The Checklist Addie Woolridge (pocket ebook reader TXT) 📖

like someone had too much time and money on their hands and not enough common sense,” said Mike. “Don’t tell them they agree on something.”

“Oh, certainly not. Linda and Bernice will never know we were together. That can only make the grudge match worse.”

“I gotta say, risking parental wrath is worth it. I like hanging out with you.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” Dylan said, catching his eyes for a second. With the change in light, they looked closer to a smoky green than the honey brown they had been in the museum. Not that she noticed his eyes. Or remembered their shifts or anything. That would be inappropriate. And driving around laughing at their mothers was not inappropriate.

A shiny baby-blue artery loomed overhead, signaling their arrival. Dylan had to admit that as absurd as an acid-trip-inspired heart-shaped museum was, the space was impressive. Someone had put tremendous thought into the museum’s playground, which soared in a whirl of colors and sounds as they walked past it. A massive sculpture with cranks stood on one end, surrounded by people of all ages pulling different levers, which caused bells to chime. Dylan looked up, expecting Mike to start explaining the academic concepts behind the park. As if reading her mind, he stated, “I love this park.”

“It’s clever. A musical park in front of a music museum.”

“It encompasses more than one of the senses and links action to reaction. It’s so well done.” Mike took an extra second to smile at the kids who were careening wildly down a metal slide, their backsides soaked through with rainwater, as a gust of frigid air rushed off the sound toward them.

Dylan shivered and rubbed her hands together, wishing she had thought to bring gloves. Slowly, Mike took his hands from his pockets and turned to face her, wrapping his around hers for a moment. Looking down at their hands, Dylan could have sworn her heart and every other part of her body had frozen. Except for her hands, which were growing warmer with Mike’s touch. Looking up at Mike, Dylan realized that the heat coming from his hands was nothing compared to the four-alarm-fire look in his eyes.

She swallowed hard as her thoughts began to collide with one another. Dylan knew she should move. It was one thing to help Mike with a project; it was another thing entirely to let him hold her hand when she had Nicolas waiting for her. It was just that she enjoyed the feeling of being wanted, even if it was in the smallest gesture or casual glance. But it was unfair to Mike for her to pretend her loyalties didn’t lie elsewhere. She had Nicolas, and that was, mostly, enough for her. Dylan looked up at Mike. Before, she could chalk the flirting up to harmless banter, but this was something altogether different. That look was asking her for permission to take something she couldn’t give.

Reluctantly, she pulled her hands from Mike’s as another gust of wind ran off the water. “Should we go inside?”

“I think that’s a good idea. Otherwise, we’ll freeze out here.” For an instant, Mike’s face flickered with disappointment, but he managed to force a little brightness into his tone before walking toward the door. He rubbed the warmth back into his own hands as they stepped through the front entrance. “How about you hang here for a second and I’ll grab our tickets?”

“Sure.” Dylan was only half listening as her guilt was pushed to the side. The rest of her attention was dedicated to the chaos around her.

Every nook and cranny of the space invited staring. While the outside of the building was covered in shiny sheets of brightly colored metal, the interior’s vaulted ventricles were mostly the hue of wet concrete, with strategically placed bursts of orange and pink drawing crowds to the museum’s basics. Sound poured from an absence of color to her right. Curious, she wandered toward the blackness, grateful her height let her see over most of the people waiting to enter. She recognized the slow weight of Eddie Vedder’s voice, singing something off the album Ten—Dylan couldn’t quite remember the title. Something about fleeting thoughts . . .

“Ready?”

Dylan looked up to see Mike holding more stickers and looking like a kid on the playground outside.

“Do you remember what this song is called?” she asked, reaching up to take the sticker from him. Mike stopped, looking at her quizzically.

“What? I know it’s Pearl Jam, so spare me the pained native-Seattle-grunge-child look.” Dylan rolled her eyes.

“‘Even Flow.’ You have been gone a long time,” Mike said, leaning his sculpted shoulder into the word have for extra emphasis.

“Are you sure you and my mother aren’t best friends? Bernice says the same thing all of the time.”

“Did you forget who Chihuly is too?” Mike laughed at his own art joke, and despite her best efforts not to, Dylan found herself giggling. It was impossible to forget the man behind every piece of large-scale glass art ever. That would be like forgetting who’d painted the Mona Lisa. Mike nodded as they passed the man working the entrance to the dark room.

“I’m not that—wow.”

Dylan stopped flat, suddenly understanding what the dark room was. And why the space was called the Sky Church. The cavernous room was mostly empty, save for a few small white couches in the center. What looked like enormous billowing clouds lit with a black light floated from the ceiling, lazily dipping in and out as she tipped her head back. Dylan felt herself trying to breathe in time with their movement as the walls around her shifted. Children sprawled on the floor in front of colossal screens, which wrapped a two-story-tall crooning musician around the building.

“Cool, huh?” Mike whispered at her side. Gently nudging her elbow, he inclined his head toward a spot on the couches vacated by two petite men. Mike and Dylan glided across the floor and squeezed onto the couch to watch the rest