right now. Besides, if you wait for my website, you might be waiting forever.”

TJ didn’t give me time to concede. Instead, he stood at the head of the table, centered the leather on a square black board, and grabbed the cutting blade. He leaned over it with the same intensity as a billiard player lining up a shot in a game of pool. It was a little intimidating to watch his brow furrow and the veins appear in his hand as he drove the blade down the swatch.

And, if I’m being honest, it was also kind of hot.

“Open up your coat,” he said, bringing the newly cut strip over to me. “I have to make sure it’s the right size.”

I reluctantly relinquished the warmth of the hot chocolate and started working open my buttons. It was odd enough to have him hovering so close while I more or less undressed, but when he slipped his hands inside the open halves of my coat and around my waist, things went to a whole new level of awkward. How could they not, when we were so close that I could feel the heat coming off his skin?

“Maybe I should do six holes,” he murmured, more to himself than me. I couldn’t help but watch the intense, no-nonsense expression on his face as he wrapped the strip around me and studied it. “You have a small waist.”

“And you smell nice.”

Tell me I did not say that out loud.

“Thanks.” TJ chuckled, and whether his grip on the leather faltered or he adjusted the drape, I couldn’t tell. But his hands settled on my hips. And for a second, I forgot that his touch was supposed to feel weird, because it just felt…nice.

Until I full-out jumped, because my phone vibrated in my pocket again.

“Geez, I’m sorry. That’s—it’s probably Charlie,” I lied, stepping out of his personal space and back into my sanity. “Do you mind if I go up there and call her quickly?” I nodded in the direction of the loft.

“Go ahead. Let her know I didn’t kidnap you.”

I managed a smile that turned into an annoyed grimace the minute I turned away. Kendall either had to trust me or not. I couldn’t get anything done with her constantly harassing me. I stomped up the steps, almost forgetting to be angry when I saw how cozy the loft was. A worn-looking plaid couch and a long, rectangular coffee table that reminded me of the one my grandmother had for decades sat in the center of the space. In the corner, a small TV stood angled on a stand. Handmade bookshelves piled with paperbacks and hardcovers leaned against one of the walls, and an open book lay pages down across the arm of the couch, waiting for TJ to pick up where he’d left off.

Kendall really didn’t understand why he spent so much time here? How could you not?

I flopped onto the couch and pulled out my phone. Sure enough, all three buzzes had come from the same source:

Whose party is it?

Is he drinking?

Is he talking to anyone?

I touched her name on the screen and took a few calming breaths as the phone rang. When she answered, I had to hold it away from my ear.

“HELLO? MARISA?” Loud music, hoots, hollers, and a cacophony of voices blared through my phone.

“Holy hell, where are you?”

“MARISA? WHAT’S GOING ON? I CAN’T HEAR YOU. YOU HAVE TO TEXT ME.”

With that, the line went dead and I threw my head back in exasperation. Gritting my teeth, I punched out a reply:

He left the party. Still haven’t seen him do anything wrong. Might be wasting our time.

I shoved the phone back in my pocket with a sigh and walked over to the wood railing, where the loft overlooked the barn. To my surprise, TJ stood at the door, holding it slightly ajar. His knuckles were white, like he was prepared to slam it in the face of whoever stood on the other side. His posture was rigid. I pressed myself where the railing met the wall and tried to listen in.

Amid a hiss of whispers, I heard TJ say, “I know, okay? I forgot.” I couldn’t hear or see the person who stood outside, but I wasn’t about to move. Then he added, “You need to get out of here. Got it?” The door shut, and he turned back to his table like nothing had happened.

I leaned against the wall and exhaled the breath I’d been holding. Just as I was thinking I might’ve spoken too soon when I told Kendall we were wasting our time, my phone buzzed with another text from her.

Trust me. We’re not.