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I open my eyes to see October calming her birds, nestled back on her shoulder. Her eyes are a little distraught.
She’s another person I’ve rattled since returning. “October…”
“Lovebirds are territorial,” she cuts in, her voice somewhat tight like she’s caging breath. “You’re just a stranger to them.”
I sense the attack wasn’t intentional.
Slowly, I rise. Still unsure of where I stand with October. “I wasn’t trying to hurt them…I didn’t even know you had pet birds. What happened to Strawberry?” Her bunny.
“She died.”
A knot forms in my throat.
Okay…I don’t ask about the little ducklings she’d been raising before I left. Just in case those are gone too. I’m unsurprised she never brought up her animals in our text conversations. If they were filled with grief, she wouldn’t have mentioned them.
October stands tall, only a foot or two away, her three inches on me adding to her allure. “And I wasn’t worried about you hurting them.”
So she was concerned about me. Warmth floods my cheeks, and she takes an assured, threatening step forward. Barely any space separating us. All the oxygen in this town swirls around October. Feeding her.
Still asphyxiating me.
“You broke my window,” she says pointedly.
I glance up at the fissured glass. “Uh, yeah. Sorry. I’ll pay for it—”
“I don’t need your money,” she says curtly. “You’re just lucky that rock didn’t ricochet back and hit your head.” She says this with as much sincerity as Parry when he didn’t want me to help clean up the broken glass.
“I think if my curse was concussion by stone I’d get off easy,” I say into a laugh. “A better fate than even death by lovebirds.” I’m grinning into another laugh, staring at those feathery assholes who almost pecked my eyes out.
October doesn’t even crack a smile. “It’s not funny.” Her brown gaze strikes me cold.
My laugh dies. “Sorry.”
October cringes at the word. I used to say “sorry” a lot in high school. Apologizing for accidentally bumping someone in the hallway. Apologizing for looking at Amelia the wrong way. Apologizing for being born a Durand.
And then one day, October had enough. She just turned on me and said, “If you say sorry one more time, I’m going to lose my fucking mind. Spare me so you can spare yourself in the very least. You don’t owe anyone anything. Least of all an apology.”
Now in the cold, in front of her house, I expect her to say something about the apology, but she skirts around it.
“Amelia told me you’re back. But you couldn’t at least call me yourself?”
“We made a promise. Never meet again. Rule number four—”
“Which you’re breaking.”
“That is true,” I say, sucking in a breath. “You’re not why I’m here though, so I figured this fell under the Exception Clause.”
Her lips twitch, fighting not to smile. “We don’t have an Exception Clause.”
“We probably should have made one though,” I tell her. “I mean if we went through the lengths to make up rules, we should have added a clause or two in there. Right?”
She opens her mouth to reply and her front door whips open.
“Fuck,” October curses. And then she shoves me. Hard.
I fall into a bush.
Let me rephrase: She pushed me into a fucking bush! Leaves and branches scrape my arms, and I’m about to pry myself up in hot anger when I hear a voice.
“October Brambilla, I heard people out here.” Oh God. I recognize that voice. Effie Brambilla is not only October’s aunt but she’s hated the Durands for longer than I’ve been alive.
October sidesteps to block the bush…or me in the bush. “I was on the phone, Aunt Effie,” she replies quickly. “I’m the only person you heard.”
Effie scoffs. “I can recognize a Durand’s voice if it was five-hundred miles across shore. Zoey was right here—”
“Aunt Ef—”
“But she’s a smart one. Probably already fled like the frightened little rabbit she is. But if I catch the stink of her near my home again, she’s going to wish she never returned to town. You hear?”
Looking between a couple branches, I can see October nodding slowly. And at the sound of the front door shutting closed, I let out a long breath.
After a measured moment, October extends a hand. “Sorry about that.”
I grasp onto her, and she helps me out of the bush.
Feet planted firmly on the ground, my gaze drops to our hands. Skin-to-skin, they’re still intertwined. Fingers bridging together. We should break away, but we’re fused. Like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
She’s where she’s meant to be.
Sweetly chirping lovebirds fill the quiet. And those feathery assholes don’t seem so bad anymore. I tell her that out loud.
Her brows crinkle. “They nearly pecked out your eyes and you’re already trusting them again?” She says it like I’m a fool.
“Maybe. Yeah, I guess.”
She eyes me in a long, tender sweep. One that feels like an eternal hug. A caress. The softest, sweetest, most everlasting kiss, and she whispers, “After six years, you still make me want to…” She lets out a noise of frustration.
