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I nod. “I do, I… I like having you around.”
“Even when I’m driving you mad?”
“You don’t drive me mad for long,” I say, unable to help a half-smile. “And I never would have had the courage to go in there alone.”
“Don’t underestimate yourself. I don’t,” he whispers, holding my gaze in a way that has my thoughts turning to the hotel room we’re going to share tonight. There are two queen beds, so I suppose we might sleep separately. But every moment, it grows more unlikely.
Something is shifting between us. Evolving. Changing.
Jeffrey is becoming not just a friend, but a good friend—someone who feels almost like family. Someone who can make me ache with wanting him just from the feel of his fingers circling my ankle. I can’t imagine what he’ll do to me if—when?—he touches me everywhere else.
“Did you still need to work this afternoon?” he asks, pulling me from my dangerous thoughts.
I take a deep, hormone-banishing breath. “I do. I should probably pull an all-nighter and try to mail the collection tomorrow before we leave. I haven’t been to Wettingfeld Forest in years, but I imagine it’s still a post-office-free zone.”
“I’m sure.” He tosses the crumpled sugar packets into his empty mug. “But I’ve realized something—wasn’t that where your ex said he was going on holiday?”
I sigh. “He did, but hopefully we won’t cross paths again. I guess I could keep the wig and glasses on just in case.”
“I have a better idea. Why don’t we spend another night here?”
I shake my head, “No, Jeffrey, I—”
“Hear me out.” He holds up a hand, drawing my attention to those long, capable fingers I like so much. “If we stay another day, you can sleep tonight, finish the collection and mail it tomorrow, and then we’ll head to the forest the next day, well-rested and without any worries about running into your ex. He said they were camping for a few days, and I imagine he has to be back to work on Monday.”
I nibble the edge of my thumb. “True. And if I stay in the room all day sewing tomorrow, I won’t risk running into anyone who might report my presence to my mother.”
“And even if we decide to pop out for lunch or a coffee, no one’s recognized you so far.” He reaches over, guiding a few rogue strands of red from my face, and my skin tingles as his fingertips brush my cheek. “You look so different like this.”
“Better?” I find myself asking.
“Just different.”
“You don’t have a thing for redheads?”
“I’m not attracted to hair color. I’m…” He trails off, and my pulse pounds faster. The way he’s looking at me right now, like he wants to memorize every inch of me with his lips—I’m pretty sure it’s the best way anyone has ever looked at me. Or it’s the best anyone’s attention has made me feel in a long, long time.
“You’re what?” I prompt, my voice breathy, dying to hear what he is attracted to, hoping it might be me, just me, the way I’m attracted to just him.
His finger skims down my cheek, and I shiver. “I’m going to make myself scarce. Give you time to focus on your work.” He collects his cell from the table, tucking it into his back pocket and standing so swiftly I barely have time to blink before he’s backing toward the exit. “Meet you in the room at seven? I’ll bring something back for dinner.”
I nod. “Sounds good.” I start to ask him to stay for a little longer but then press my lips together and wave goodbye, sitting back in my chair with a sigh when he’s gone.
Maybe he has the right idea.
Maybe a little break will be good for us, give us both a chance to rethink the wisdom of jumping into bed together. Nothing has changed since this morning, not really. Yes, we might be close to finding Kaula, but that doesn’t mean she can alter my destiny.
This could very well be a dead-end. If it is, the best thing I can do for Jeffrey is to leave him alone. I should hide the way I feel, keep my hands to myself, and set him free to find a more appropriate, less-complicated relationship.
But sometime in the past few hours, the old arguments have begun to wear thin. Jeffrey might have tricked me into visiting the Romani part of town, but he let me take the lead with Baba Dika. He trusted me to know my mind and steer my ship. Don’t I owe him the same respect?
He knows I might be cursed or crazy.
If he still wants to be with me, then…
“Anything else, miss?” A woman with a bin of dirty dishes propped on her hip stops beside the table.
I shake my head. “No, thank you. We’re finished.”
