I give her a self-deprecating smile. “I do now.”
She throws her hands in the air, pacing a slow circle in the chaos of my room. “God, listen to yourself.”
”Ihave, Cara. I’ve been listening to myself more these past few days than I have in years. And you know what? I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time. Even with all the weirdness. Even with…”
I stop myself. Bite the inside of my cheek.
Even with the magic. Even with the danger. Even with the luminescent green light that still burns behind my eyelids.
“Even with what?” she demands.
“I can’t tell you.”
“That’s bullshit.”
”Iknow.But it’s still true.”
She folds her arms again, jaw tight. “Is this because he’s hot?”
That actually makes me laugh, loud and unsteady. “It’s notjustbecause he’s hot.”
Cara glares. “You’ve always been a sucker for pretty eyes and lost causes.”
“He’s not a lost cause.”
I say it too fast, too fiercely. And she hears it.
“Flyn…” Her voice softens, just a fraction. “What’s going on? Really?”
I shake my head. “I can’t drag you into this.”
“You already have! I’m standing in your apartment while you pack up your whole life and you won’t even tell mewhy.You’re moving three hundred miles away! You’re leaving your job, your friends,me.For what? A spark?”
“It’s not just a spark,” I say quietly.
She’s silent for a long moment.
“You’re in love with him,” she says, and it’s not a question.
I run a hand through my hair. “I don’t know. Maybe. I might be on my way.”
“After a handful of dates.”
“They weren’t normal dates.”
She snorts. “Clearly.”
“I don’t expect you to understand. But I need you to trust me.”
”Idotrust you. That’s the problem.“ Her voice cracks. “For all your bouncy exuberance, you’re the smart one. The steady one. And you wouldn’t leave me and Sorcha for nothing. You’re not the type to abandon your family. So Ifyou’redoing something this wild, then it must be serious. And that scares the shit out of me.”
I move toward her, slowly, and pull her into a hug. For a second she resists. Then her arms wrap tight around my ribs and she buries her face in my shoulder like she did when we were kids and the world felt too big. The weight of her is familiar, grounding. She smells like geranium shampoo and that citrusy hand cream she’s always using.
“I’m still me,” I whisper. “I’m still your annoying little brother who steals your chips and forgets birthdays.”
She gives me a watery laugh. “You never forget birthdays.”
“Okay, fine. But you know what I mean.”
