Page 63 of Cursebreaker

Titus’s gaze drops to my mouth. “It’s a date.”

His breath ghosts my lips. My heart skips a beat.

Someone clears their throat, and we jump five feet apart.

“Am I”—Charlie glances between the two of us—“interrupting something?”

“No!” we blurt in unison.

“Of course not,” Titus says, his tone pitched.

Charlie twists, as if to leave. “I can come back.”

“No, we—you—” I try.

“I—It’s—See—” Titus stammers, rubbing the nape of his neck.

“We’re good,” I say. “Great, actually! Just… discussing—”

“Strategy,” Titus finishes, nodding earnestly. “For, uh… our expedition to Hellion.”

“Lots of—er—planning to do.”

Titus barks a laugh. “Planning,” he echoes, a wry grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It’s going well. All the… planning.”

Charlie gives Titus a once-over, eyes narrowing. He clucks his tongue. “Glad to hear it. May I speak with you, Captain?” He turns to me, his lips pressed tight as if he were smothering a laugh. “Unless this is a bad time…?”

“We can talk in my quarters!” I grab Charlie by the arm and haul him away.

He lets out a low whistle. “Well—”

“Not a word,” I snap.

I don’t look over my shoulder, but I feel Titus’s eyes follow me all the way to the captain’s quarters. I slam the doors behind me, my arms crossed.

I fan my face. Is it always this hot this time of year? “What did you need to talk to me about?”

Charlie grins innocently. “Oh, nothing,” he says with a shrug. “You two just looked a little too cozy for comfort.”

I gape at him. My face feels like it were on fire. “We were not cozy.”

He gives me a look.

It’s well past sunset when Owen wins his sixth game of Clubs.

The crew gathers around a makeshift table on the main deck, playing my family’s favorite card game, some of us watching, others starting to doze.

“Time for bed,” Owen tells Elsie, who whines, and argues, and insists on one more game.

“At least tell me a story.” Elsie pouts.

Owen says nothing as he gets to his feet, but when he gestures at the companionway that leads to the bunkhouse, Elsie races ahead.

Owen turns to me over his shoulder, points a finger. “Don’t fall asleep yet, all of you,” he says as he disappears belowdecks. Margaret’s just begun to snore, her head lolling onto Jack’s shoulder, when Owen returns, hiding something behind his back.

He smiles like a fiend. “Ta-da!”

He holds the bottle of rum over his head like a crown.