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From a young age, he’d been treated
like musical veal, forced to practice, compose, or perform every available minute,
his parents eschewing affection for expectations, encouragement for demands,
support for a single-minded insistence on success. If he veered from the
course, he was met with the heel of his father’s shoe on the side of his head,
so he didn’t veer. He knuckled down and worked. For most of his life, his
feelings were trapped and buried so deep down, he’d barely ever considered
them.
    So it made a
certain amount of sense that he was drawn to Violet. He’d never known anyone
like her. Raised by a loving, if busy, single mother, she was his polar
opposite. She had her arms wide open to the world, her heart practically
beating outside of her chest. Her emotions were so remarkably unbottled , she could zero in on a feeling with startling
precision, translating it into a visceral, throbbing, breathing string of words
that felt alive. And deep inside him, where his feelings had been ignored for
so long, he felt a stirring. More and more every day.
    Many times, Zach
had looked over at her lying on his bed, as she chewed the hell out of a pen top,
and imagined what it would be like to kiss her. Would her red lips be soft or
firm? What would her mouth taste like? Would she push her chest into his or
push him away? His body would harden eagerly, but he’d turn back to his
composition notebook, adjusting his headphones and forcing himself to move
beyond his aroused curiosity for two reasons.
    First, even
Zach, who was relatively inexperienced, knew that getting physical could make
things dicey between them, and dicey wasn’t an option. Violet was his best
friend. She made music exciting and fun for the first time in years. She made
Yale home for him. Being around her made him feel alive and aware—awake—for the
first time in his life. Like he belonged somewhere, with someone.
    Second, he feared
his feelings for Violet. Their full force and depth, were he to examine them, were
so uncharted, so intense, so absolute and enormous, that acknowledging them
would be fucking terrifying.
    ***
    Still standing
by the window, Zach threw back the rest of the Scotch, an ice cube biting his
upper lip as the amber liquid funneled down his throat like lava. He wasn’t
that overwhelmed nineteen-year-old kid anymore and losing Violet once had been
enough. If he ever got another chance with her, he’d never hurt her again. Damn
if his heart didn’t drum painfully, hoping for a chance to prove it.

 
 
 

Chapter 4

 
    “Isn’t there anything you can do?”
    The lady at the
White Swan Inn regarded Violet from over her glasses with pursed lips. “Not a
thing. We’re all filled up. Leaf peepahs , don’t ya know.”
    “And this is …”
    “Ay- yuh . The only place in town.” She tapped a finger against
her chin. “You want that I call over to the Pineview Inn south of Hancock? See if they’ve got a room?”
    “Oh, would you? Thank
you!” Then she remembered the long, dark, twenty-minute drive just to find the
White Swan Inn. As the woman reached for the phone, Violet touched her wrist to
stop her. “ Er , how far away is it?”
    “’ Less’n an hour during daylight. Little more, maybe, in the dark,
you bein ’ new to these parts.”
    An hour! It was
almost eight o’clock now. She imagined herself lost in the woods, still driving
around at midnight. She’d already driven seven hours today. Her eyes were
burning, and her body was exhausted. She wiped her sweaty palms on her lime-green
corduroy pants. “Nothing closer?”
    “Bar Harbor’s
across the way.” She gestured vaguely at the window, her long vowels and
dropped r ’s making it sound like Bah Hahbah . “You got a boat?”
    Violet shook her
head no, turning away from the reception desk in a daze. As she got to the
front door, she turned around, remembering her manners. “Thanks for trying.”
    “You come back
on Tuesday, now. I’ll have a