The Stars Will Shine Read Online Free PDF Page B

low ponytail, and she wears khaki pants and a red employee vest, which looks a little too big on her small frame. The lopsided nametag on her chest reads Sammie K.
    “Can I help you?” she asks as she straightens the nametag.
    I shrug. “I don’t know, Sammie K. Can you?”
    She moves in, ready to give her practiced spiel, but I hold my hand up to stop her before she can begin. “I’m looking for one color and one color only, with which to paint my bedroom walls.” Sammie K. looks like she wants to suggest a two or three color palette, but I say again with finality, “One color. That’s all I need.”
    She nods and pushes her lips to the side in thought, surveys me first in my black skinny jeans, tank top, and red Chucks, then peruses the paint samples.
    “How about a nice, soft blue?” she suggests, eyeing me with one hazel orb.
    But I shake my head. Seriously, Sammie K.? Look at me. Do I look like a soft blue to you? She continues to browse the selection.
    “A nice, soft green?” she tries again.
    No, a nice, soft any color won’t do, Sammie K., you’re failing me.
    “I’m thinking a bold neon orange?” a male voice says from behind me. I can hear the after-ponder in his tone, with a hint of satisfaction, like he knows he’s spot on.
    “A neon orange?” Sammie K. echoes doubtfully as she turns to get a look at our new acquaintance. I turn, too—maybe a bit too quickly—and find myself face-to-face, or rather face-to-chin, with some guy. I jump in surprise.
    “Whoa,” he says, taking a step back and steadying me by my shoulders. He’s wearing a gray beanie and pushes it back a little as his eyes find mine. “Sorry. I was looking over your shoulder at the color samples.”
    His hair is long enough that pieces have escaped the beanie and are pressed to his cheeks and forehead. He tucks his hands into the pockets of his low hanging blue jeans, and the action makes the lean muscles in his arms stand out. His smile is slightly sheepish, but it lifts higher on one side, as if it holds a little wonder or sees secrets.
    “I’m Aiden Crosser,” he says. He offers his hand for a shake and, after an embarrassing moment in which I just sort of stare at his hand hovering between us, I rush to meet it.
    “Delilah Swan,” I say. His smile brightens along with his eyes.
    “So how about it, Delilah?” he asks, searching my face. His brown eyes linger a half-second too long on the spot where my jaw angles down from my ear, so I press my fingers there, as though hiding that part of me will hide all of me.
    When his eyes flick back to mine, he says again, “A bold neon orange?”
    I turn back to the color samples, and my sight narrows in on it, as if the color has been calling to me all along but I only now paid attention. I pluck it from the selection and hand it over to Sammie K.
    “Three gallons, please.”
    She scans it so the machine can mix and pour the paint into cans for me to take home. I stare toward the exit doors, where the morning sun radiates through, and I tune all my focus to that tight, subtly painful feeling of my pupils constricting.
    “Delilah,” Aiden calls quietly. I hear his voice as though it’s on another plane, as though it’s a whisper or an echo or a chime, or maybe all three. Intimate and distant all at once, it’s a shy warmth that rolls over me but escapes my catch, like sunshine riding on a summer breeze.
    I close my eyes, and it breaks. I’m drawn back to this plane, where the weight of my loneliness bears down on me so that I feel heavy even though I’m empty inside.
    “Are you alright?” Aiden asks. When I duck my head, he moves quickly to my side, sensing the answer I won’t admit. His hand touches my elbow.
    I press my fingers to my temple and shake my head. “Yeah, just a little dizzy, that’s all.” I step away from his touch, from the way the heat of my body rushes toward his fingers. I risk a glance at him, hoping he’s looking away, but he’s not. He’s