“You turned into me!” I gasp.
“You were in my lane!”
“There are no lanes!”
“There are implicit lanes!”
I’m still on top of him, and suddenly we both realize it. The laughter fades but not the warmth. Through our translucent skin, I can see our hearts beating in sync.
“Rianne...”
“I know. After the ceremony.”
“If there is an after.”
“Don’t say that.”
“We’ve failed twice times.”
“Third time’s the charm.” I don’t move off him. Can’t. Don’t want to. “Stenrik?”
“Mm?”
“I want to trust you. I’m trying.”
“I know.”
“It’s not about you. It’s about me. About Martin and every?—”
He kisses me. Soft, quick, barely there. “It’s about us. Martin doesn’t get a vote.”
“But—”
“Rianne, I’m not asking you to trust me because I say so. I’m asking you to trust me because I sat through forty-seven slides about ice sculpture to make you flowers. Because I made you soup with shadow-grown vegetables. Because when we crashed these carts, my first thought wasn’t about winning but about whether you were hurt.”
The truth of every word settles over me.
“That’s three reasons,” I say.
“I have more. Want to hear them?”
“Maybe.”
“I’ve memorized how you take your coffee—terrible, with too much sugar. I know you eat candy canes when you’re nervous. I know you named the library plants and apologize to them when they die. I know you cry at the happy parts of books, not the sad parts. I know?—”
“Okay, okay.” I’m laughing again, but also crying a little. “You know me.”
“I’m trying to.”
“In two and a half days.”
“It’s been a very informative two and a half days.”
A shadow creature that might be Susan from HR clears what might be her throat. “The afternoon team-building exercise is ready.”
“Team building?” I ask.
“Keith thought it would help,” Stenrik explains. “With trust.”
