Page 135 of Fake it ’Til Fall

“Fine. I’ll sleep by the door,” I say. “That’s my final offer.”

“Why?”

I shrug. “Habit.”

“That is not a full answer.”

“It’s the one you’re getting.”

“Wolfe.”

I keep my eyes on the window, where rain taps the glass in uneven little strikes. “Because if you need out, you get out. If someone comes in, they get through me first.”

When I look back, Daisy is watching me like I’ve just put something breakable between us and refused to explain why.

“You know this is my mother’s house, right?” she says, but her voice has lost some of its shine. “Not a medieval siege.”

“I know.”

“And the biggest danger tonight is probably Puck farting after the illicit donut fiasco.”

“Still taking the floor.”

“Fine,” she says. “But if you sleep on the floor, I’m sleeping on the floor too.”

“Stubborn.”

“Decorative and stubborn. It was on my college applications.”

“That explains a lot.”

“It got me waitlisted at two emotionally unavailable universities.”

I almost smile.

Daisy sees it and her face changes by a fraction. There’s less panic and more warmth. The room loosens its grip around us, but the space between us does not.

That stays tight.

Too tight.

Then her gaze drops to my mouth.

Just for a second.

Not long enough to accuse her of anything.

Long enough to ruin me.

I should look away.

I do.

Too late.

Because when I look back, she is still there, still close, still pretending she didn’t just do it. Her cheeks have gone warm, and her hands are curled in the sleeves of her sweater like she needs somewhere to put all the nerves she keeps disguising as jokes.

“Don’t,” she says.