Page 98 of Blood and Bells

She’s covered in cocoa.

She’s never looked better.

“Nick?” she asks, cautious but curious.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt, immediately, like a man with no sense of pacing or dignity. “I’m sorry for being an idiot. For breaking your trust. For making you think—” I stop, drag a hand through my hair, and try again. “For making you think I’d ever hurt you. Or this town. I was trying to help, and I made a mess.”

She just looks at me.

Which, historically speaking, is worse than yelling. People who yell tend to declare terms. This is…silence. Open-ended. Dangerous.

“I mean it,” I add, committed to digging myself into a deeper hole. “All of it. I’ll fix it. However you want. I don’t—” I huff out a breath. “I don’t care how long it takes.”

A beat.

Still nothing.

Right. Excellent. I’ve faced down warlords with clearer feedback.

I step closer. Retreating now would be cowardly and I’ve already committed to a course of action that can only be described as emotionally reckless.

“Holly,” I say, quieter now. “I’ve done a lot of existing. I’m very good at it. Centuries of practice. Empires rise, empires fall, one acquires a decent coat and a tolerance for disappointment.” I shake my head slightly. “But you⁠—”

Her expression shifts. A sliver.

“You make it feel like that’s not enough,” I finish.

The words settle between us.

“I don’t want to just pass time anymore. I’ve done that. Very successfully. Centuries of it. You learn how to let years slide past without catching on anything. It’s a skill,” I say, deploying far more honesty than I intended. “I want…this. You. The ridiculous town. The chaos. The cocoa incidents. All of it.”

I let out a breath that feels like it’s older than I am.

“I’ve watched cities burn and be rebuilt badly. I’ve seen men swear eternal devotion and forget it by spring. I’ve had entire decades I can’t distinguish from one another except by the cut of the coat—and it all blurs, eventually. But you don’t.”

Her gaze doesn’t move.

“I’m not good at this,” I admit. “Which is not unfortunate, as I’m good at almost everything else. This, however, appears to have no interest in being managed, categorized, or sensibly ignored. And it refuses to behave like anything I understand.”

That earns the smallest flicker in her eyes.

Encouraging.

“I choose you,” I say, more steady now. “Not as a grand declaration. I’ve seen those. They tend to end in wars or despots.” A small pause. “I choose you because you don’t blur. I don’t want anyone else.”

Another beat.

“If you’ll have me.”

She takes a shaky breath, her eyes glistening unnervingly.

“Nick,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “You’re the most infuriating, ridiculous, impossible man I’ve ever met.”

I brace, because that feels like the beginning of a very thorough rejection.

“And I like you for it,” she finishes, like she’s decided it mid-sentence.

That…was not the direction I prepared for.