He’s watchingus.
Meand Rafe.
“I’m pretty sure they want Isabel’s money,” Rafe says. “And since Isabel wants the honor of hosting the ball?—”
My attention snaps to his face. “The masquerade ball?”
“Something about a hunter’s moon …?”
“It’s not going to be at town hall?”
“Not if Isabel gets her way. I, for one, think she should. This isn’t any old year, after all. This is Foggy Hollow’s bicentennial. Such a milestone deserves to be special, don’t you think?”
I don’t object.
The Vandenberg Estate playing host to the Hunter’s Moon Masquerade Ball? The idea makes me want to swoon. For a myriad of reasons.Namely, I’d finally get to go inside the place. A breeze ruffles my hair as I take another bite of tart.
“So,” Rafe says, “where are we watching the lanterns?”
“We?” I wipe a crumb from my lip. “Shouldn’t you return to your dinner?”
He waves his hand dismissively.
My attention returns to the patio, where Isabel tips her head back and laughs. Jude’s chair is empty.
“You did a fabulous job, by the way.”
I peer at Rafe.
“Playing Mercy Bogaard. The whole thing wassorealistic. It almost felt like I was there.” He smirks when he pays the compliment, like it isn’t a compliment at all, but a tease. He’s making fun of me. He’s making fun of all of us.
I glare. “You were staring.”
“Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do at a performance?”
“You were staring at me and only me.”
His smirk widens into a grin.
“It was rude. And distracting”
“You find me distracting?”
“I find you off-putting, if I’m being honest.”
He sets his hand against his chest, like I just shot him. “Well, if we’re being honest, the fact that you find me off-putting is rather fascinating.”
“Why would that be fascinating?”
He tilts his head like he’s trying to decide whether to let me in on his secret. Then he lookspast me and gives the stone another toss. “I was wondering when you’d join us.”
I turn around.
It’s my new classmate—the one I’ve spent the latter half of this past week avoiding. The mere memory of our last encounter makes me want to hide under a pillow. I scolded him. Like, actually scolded him. And I’m pretty sure I called him good-looking in the process.
My stomach pools with heat.
“Rafe,” Jude says, flat and clipped. When he turns to me, I expect the same cold greeting. Surprisingly, his expression isn’t hostile. It’s more … concerned? “Selah,” he says, his voice a little husky.
