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“What is going on with you?” Temra asks the next day. I told her all about the sword when she returned home from school. She, of course, demanded I let her have a go with it. I stepped far back as I explained the sword had two abilities that I knew of. It could cut through anything, and it cut things before even coming into contact with them.
Now I sit with the sword in my lap, carefully polishing the metal, holding the blade steady so there’s no hint of a swing in the motion. Otherwise it might demolish the counter in front of me. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re humming.”
“I sometimes hum when I work.”
“No, you don’t. You never hum. And you’ve had a ridiculous grin on your face all day. Care to share the good news?”
I can feel the blush on my cheeks. “Obviously I’m excited about the sword.” Though that wasn’t what I’d been thinking about at all.
Temra stops sweeping and leans the broom against a display case. “Spill, Ziva.”
I’m obviously not a very good liar. “I saw someone, if you really must know.”
“Why should seeing someone put you in a good mood?”
“Temra, let it go. It was no big deal. This guy just walked by the forge, and—”
“A guy! Your cheeks are brighter than tomatoes.”
“He was… attractive.”
“You don’t think anyone is attractive.”
“I’m aware of that, Temra! Can we stop talking about it now?”
She slides into the chair next to me and tries to wrest the cloth from my grip, but I snatch it out of reach.
“No, you’re going to give me details,” she demands.
“There’s nothing to tell. He was tall. Golden-red hair. Carries a sword.”
“Did he wear a uniform?”
“No.”
“Too bad. Men in uniforms are extra handsome. I wonder if he’s a local or if he’s just passing through? We should check all the inns on this side of the city. Just in case.”
“Absolutely not!”
“But this is a huge thing for you!”
“Don’t make a big deal out of this. I feel weird enough as it is.”
“But you should talk to him. Maybe do other things with him.” Her wicked grin is out in full force.
Is it possible to singe my own brows off? Because I think my face might be reaching extreme temperatures.
“I don’t want to do any of that.”
“But—”
“I’m not you. That’s not how I work.” I don’t bother to try to explain how it’s not worth the discomfort and anxiety. My panic is so overwhelming at times, I simply couldn’t bear to be near him. And if he ever looked at me—
I can’t even imagine how I would react.
“You pushing the matter is just going to make me run in the other direction,” I finish.
