Page 73 of A Match Made in Error

Because he meant it. I know he did. And I don’t want to invalidate his truth with a snarky remark.

Riven shifts in his chair, the wood creaking softly. One hand drags through his hair, like he’s trying to shove the words back where they came from. “Forget I said that,” he mutters finally.

There it is. His escape attempt. Though it’s not joined by a flirtatious joke like it normally would be.

My chest is doing something unpleasant. I feel compelled to make him feel better. To me, a joke would invalidate his truth, but to him, I think it might be an escape route. I lean back in my chair instead, forcing a shrug that feels too deliberate. “Wow,” I say lightly. “That might be the longest you’ve gone without making a joke. Should I be concerned?”

He huffs a quiet breath that almost sounds like a laugh, but it never reaches his eyes. His gaze flicks to me for half a second, then away again. The movement is small, but something about it feels…careful. Like he looked too quickly.

The wind pushes a strand of my hair across my cheek, and I reach up to tuck it behind my ear, suddenly very aware of the lack of space between us. The patio isn’t big. Two chaise loungers, a small table, the wooden railing overlooking the endless shimmering water.

Riven nestles into his seat, stretching his legs out in front of him, feet scraping softly across the wood. Casual. Lazy. The way he always sits. But I think it’s forced ease.

“You know,” I say, forcing my voice into something teasing, “for someone who claims not to care about things like that, you sounded suspiciously dramatic.”

That crooked smile finally reappears, the slightly lighter skin of his scar catching in the lantern light, but it’s slower than usual.

“Dramatic?” he says.

“Terribly so,” I tease, and, as if it’s physical, I can feel the air around us shifting into something more comfortable.

He tilts his head slightly, studying me now. Really studying me. The lanternlight paints one side of his face gold and leaves the other in shadow. His eyes soften for a moment, then sharpen again.

“Well,” he says quietly, “I’ll try to be less honest next time.” The words land somewhere in my ribs.

I scoff, rolling my eyes like that doesn’t bother me at all. “Please do. It’s very unsettling and off-brand for you.” I force my voice into a tone of obvious sarcasm.

Riven’s mouth twitches, but he doesn’t laugh.

And when the silence settles again, it’s thicker this time. The ocean breathes, a gull cries somewhere in the dark, and someone in a nearby bungalow shrieks.

I glance at him and catch him already looking at me, lips poised to speak.

He does that sometimes. Looks like he’s about to say something and then decides not to. Like there’s a thought sitting right behind his teeth that he refuses to let out.

Usually, I assume it’s another joke.

Another smug comment.

Tonight, it feels different. The potion has made it different.

I shift in my chair, setting my glass on the side table. My fingers brush the wood, and the light dances across the back of his hand where it rests near the edge.

For a second, I think he might move it.

He doesn’t.

Instead, his fingers flex slightly against the wood, like he almost reached for mine and stopped himself. I’m definitely imagining it. Just like I’ve imagined every single slight that I interpreted as meaning anything more to him than faking it. Which is why, regardless of truths spoken or challenges won, I’ll be leaving this island with a tiny fracture in my heart.

Riven notices me staring at his fingers, deep in thought, and arches a brow.

“There it is,” he says softly.

“What?” My hand comes up to my face self-consciously.

He smiles, crooked and annoyingly sure of himself. “That look.”

“What look?” My face is hot again.