Page 41 of Sparrow

and though I pray they’re not actually here for me and that I’m overreacting, some deep, dark part of my soul knows that I’m not.

Because my body is caught in fight or flight right now.

The same as it is when my heart threatens to kill me.

Mars

“But I’m not a townie.”

The word is so strange coming out of her mouth that I choke on my coffee and spit it all over the counter. She looks at the mess, then looks up at me with her eyes wide and her mouth open, like she thinks I may have just lost my mind.

Or like she may be in trouble for having caused the carnage.

I dislike that thought so much that I push it to the side and refuse to look at it again. Besides, she said something that requires and answer.

“Not a townie? Where did you even learn that word? Besides, you live here, don’t you?”

She tips her head. “I mean at the moment yes, but–”

“That makes you one of us. And that means you’re included.”

She shuts her mouth now, like she doesn’t have an argument for once, and stares at me quietly.

And despite myself, despite all the misgivings about having her here and thinking about her too much–dreaming about her at night when I know I shouldn’t–I let myself stand here and drink her in. She doesn’t hold still often, definitely doesn’t keep quiet much, and I haven’t had much chance to just look at her.

Now that I’m looking, I don’t know if I want to stop.

She’s beautiful in a way that almost doesn’t make sense. Eyes too large, cheekbones too sharp, lips too lush to belong on the same face. She’s tiny enough to be fun-sized and tends to draw in on herself rather than standing up straight, which makes her seem even smaller. Like someone I want to tuck into my breast pocket and carry with me through the day.

Someone I can keep close to me in case I want another look. Another touch.

Another whispered giggle in the middle of a quiet bookstore.

But there’s more to her than that, and I’d be a fool to think she was just some slight girl who needed a hero. There’s strength in those eyes, a way of lifting her chin that makes me think she’s spent more time than she’d admit taking care of herself when other people let her down.

This infuriates me, because a girl like her should have been surrounded by people who would have sold their souls to keep her safe, and instead...

Instead, she was taken captive and then left to her own devices.

Until she got here and I got my hands on her.

But that’s nothing. I’m just doing the same thing any step-uncle would do.

And that’s the only role I can ever have in her life.

My heart squeezes at the thought, fighting against the implications and screaming that it wants more. It wants to reach out and touch her. Pull her to me and run my fingers through that tangled, fawn-colored hair. Brush my lips across the tip of her nose before I take her mouth and show her what my body thinks of her.

Heat floods me at the thought of it, coming to rest firmly in my groin, and I nearly gasp out loud at the sudden hardening there.

God, what the fuck is wrong with me? This girl is in trouble and is my step-niece. She’s not some town girl looking for a date.

She’s far, far more important.

“So we’re just going to... decorate?” she asks hesitantly.

This brings me sharply back to reality, and I nod. “Every year we have a summer festival. Town goes all out. Booths, food, contests, you name it. But we have to decorate first. And every business in town is in charge of that part.”

Her forehead wrinkles. “Summer festival? It’s April.”