“A lot of cool things.” Harrison stepped toward her.
Aria’s heart pounded as he stared meaningfully at her. See, this was why she was attracted to him. Because they understood each other.
He moved closer and closer until their chests were almost touching. Aria held her breath, knowing what was coming next. When he leaned in to kiss her, she shut her eyes.
“Is this okay?” she heard him whisper softly, his sweet-smelling breath on her cheeks. She nodded and felt him kiss her. His lips were firm and tasted a little fruity. His jaw felt angular, and there was a smattering of stubble on his chin. It was a foreign feeling: Noel had always been clean-shaven. She explored his skin carefully, not sure if she liked it or not.
Then the guard in the corner coughed loudly. Aria giggled and pulled away, and Harrison’s eyes widened guiltily. But then he slipped his hand into hers. Aria squeezed back, a shaky feeling growing inside her. Maybe it was excitement. Maybe it was uncertainty. Was it weird that she’d thought about Noel during their kiss? Why couldn’t she just get over him?
She pulled back and regarded Harrison. “Will you go with me to a party in Rosewood tomorrow?” she blurted. “It’s called Rosewood Rallies, and it supports a good cause. I can’t promise it’ll be fun or even remotely cool, but you and I could make the best of it.”
She needed to ask, she realized. The more dates she went on with Harrison, the more she’d probably like him—and the less she’d think of Noel.
Harrison smiled. “Anything you’re at is more than remotely cool, Aria. Of course I’ll go.”
Aria was about to fling her arms around him, but then she heard footsteps. She turned just as a shadow disappeared out of view. She frowned and looked back at Harrison. “Did you hear that?”
He cocked his head. “Hear what?”
Aria walked toward the door. The guard from the doorway was missing; had it been him? The silence pounded in her ears, noisier than any sound. She listened closely for any other noises, and then heard something else. The faintest, lightest, laughter. Goose bumps rose on her arms.
No one was in the hall. Aria crossed into the next room, a long, narrow space filled with huge canvases. Then she heard footsteps again and gasped.
“That,” Aria instructed. “Those footsteps.”
This time they were coming from the main hallway. Aria turned and followed them, her heart beating fast.
“Aria?” Harrison called after her as she turned the corner into the main hall. It was empty. She looked around. As she wheeled to the left, she almost collided with someone bustling out of another wing. She jumped back and screamed. But it was only Amy, carrying a cardboard holder of coffee drinks.
“Sorry!” Amy cried, stepping back. “I was searching for you two. A girl still in the café wanted to treat you to this, Aria. She says she’s a friend and a big fan.”
She gestured to the coffees. Aria stared down at them. The lids were off, revealing frothy white foam. On the left one, a letter had been etched in the milk—a rapidly disappearing but very obvious A.
Her stomach dropped. Before she could quite think it through, Aria took off down the stairs and ran down the hall toward the café, stopping short in the doorway. Workers were clearing trays off of tables. Someone was changing the trash bag in the can by the door. The air still smelled like coffee, but there was no one sitting at any of the tables.
Then Aria saw a flash of blond disappear through one of the back doors. She darted over—only to find a blond cafeteria worker, soaking a large metal tray in a deep, stainless steel sink.
“What are you doing?” Harrison asked.
Harrison and Amy stood behind her. They both had strange looks on their faces, especially Harrison. The cups of coffee were gone.
Aria ran her hands down the length of her face. “I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I—I just wanted to find the guest who bought those for us. A-and thank her.”
It was a ridiculous excuse, and neither of them looked like they believed her. Harrison stepped forward, slinging his arm around her shoulders. “Let’s get you out of here,” he said, steering her toward the main entrance. “A friend told me of a great Italian place a few blocks away.”
“Sounds perfect,” Aria said faintly, grateful that Harrison wasn’t making a big deal out of her weirdness. No more freak-outs for the night, she scolded herself. The A on top of that coffee might have just been an accident, a coincidence. Ali. Wasn’t. Here.
She would have believed it, too, if it hadn’t been for the faint hint of vanilla that suddenly assaulted her as they left the museum, a tiny ribbon of scent that followed Aria, hauntingly, all the way down the long stone steps into the busy city street.
23
SOMEBODY’S OUT THERE
Spencer pulled into the parking lot of the Turkey Hill. She tapped her toe to a Taylor Swift song playing on the stereo by the gas pumps. She started inside, recognizing one of the junior high–age boys hanging out on the curb near the ice machine from her first visit.
“Excuse me,” she said to them. All of them held skateboards, and one had a pack of cigarettes peeking out of his hoodie pocket. They looked at her lazily and mostly uninterested, though they all did a quick once-over, their gazes resting on her boobs. “Have you seen a blond girl about my age? Pretty, but she’s missing some teeth? Probably doesn’t say much?”
The boys shook their heads. One of them actually snickered. Okay, strike one. Spencer caught the arm of another customer who looked like a local heading inside and asked him the same thing, but he said he hadn’t seen Ali, either. Strike two.