“Uh-huh.”
“Keys.”
“Nope.”
I scowl at his stubbornness, and Hart almost manages a smile.
“Tell my future niblings to thank me one day.”
“I can’t believe you think so little of me.”
“Sure you can.” He pockets the keys. “Because I think even less of myself.”
Having the option taken away from me only makes me want to see Ziggy even more.
“I really am pathetic, aren’t I?”
Hart squints at me. “This feels like a trick question.”
It’s the longest day in history.
Hart keeps the keys hidden from me, and I get through a whole day without seeing Ziggy. I pull out my phone more times than I’ll willingly admit to message or call him before I remember he doesn’t have a phone.
Ziggy shows up to work the day after, and it takes every last scrap of willpower I have not to follow him around like a puppy. I leave him to do the work he needs to do, while I get on with mine. Well, mostly.
I’m so distracted all day that I’m useless and even end up managing to put a nail through my thumb. I’m lucky that it only catches skin and I haven’t done any real damage, but it’s a wake-up call. A very painful wake-up call.
My instincts are assholes.
If I hadn’t listened to Hart’s advice about whether Ziggy would have gotten sick of me by now. Would things already be over if I could call and text him anytime I wanted? Maybe Wilde’s End and its shitty reception is a good thing. Maybe I actually have a chance out here. In the wild. Where Ziggy has no other options.
That doesnotmake me feel good about myself.
I tug at the bandage I’ve wrapped my thumb up with, annoyed that even though I know how stupid I’m being, I still want to see him anyway. I kissed him hello this morning, gave myself some time to flirt, and then forced myself to walk away.
I thought it would be enough.
I should have known better.
Knowing Ziggy isnext dooris eating at me.
“You okay?”
I jump hard at the soft voice and whirl around to face Ziggy. “You scared the shit out of me.”
That gets a sly half smile from him.
“Sorry, I was zoned out.”
The look he gives me says he already knew that.
“What are you doing? Done already?”
He doesn’t answer, just searches my face from behind his thick hair like he’s the one who asked the question.
I give in to the urge to move close. To reach up and brush all that hair back from his eyes.
The tightness in his expression fades, and it settles something in my chest.
