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He looks over. “Out of thin air?”
“Yeah. Soon as you shut the door and I was about to get in bed, it was sitting there on the floor. Almost scared me to death.”
“I bet. Good thing it’s not a bloodthirsty creature.”
I swat his arm playfully. “Don’t joke. What if you’re not wrong?”
He looks at me tenderly, then inhales like he’s caught himself doing something he shouldn’t. His eyes flick to the rabbit. “Nah. He’s too cute to be bloodthirsty.”
Why do Rhett and I keep getting doused with magic? I think about the couples—Holly wants the exposure, Clarice wants love.
Rhett and I have been knocking heads since we first met.
And now we have a bunnicorn.
We’ve also fought, told the truth, and pushed each other. Maybe the magic doesn’t pulse or perform for everyone, only when something real cracks open.
I rub the bunny behind the ears. “And here I thought all the corns were only farm animals.”
“‘Corns’?”
“Unicorns, lambicorns, piggycorns.”
“Oh, right. So you thought they’d all be farm animals? Is that a hard-and-fast rule?”
“Apparently not.”
Our gazes lock for a beat and we laugh, the tension from our earlier argument melting away. When he glances back out the windshield, my heart drums, quietly beating out the word apologize.
I sigh. “I’m sorry I accused you of switching the salt for sugar.”
“You realize that was impossible for me to do, right?”
“Yeah. But I was just so frustrated.”
“I get why I don’t want to win this thing. But I don’t understand your deal about it. What’s the big reason?”
I go quiet.
“Oh, I see. You can know all my secrets, but I can’t know yours.”
“I don’t know all yours.”
He eases his spine back onto the seat and keeps his gaze on the road. “Do you want to know all of them?”
His question knocks me off guard. Do I? Maybe. I’m about to answer when his phone rings. The Bluetooth picks it up, and the name Jessie appears on the screen.
“My sister,” he murmurs. “I’ll call her back in a little bit.”
“Ah, your sister.”
“You already knew about her. Don’t act like that’s secret number one,” he teases.
I can’t help but laugh. He’s so charming—like, knock-your-socks-off charming—that the tension from earlier is broken. But his question hangs in the air between us. Do I want to know his secrets? Yes. God help me, yes. But if I know his, he’ll want to know mine. And I can’t tell him about Glen. Can’t risk him trying to help, trying to fix it, making it worse.
The bunny adjusts itself on my legs, turning to face me.
Rhett nods down to it. “He looks comfortable.”
