Page 12 of The Crafting Con

My steps slow, and I’m taking a steadying breath in when a scrawny little black cat darts out of Mrs. Bingley’s rhododendrons and runs yowling across my path. My heart comes an inch away from exploding. A fat orange tabby—Persnickety from three doors down—pokes his head out of the bushes and hisses, as if to say and stay out.

If I believed in signs, this would not be a good one.

I gulp, sweat beading my temple.

Maybe I do believe in signs…

No. It’ll be fine. Declan wants my help. He wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t want to see me. I force myself to walk past Mrs. Bingley’s hedge and down the Greenes’ driveway.

A figure stirs within the shadows of the garage, and that soft, steady ache bleeds through my chest. Leading me down his driveway until his lanky form looms clear as day. His dark hair, still messy from sleep, falls over his forehead while he leans against the workbench, scribbling notes into a spiral-bound journal. I step across the threshold and clear my throat.

His green eyes flare wide when he looks up.

I swallow. “Um, hey. You, uh, needed my help with something?”

He doesn’t answer, and I shift awkwardly from one foot to the other.

He blinks, and I seriously consider bolting. This was such a bad idea. But then his lips part, and I find myself glued in place while I wait for him to speak. Bracing myself for the pig’s blood.

The pencil snaps in his grip, and he squeezes his eyes shut with a growl. “Hiro is so dead.”

And that’s when it hits me—Declan didn’t ask for my help at all.

Stasia lied.

I’m going to kill her.

CHAPTER 6

DECLAN

Fourteen days until OA Con

This just isn’t possible. There’s no way Ava Aimes is standing in my garage right now. I’m clearly hallucinating.

Her fists tug the pink fabric of her hoodie pockets to their limits, and the familiar gesture hits like a slap to the face. When she speaks, her voice is so sweetly soft it physically hurts. “Um, hey. You, uh, needed my help with something?”

Can hallucinations talk?

She shuffles in place, and I blink, only just refraining from rubbing a hand over my eyes in disbelief. She’s here. She’s actually here.

To help.

Sweet, baby Naruto.

She’s the friend Hiro arranged to take his place. My hand clenches, snapping my favorite shop pencil in half. “Hiro is so dead.”

Ava pales, taking a tiny step back toward the driveway, and once again I feel like a complete and total ass. Can I seriously not just be normal when it comes to this girl? Another glance at her wide hazel eyes—so familiar and yet not all at once—confirms I cannot. There is nothing normal about her. She’s always been so much more.

It’s little wonder younger me fell so hard.

Current me can still feel the sting.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean…” I shake my head, uncertain where I’m going with this. Why are words suddenly so elusive? “I’m just surprised. I didn’t think you were into the convention scene anymore.” Or, you know, looking at me instead of through.

She bites her lip, and a part of me wilts knowing I’ll never feel that perfectly shaped mouth pressed against mine. Wait, what? Why would I care about that? I don’t. I’d rather rip out my own tongue than kiss Ava Aimes.

“I’m not.”