Free Homecoming by Amber Benson

blinked, taken aback—no, not taken aback . . .
flustered
. She’d thrown him off his game.
    â€œSorry,” she squeaked, embarrassed again. “I don’t normally flirt so unabashedly. So, let’s start over. I’m Lyse. And I’ll be on my best behavior from now on.”
    â€œNice to meet you,
Lyse
, who will be on her best behavior from now on,” Weir said, nodding as if he liked the feel of her name on his tongue.
    She brushed her bangs out of her eyes, annoyed with them for getting in the way
and
for making her feel like an awkward teenage girl all over again.
    â€œWell . . .” Lyse said, and let the word linger.
    â€œWell . . . I’m gonna go inside,” he said, and lifted his arm, indicating she should go ahead of him. “After you?”
    She shook her head.
    â€œMaybe in a minute,” she said, quirking her eyebrow in the coffee bar’s direction. “Is the coffee good?”
    â€œWell, I think so, but I’m biased.”
    â€œWhy’s that?” she asked, teasing. “You own the place or something?”
    He shook his head, more blond hair falling out from beneath his knit cap.
    â€œNah, just roast the beans they make their coffee with,” he said, grinning. “A man’s gotta eat, and roasting coffee is the way I do it.”
    Then, when she didn’t make a move toward the coffee bar, he shook his head and went through the gap in the hedges without her.
    â€œSee you around, Lyse?” he asked, turning back to look at her.
    She shrugged.
    â€œMaybe,” she called after him.
    â€œI hope so,” he said, and then she watched him cross the patio, admiring the confident way he carried himself—and she might’ve checked out his butt a little, too, just because she could.
    He paused halfway across the patio to talk to a teenage girl who was sitting at one of the tables holding a sketch pad in her lap, a bright pink scarf wrapped around her long neck.
    The girl looked up from the sketch pad, smiling at Weir as he talked, though she remained strangely quiet. Lyse felt a stab of envy. The girl was gorgeous, and obviously a favorite of her new friend.
    She was tall and willowy, her long legs tucked up underneath her as she reached for her coffee, delicately sipping from the lip of her mug. As Weir continued to talk, the girl’s thick reddish-brown hair fell forward, gentle curls framing her face before slipping down her back in thick waves.
    Lyse was too far away to hear what Weir was saying, but suddenly the girl’s golden-brown gaze had turned in her direction, the dark almond eyes sliding over Lyse, cataloging her.
    Lyse smiled back at the girl, trying to defuse the awkwardness she felt at being examined like a bug under a microscope, but the girl only blinked back at her, long lashes floating like butterfly wings as they brushed the tops of her cheeks. Lyse’s smile froze as the girl cocked her head, brows furrowing, before returning her attention back to Weir.
    Odd,
Lyse thought as she watched Weir wave good-bye to the girl, then open the heavy metal door to the coffee bar and go inside.
    She decided she didn’t really want a latte anymore. She felt out of sorts, and the thought of dealing with Weir again was off-putting. He was obviously a ladies’ man, and she was just another pretty lady to play with. She turned on her heel, starting to move away from the patio entrance, but stopped when she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder.
    It was the teenage girl—and Lyse had been right. She was tall. Well over six feet with a coltish quality about the way she moved, as though she weren’t quite comfortable in her own skin. Up close the girl’s beauty was less formed, more immature, like standing in front of an Impressionist’s work and seeing the chaotic slap of brushstrokes that from far away resolve into lush landscapes and intricate human forms. Lyse noticed