Silence.
“I’ll wait until you’re awake and ask again,” I mutter, and the tears run. Even if Binx doesn’t think she should have gotten a different human, I think I should have been a different human entirely.
I feel the vibrations in my coat against my hip and sit up carefully; Binx doesn’t move a muscle. I take my time to remove my coat and grab my phone, pressing the green button to answer as I toss my coat. I’ll hang it later. Maybe.
“Hello?” I croak, and curl back up with Binx.
“Are you home? You didn’t text me.”
“I’m home,” I breathe.
“You scared me,” Rowan’s soft, gentle voice says. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I rasp. “That was a bit dramatic of me back there, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” Before I can open my mouth he continues, “We needed fresh air. It got too stuffy.”
I chuckle with something like a sniff.We.
“You’re crying.”
“I am not,” I lie.
Rowan sighs through the line and I roll in my lips, trapping it all inside and waiting for it to simmer down. “I’m sorry if tonight was hard to get through.”
I hate that he’s like this with me—patient and caring.
I hate that his favorite color is green, because his green matches my purple and it deceives me into thinking we might just be a match after all.
I hate that when he smiles at Grace, it makes me think of the smiles he’d give his children. And I hate that it makes me think ofourchildren. I hate that it triggers fantasies I can’t afford to live in. Fantasies I won’t admit to having since we were teenagers.
I hate that I think about him at night, and I hate that I want him even when I try not to.
“It was fine.” I decide it’s time to drag myself to my bedroom, Binx following behind with a quiet meow.
“Fine never means fine,” he says as I put him on speaker and unzip my dress.
The lilac dress falls from my upper body and I pull it down over my hips until it’s a pile at my feet. I step out of my panties and swap them out for sleep shorts.
I pick out a tank top, put my hair up in my silk hair wrap, and climb into bed. “Fine means fine.”
I lie back and put the phone back to my ear.
“Fine meansI’m lying because I don’t want you to know I’m not fine,” he retorts.
“Read a dictionary, Asher.”
“Natalia—”
“Shouldn’t you be cooking?”
His chuckle is low and barely there. “I am. I took a quick break to call since I didn’t get a text from you.”
“Sorry, I got…preoccupied.”
“It’s okay,” Rowan says. “And I’m sorry again?—”
“I’m really tired, okay? Just…thank you for…”
