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I don’t know what’s going on, but it has to be something. Something happened that’s making her suddenly act like this.
I’m damn sure not waiting untilsometime next weekto find out what it is.
The edge of my hand knocks against Phoebe’s front door. It’s Saturday evening, and I walked over from my house a couple blocks away.
Her mom answers.
“Oh! Hello, Hunter,” she greets me, surprised to see me.
“Hi, Mrs. Sinclair.” I flash her as much of a smile as I can summon, even though smiling is the last thing I’m in the mood to do right now. “Is Phoebe home?”
Her surprise deepens, and interest sparks in her eyes. “She is. Come inside and I’ll get her for you.”
I nod, stepping inside. It feels odd being in Phoebe’s family’s house.
Considering how deep I’ve been insidePhoebe,it should feel like no big deal to be in her house. But it does feel like a big deal.
Her mom walks upstairs and calls her, telling her someone’s here to see her.
My heart leaps when I see Phoebe walking down the stairs. Fuck, why does my chest feel so tight seeing her again after only three days?
What a stupid question. I know why.
She pauses midway down the stairs when her eyes finally fall on me.
Her face twists in surprise. Her mouth opens. It closes again. She hesitates. Then she finally hurries down the last couple stairs and walks up to me, arms folded over her chest.
“What are you doing here?” she says low, trying to keep her voice down.
“Finding out what’s wrong,” I answer. My tone is clear and straightforward.
Her throat works, and she pulls in her bottom lip. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“Bullshit.”
Her eyes meet mine, and her gaze softens. She’s trying to put up a front, trying to erect a wall between us, but her eyes don’t lie to me. They can’t.
Her chest deflates as she lets out a sigh. “Let’s go outside,” she whispers. “My mom’s probably eavesdropping.”
She slings on a winter jacket and seconds later we’re outside, standing on her porch, the dim outside bulb casting us in a hazy orange hue.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
She shrugs. She’s still trying to downplay this, but I can sense her heart isn’t in it. “Nothing. I’ve just been, you know, busy.” Her voice falters more and more each word. She knows she’s lying. She knows I know she’s lying.
“Don’t lie to me, Phoebe,” I say, my voice pressing. “Because I wouldn’t lie to you.”
I take a deep breath, steeling myself to prove those words. To admit what I haven’t even been able to put in words to myself yet, but what every ounce of me knows is true. It’s time for her to know it, too.
“I’ve fallen for you,” I say, my gaze tethered to hers. “Hard. I can’t fucking stand you icing me out, not even for a couple days.”
Her eyes flash with feeling. “I couldn’t stand it, either.”
Relief floods my chest.
My hands find hers. So soft and warm. Holding them feels so right. Touching her after feeling her slowly slipping away for reasons I couldn’t even guess at feels like a sip of warm tea on the coldest winter night.
“Then tell me.” My voice is earnest. “What’s wrong?”
