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I snort.Come out of left field, why don’t you?“Um…purple?”
“Bright purple? Or one of those wisty pastel types?”
I have no idea where any of this is coming from, but I’m not going to fight it. Or question it. I don’t have the willpower. “You know those cactus blossoms that aren’t really pink, but they’re not, like, a plum or a grape color, either? That. In general, I mean. But in clothing and stuff, plum.”
Demyen nods and takes a swig from the bottle. It’s strong stuff; I can smell it from here. “Plum’s a good color.”
Silence settles between us. Now, I’m pretty sure I’m dreaming, because this is weird as hell.
I turn my face to look at him. “What about you?”
“Silver.” He answers without hesitation. I think I know why.
“Ha. Like silver bullets? Knives? Chains?”
“No.” Demyen points at the moon. “Like that. That kind of silver. Where it’s not really what people say it is, but there’s no other word to describe it. I like things like that. Things that defy explanation. Things that can’t be captured.”
I don’t…
I don’t know what to say in response to that.
Someone calm and poetic has taken over Demyen’s body and it’sweird. And oddly enough, kinda nice.
“That’s beautiful,” I murmur to myself.
Because it is. I just never would have expected it to come out ofhismouth.
Demyen shrugs. That same silence returns, but it’s not as heavy. I don’t know what else to say, so I just gaze up at the stars andwonder how long it will take for me to count them before I fall asleep.
And it’s then that I wonder if Willow’s room was placed for this exact reason. So she can count the stars and drift to sleep under their silvery light, her bed canopied by the heavens and her windows curtained with the lush ferns and foliage of the solarium.
The thought makes my heart squeeze.
And then pound with fear.
I can’t have these thoughts. I can’t afford to assume the best of Demyen. Thoughts like that are how I end up in serious trouble.
“So…” He sighs and takes another swig. “Heard from your dad lately?”
“Nope.” The answer flies out too easily. It’s an honest answer, but still. I shrug. “He’s busy.”
“You’ve been gone for a while.”
“He probably hasn’t noticed.”
“Seems odd for a detective. To not notice his own kid is missing.”
I frown. “I’m hardly a kid.”
“Doesn’t matter to a parent. Not to agoodparent, anyway.”
“Well, there you go. You’re assuming he’s a good parent. And you know what they say about people who assume.”
“I know I’m an ass. I just never thought I’d hear you admit you’re one, too.”
I snort. It’s an ugly laugh that comes out of nowhere, and I’d be embarrassed if Demyen didn’t also just snort his own ugly laugh in response. He turns his face to look at me with this half-amused, half-perplexed expression.
“Admit it,” I tease him with a nudge of my arm against his. “You like my ass.”
