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“I know,” I say, still soft. “Stay anyway.”
Silence, her gaze drifting from mine, focusing on the counter.
I hold my breath.
Until she nods. “Okay.”
I exhale silently. “Good, butterfly,” I say, taking the lemon from her hand and ignoring the warning sirens blaring in my mind. “Now, teach me how to make this magical drink of yours.”
Now she smiles. It’s bright but isn’t fake, and that does something to my heart—those fingers squeezing again, my pulse picking up.
“I did make my rosemary simple syrup,” she says, nodding at the pot with the sprigs of herbs in it.
I squeeze the lemon into the bowl. “Does that make it better?”
She huffs out a laugh. “Does it make it better?” She tosses her hair over one shoulder, rubs her hands together. “My rosemary simple syrup iseverything.”
“Well,” I say, moving closer and sniffing at the concoction in the pot. “It doesn’t smell like much.”
Outrage now, but it’s good-natured.
And it distracts her enough that she stops talking about leaving.
Instead, she teaches me how to make the drink.
And then supervises me as I match the next batch.
Then the next.
And eventually, we find ourselves back on the pile of blankets, bellies full of soup and grilled cheese sandwiches and Twix bars for dessert, glasses topped off with mules that are definitely better with that simple syrup, and a snoring Steve between us, watching another classic movie—this oneDie Hard(the original, because that’s clearly the best one).
And eventually, I have two mammals snoring next to me while gunshots sound on the TV.
That’s when I stop fighting it.
This urge to get closer.
This urge to push her away.
I’m probably leaping from a plane without a parachute, plummeting to my demise.
But…I don’t care.
I scoop them up one by one and carry them to my bed. Then I stand there, just for a moment, before I slide in next to them, the pleasant fuzziness in my mind from all those honey rosemary mules making the battle to resist all that much shorter.
I just…wave my white flag again, get under the covers, and wrap my arms around them.
Then I let sleep come.
But when I wake up the next morning, it’s to find Nova not in bed beside me.
Thirty-One
Nova
It looks cheap.
Probably because of the bite marks.
