Page 37 of Romeo

Her answer took longer this time.

Ma Belle: Granny’s porch when everyone else has gone home.

My breath caught. Not the mountains. Not some overlook or restaurant or place people came to Rosewood specifically to see. Granny’s porch. When everyone else had gone home. That told me more about Fiona than half the answers I’d dragged out of her over the last few weeks.

Me: You like quiet?

Ma Belle: Sometimes.

Me: I can be quiet.

Ma Belle: I’ve heard zero evidence of that

Because we haven’t spent nearly enough time together.

Me: Invite me to Granny’s porch and I’ll prove it.

Ma Belle: Georgie would sit between us

Me: I own duct tape.

Ma Belle: Absolutely not

An image of Georgie taped to one of Granny’s porch posts came to mind immediately. Complete with the offended glare he’d probably wear while Fiona stood there laughing at him. Hearing her laugh would be so fucking worth it.

Ma Belle: I have to go. Granny’s making breakfast.

Me: Tell her I said hello.

Ma Belle: You really want me to do that?

My fingers stopped. Yes. Also, absolutely fucking not. Martha Steiner had watched me closely enough at Jack’s wedding that I doubted I’d fooled her for a second. I had no idea how much she knew or what conclusions she’d drawn. I wasn’t volunteering to find out.

Me: Maybe not.

Ma Belle: Goodbye, Jasper

Me: Talk to you later, Ma Belle.

I set the phone down and took a drink of coffee. Chocolate cake. Vanilla ice cream. Granny’s porch after everyone went home. I didn’t need to write any of it down. I’d remember all of it.

That realization sat with me for a moment. There’d been women in my bed whose last names I couldn’t recall. Fiona told me she liked chocolate frosting, and I knew there wasn’t a chance in hell I’d ever forget it.

The La Croix curse might explain why I’d known she was different the moment I saw her. It didn’t explain this. This was happening one message at a time, in stupid questions and late-night conversations and little pieces of herself she trusted me enough to hand over.

Maybe that was better.

The curse could tell me she was the one. But it couldn’t make her trust me. Couldn’t make her want me. Couldn’t make her choose me.

That part, I had to earn.

Fiona still got to decide for herself.

CHAPTER SIX

Fiona

The cafeteria at Rosewood High was loud enough to make thinking difficult. Trays clattered, voices overlapped, and somebody at the table behind us laughed so hard I heard it over everything else. I sat near the windows at our usual table, picking at the sandwich I’d packed that morning while Melanie demolished a slice of pizza across from me.