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Our day passes are good for six hours or up to five o’clock in the evening, whichever comes first.
And I don’t want to waste even a single second of that on the wrong side of the iron gates. So Wyn and me are off as soon as we can, catching the same bus that I do Thursday nights. Although this time of day, it’s full of people, most of them St. Mary’s girls.
Our first stop is what used to be my most favorite place in the world. These days I don’t like going there but I do anyway because it’s important: Buttery Blossoms.
“You sure you don’t want it?” Wyn asks, referring to the cupcake she’s currently eating, scooping out the silky chocolate frosting with her little plastic spoon and offering it to me.
Of course I want it.
It’s a cupcake, for God’s sake. And a Peanut Butter Blossom at that.
But I can’t have it.
And it’s not because I’m a ballerina who needs to follow a strict diet.
Or at least, it’s not only because of that.
It’s also because I’m a stupid girl who fell for a villain.
So I don’t get to have any; it’s my punishment.
I shake my head, digging into my stupid fruit cup. “Nope.”
Wyn frowns and puts it in her mouth, licking the spoon. “Are you sure? Because this is very good.”
I hate her.
“I know.” I narrow my eyes at her. “I work here over the summer, remember?”
I do.
Again, because I’m a stupid, brokenhearted girl who needs to remember.
Who needs to remember all the ways she was stupid in the past so she doesn’t fall stupid again.
Wyn takes another bite of her frosting. “Yeah, I don’t know how you can work here and still not eat this. This is so good, Callie.”
If she says it one more time, one more, I won’t be responsible for what I do.
As it is, it’s so hard to sit here and watch her eat my favorite thing in the world and not have any myself.
As hard as it is to see new knitting patterns in those online magazines and on Pinterest and not getting my knitting needles out and getting down to business.
Because once upon a time, I not only fell for a villain, I made him a cozy sweater too.
So all of this is my punishment.
No cupcakes even though I force myself to work in a cupcake shop and no knitting even though I make myself browse through those magazines all the time.
“Wyn, if you don’t stop oohing and ahhing over this cupcake, I’m going to…”
I trail off then.
Because something absurd happens.
Something out of this world. Something that I never even imagined would happen.
Something like him appearing out of nowhere at our table and sitting down — actually, literally — across from me.
He’s sitting across from me, at our table.
At Buttery Blossoms.
And he’s staring at me with his pretty gray eyes all intense and piercing.
What?
“What?” I say out loud. “What are you —”
He turns away from me and focuses on Wyn. “Hi.”
Her eyes pop wide at his voice. I don’t blame her. It’s deep and smooth, rich.
Like the chocolate frosting that she’s been consuming.
“Hi,” she says in what I think is her breathy voice.
“I’m Reed,” he introduces himself and offers her his hand.
I watch that hand, stuck out in the air, with long, graceful fingers. With broad, masculine knuckles, and I don’t…
What is he doing here?
Wyn has no choice but to offer hers and shake his hand. “I know.”
He wraps his fingers around her palm and gives it a squeeze.
That I somehow feel in my own hand.
His grip. His strength.
And for some reason, I want him to let go of her hand.
I want him not to touch her and it’s so absurd, this thought, that I shut it down immediately.
“So you’ve heard about me,” he drawls in that voice again.
But this time, he also brings out his sexy, charming smirk and I grit my teeth.
Wyn swallows. “Yes. And your Mustang. The fact that you love it. And like, it’s your most prized possession.”
“Well, you know everything about me then.” He squeezes her hand again and I fist mine in my lap. “And I don’t even know your name.”
“It’s Wyn,” she blurts out, kind of dazed by his attentiveness. “I mean, Bronwyn. But people call me Wyn.”
“Bronwyn,” he repeats. “That’s a pretty name.”
“Thanks,” she replies, blushing and tucking a strand of her hair behind her ears.
Finally, Reed lets her go. “So Wyn, I’d like to ask you something.”
“Uh, sure.”
“I’d like to talk to your friend here and I’d like to do it alone. So you wouldn’t mind giving us a minute, would you?”
She glances at me, unsure. “I’m not…”
He smiles at her again, that jerk, his wolf eyes all hypnotizing and beautiful. “I promise to keep her safe.”
Yeah, says the villain.
I decide to jump in then. “No.”
