It's perfect. Crispy bread, buttery and golden. Cheese that stretches when I pull it apart. The kind of grilled cheese that takes patience to make, low heat and careful attention.
I hate that it's perfect.
I eat every bite anyway.
I'M ALMOST STARTINGto feel like I have actual freedom when I turn a corner and nearly collide with a wall of charcoal suit and warm skin.
Oh no. Not again.
Devyn's hand shoots out before I can stumble backward, his fingers wrapping around my elbow with a grip that's firm but not painful. The contact sends a jolt through me. Like the air before a thunderstorm. Like something waiting to happen.
"You need to watch where you're going." His voice is low. Close. Close enough that I can smell cedar and smoke and something underneath that's justhim.
I look up.
He's right there. Inches away. Close enough that I can see the individual striations of gold and amber in his eyes, the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw, the way his pupils have gone just slightly wider than they should be.
Close enough that I can count his eyelashes if I wanted to.
Which I absolutely do not want to do.
That would be completely inappropriate.
I'm counting his eyelashes.
Stop it, Bailey.
"Maybe you need to stop appearing around corners," I manage, and I'm proud of how steady my voice comes out.
He doesn't smile. But something changes around his eyes. That barely-there crinkling at the corners. The almost-smile that hits so hard precisely because of its rarity.
"It's my house," he says. "I can appear wherever I like."
"How convenient for you."
He's still holding my elbow. Neither of us moves.
One second.
Two.
His gaze starts to drop. I see it happening, see the way his eyes begin their familiar journey toward my mouth. And then he catches himself. Stops. Holds my gaze with something that looks almost like effort.
He wanted to look.
Hedidn'tlook.
I notice the absence like I notice the presence. I'm keeping track of both now.
What is wrong with me?
Then he releases my arm and continues down the hallway like nothing happened. I watch him go, heart pounding, trying to remember what I was doing before my entire world narrowed down to golden eyes and warm fingers.
Right. Investigating.
Focus, Bailey.
THE CHAPEL IN DAYLIGHTis different from my memory of it. Less ominous, more beautiful. Afternoon sun pours through the stained glass windows, casting patterns of color across the stone floor. Ruby and sapphire and emerald, shifting slowly as the light moves.
