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“Wait.” I bite my lip in thought. “I just have one question and then I think—I think I’ll be satisfied.” It’s not like she’s purposefully keeping me and only me in the dark. She won’t even tell her sister or Amelia, and in October’s head, she’s protecting all of us.
It’s just who she is.
She looks me over. “What question?”
“So your curse isn’t drowning,” I say. “But did someone hurt you?” My chest constricts. Worry forming like a little ball under my ribcage.
She shakes her head. “No.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.” Her eyes flit around me. “Did someone hurt you? In Chicago, I mean. You never told me about your past relationships.”
I shake my head. “My past relationship was nothing special. A snooze-fest, honestly. Plain. Dull. Kinda boring. It lasted longer than it probably should have.” Three years. But I don’t tell her that. I also don’t speak his name out loud. Ashton. We work together, so the break-up morphed into a co-worker relationship, then an amiable friendship.
His texts about what I’m doing, where I am, have grown increasingly intense over these past days, and it’s been distracting enough that I’ve debated about blocking him.
“Relationship.” Her brows rise. “Singular?”
“Just the one.” I raise a shoulder. “You’ve probably been with more people in the past six years than me.”
She doesn’t deny.
Okay, that didn’t feel as good as I thought it would. She was free to be with a million girls. No, a billion. She deserved epic love.
Not to wither away and pine after me.
I should be tossing confetti knowing someone else out there probably loved October—probably still loves her, someone who’s name definitely isn’t Zoey Durand (oh God, do I stupidly love her)—but instead, my face is on fire.
Our eyes are still reddened from our tearful outbursts. And my throat is still scratchy as hell. And I end up rambling, “I mean, my story isn’t that entertaining. I sort of fell into a comfortable rut. It lasted longer than it should’ve…so yeah, there’s that.” I clear my throat. “What about you?”
Her shoulders almost drop like she’s…relaxing? Is she happy that I was only with one boring person?
Or maybe she’s relieved I didn’t kick her out of my hotel room. Maybe she thought that if I learned the truth (or the fact that she won’t tell me the whole story), I’d push her away. But pushing October away feels a lot like banishing happiness. Can’t do that, even if I tried.
“PJs first.” October routes towards her duffel bag. “You’re going to want to get comfortable for this.”
“Or you’re just dying to see me in my Millennium Falcon panties,” I tease.
She tilts her head, curious now. “Is that a type of Star Wars bird?”
I burst out laughing.
She rolls her eyes. “I take that as a no.” She grabs a musty pillow off the lumpy bed and aims for my face.
I duck and it lands on the floor. “I’m sorry.” I hold a stitch in my side. “It’s just that your bird-loving heart was so excited about this Star Wars bird. I almost feel bad.”
“Almost?” She nears me, abandoning her search for pajamas.
“Almost,” I breathe out. “But see, I can’t feel that badly when October Brambilla, the goddess herself, shows some signs of being a mere mortal.”
She stops a foot away. I have to look up since she’s a bit taller. I don’t mind that one bit. “You think I’m a goddess.” Her voice is a whisper.
“I think you’re gorgeous.” My heart nearly bursts in my chest from this declaration and from our lips that inch nearer. A teasing breath away, and an ache catches in my throat.
She slips a piece of my hair behind my ear. “So are you.” October peers into me like I’m made of heavenly, delicate things. And yet, I start shaking my head.
It’s silly to think I could be on her level.
She rolls her eyes again. “I wish you could see yourself how I see you.”
“Me? The girl with dry, damaged hair.” I don’t even know why this is my thought—maybe because she just touched my hair. Maybe because her glossy perfect locks splay over her shoulders in magnificent glory. To be a girl and love girls is a wondrous, complex thing. Because in one breath, I’m so envious of her. And in the other, I adore her. I want to join her fears and worries and happiness and joy. And while she tries to shield me from everyone’s judgment, I want to be her companion and protect her from everyone’s jealously.
She spools a tendril of my hair around her finger. “Your beautiful blonde hair,” she says like she’s defending me from…me.
I almost come undone right here.
Instead, I stand my ground. “My pointy chin that makes me look like a wicked witch.”
Her palm falls to my chin in a tender caress. “The point is perfect,” she tells me. “If someone calls you a witch, they need their eyes permanently fucking checked.”
