Free Gilt Hollow by Lorie Langdon Page A

paused and faced her friend. “I think he snuck into the house last night.”
    “ What? ” Lisa squawked, her mouth dropping open in a cartoonish mask of shock.
    “Technically, it’s his house, right? But—” The warning bell rang. Willow sighed. “You better go.” Lisa had gym second period, which was on the other side of the building.
    “Right.” She glanced at the clock and began to jog, throwing over her shoulder, “See you at lunch!”
    The morning passed as if in reverse. Every class Willow waited, tense and watchful, for Ashton to walk through the door. In second period Bio, Brayden had tried teasing her, but when all his jokes fell flat, he turned silent. She could see in the tense set of his mouth that Ashton’s return took its toll on him as well.
    In Historical Music Appreciation, the classroom door clicked shut, and Willow sank back into her seat. Maybe they wouldn’t share any classes. He might even have to take some lower-level courses to catch up. Despite Gilt Hollow’s graduating class having fewer than two hundred students, their academic standards were above average. And, Willow imagined, well above that of a state-run juvenile detention facility.
    Mr. Rush tapped his baton on his desk, calling the class to order before he began to conduct—with wide sweeping gestures—a lecture on the influence of Greek theory on medieval music. But at the moment, Willow couldn’t care less what the class was about, as long as Ashton wasn’t in it.
    Just as Willow settled in to listen to a reproduction of “A Troubadour Love Song”—which sounded more like a dying cow accompanied by a toddler playing the lute than the “prodigious classic” Mr. Rush touted it to be—the door swung open. Willow jerked upright. Mr. Rush stopped the song and glared. “ Yes? ”
    Ashton strode into the room and handed the teacher a slip of paper. Her pulse creeping into her throat, Willow watched Mr. Rush scan the note and gesture with his baton to the only empty desk. Right next to hers. “Take a seat, Mr. Keller.”
    At the sound of the name, whispers and giggles broke the unnatural silence in the classroom. Gripping her pencil, Willow focused on breathing normally as Ashton sat, leaned back, and extended his long legs into the aisle, his booted feet resting inches from hers.
    “Now, let’s get back to it, shall we?” Mr. Rush started the torturous song from the beginning and closed his eyes, waving his arms in ecstasy.
    Willow ran through her schedule, trying to figure out the earliest opportunity to meet the guidance counselor. She was so dropping this class.
    “So . . .”
    The deep voice, so close to her ear, made Willow jump. Livid that she’d shown a reaction, she turned, shooting daggers.
    Ashton stared straight at her, his strong features mere inches away.
    She swallowed. Hard.
    “Sleep well last night?”
    They were the first words she’d heard from him in four years. His voice, smooth and low, was almost unrecognizable. But the cadence, the slight mocking, hadn’t changed.
    Careful to keep her tone flat, she answered, “What do you think?”
    One side of his mouth quirked and something undefinable sparked in his eyes before he leaned back. His posture languid, he shrugged. “How would I know?”
    Jerk.
    Willow fixed her gaze on the squiggly lines moving to the music on the Smartboard, but her thoughts were far from the screeching love song. Ashton knew exactly why she looked like a zombie with sleep apnea, and his goading confirmed it. He’d broken into her house last night, taken a shower, slept in one of the beds, and probably ate their porridge. Except she was no bear and he definitely was not a cute little blonde girl.
    She glanced at him from the corner of her eye—over six feet tall, his T-shirt sleeves stretched over biceps that could have fit on a professional fighter. Nope, not Goldilocks, more like the Big Bad Wolf. Willow forced her gaze back to Mr. Rush, who’d begun to pontificate