Because I fucking do.
My hand tightens on her wrist for one second. I make myself let go.
“Because I’m human,” I say, stepping back. “Not dead.”
Her eyes darken. “And I’m your fake fiancée.”
“Exactly.”
She tilts her head, smile slow, dangerous. “Then act like it.”
Before I can ask what she means, she lifts onto her toes and presses her mouth to my cheek.
Soft.
Warm.
Vanilla.
I go statue-still.
It’s not a kiss, not really. But it’s enough to make every muscle in my body fire.
She pulls back, eyes triumphant. “Public display of affection,” she says. “In case Mrs. Vance is still watching.”
I glance out the window.
Mrs. Vance is, in fact, still watching.
Of course she is.
I exhale hard. “You’re gonna make this hell.”
She beams. “You already started a fire, Fireman. Too late for that.”
I shake my head, turn toward the door before I forget the rules I just made. “Six,” I say. “Be ready.”
“Define ready.”
“Clothes,” I say over my shoulder. “Shoes. Don’t smell like paint.”
“Rude,” she mutters. “Paint is my scent.”
I pause in the doorway. “Ember.”
She looks up.
“It wasn’t your fault,” I tell her again, because I saw the way she looked at the ashes.
Her throat moves. “Say it again later,” she says quietly. “So I believe you.”
I meet her eyes.
“I will.”
I step out onto the porch, nod once to Mrs. Vance, and head back to the truck.
By the time I pull out, I can already imagine the rest of the day.
