Hunting Tess by Kathryn Summers (funny books to read .TXT) 📕

her family and friends so distant getting together often was out of the question. But what about birthdays? Thanksgiving or Christmas?

I wish desperately to wrap my arms around her torso and rest my chin on her shoulder, suddenly overcome with how much that first step on her own truly encapsuled. Seventeen and she only had herself to rely on. Of course her friends Eliza and Benjamin would make the drive should she need, but she started in a new place with a new identity. That sort of start brings loneliness.

The joyful look making her eyes sparkle makes me want to surprise her every day for the rest of her life. A white lace cloth drapes uniformly across the square table holding steaming plates of Thai food. The aromatic smells of red and green curries mingle with a variety of noodle dishes filling the house. Even the small cluster of candle sticks haven’t been burning long enough for melted wax to drip down the sides. I owe Lorelai big time. She and Caleb probably dashed out the back door as soon as they heard the front one open.

“Now then,” I say, guiding her to the table and pulling out her chair, “I would hate for our food to get cold.”

CHAPTER 8

HER

With the amount of food decorating the table I’m unsure whether Parker is planning for more people to arrive or for this to be a very, very long dinner. Waiting for me to take what I want, it’s only after I’m dishing a portion of red curry into a bowl that he reaches for the peanut noodles.

“It is a good thing you were a performance major or this evening would have been awkward.”

“How so?” I question, working hard at tearing my gaze away from his face every now and then. I don’t think he would appreciate me sitting here ogling him.

“Well, as the gentleman I am, I would hardly have asked you to do something you were uncomfortable with. And then all of Luke’s Bar would know I was born a lousy vocalist.”

“Then you’re welcome from saving us all from that embarrassment.”

Even though he laughs I have to wonder what kind of singing voice he possesses.

“Truly, though,” he says, placing his hands on the table to focus all his attention on me, “that was incredible. You have a gift.”

I feel heat rise to my cheeks at the sentiment. Gently clearing my throat, I reach for the first dish in front of me to add to my plate, not really seeing what I’m taking.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Shy away from compliments,” he articulates, his eyes smoldering with intensity. “I thought the whole reason to get into theatre was to be in the spotlight.”

Mushrooms. There are mushrooms spilling from the carton that I hastily grabbed. Several foul bulbous sponges tumble from the container before I have the good sense to stop pouring. “For me it’s a form of expression, about being part of something greater than oneself.”

“And that means you can’t accept praise?”

Setting the container as far away as my reach allows, I settle back in my chair, rapidly thinking how to form the right words with my brain slowly turning to mush at his gaze. The soft glow of candlelight flickers in his eyes and I realize he’s asking this question not in false sincerity or to simply further the conversation, but because he genuinely wants to know. A tickle forms in my throat thinking of the last time someone asked me such an unadulterated question.

“I was the best performer at a private school designed for talented children,” I begin, my fingers curling around the cold glass to my right. “Awarded lead roles, or, whatever role I wanted to play in every production. Never had any issue procuring a partner for duets or dances, could do no wrong in the eyes of my teachers, and rebounded any insult with a smile. But I was arrogant in my talent.”

Condensation drips down the cup, pooling in the small crevice between my finger and the glass before overflowing across my skin.

“Because when the real test came that night on the stage, I failed. Instead of finding a way to save Sam using that talent, I made the decision to attack Dmitri. And that provocation left me with only one option to avoid being killed.” I look back up at him. “So I enjoy what I do. But I don’t need the reminder of what I’ve lost.”

I can’t quite place his expression, so instead of mulling over how I’ve dampened the evening I take a bite of curry. The tang is just right.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” he starts slowly, flipping the fork between his fingers. “I hope a day comes where you hear praise without your first thought being a painful one. But until that day arrives, I will hold off on my admiration for your talent on the stage. I can be patient,” he finishes with a wink.

Is he flirting? Is Parker flirting with me?

“Though, if you don’t mind me asking, I am curious about you faking your death. How did you do it?”

“Vampires lit the theater on fire. It wasn’t hard to have Sam corroborate my disappearance into a windowless room.”

“But wouldn’t they need evidence to verify your death?”

A smile tinges my lips thinking of how stressed out Ben was as he frantically transferred ammonium nitrate from the science lab. “Not if the room also exploded. Plus, if I was never seen again then there would be no reason to think I was still alive.”

“How did you get the new identity?” he asks between a bite.

“A friend.”

“You’ve got some good friends.”

“You have no idea.”

We keep up a stream of steady chatter between sampling different dishes. I keep waiting for Leo or Caleb to walk through the front door and disturb the atmosphere. Part of me wishes for it whenever I catch a glimpse of that same burning intensity in Parker’s eyes before I blink and it’s gone.

“There is still