“Don’t let it go to your head, Avila.”
His smile widened into a grin. He didn’t move away. Neither did I.
For several seconds, we just sat there, too close, the tension humming between us.
Then his phone buzzed on the table, and the spell was broken.
That night was worse.
I lay in bed, listening to Kick move around the bathroom. The water running. The brush of teeth. The flush of the toilet. Such mundane sounds, but I was tracking every one of them, my whole body attuned to his presence.
The bathroom door opened. His footsteps crossed the floor. The mattress dipped as he climbed into bed.
“Still awake?” he asked.
“Still awake.”
He rolled onto his side, facing me. In the dim light from the moon, I could see his slight smile and the shadow of stubble on his jaw.
“What are you thinking about?”
You. Your hands. The way you looked at me today. The way I wanted you to kiss me.
“Nothing,” I said. “Just, um, adjusting.”
“To what?”
“This. Living with someone.” I paused. “I’ve never done this before.”
“Never?”
“Boarding schools. Then my own apartment at Berkeley. Then back to the mansion, but that was justme and the staff. My father was barely there.” I stared at the ceiling. “I didn’t realize how quiet my life was until you showed up and made it loud.”
“I’m loud?”
“You hum when you think. You talk to yourself when you’re reading. You sing in the shower—badly, by the way.”
“Wrong. I have a beautiful singing voice.” He laughed. “But sorry, I’ll try to keep it down.”
“I didn’t say I minded.”
Silence. I could feel him looking at me.
“Isabel,” he said softly.
“Yeah?”
“I’m really glad I’m here.”
My throat tightened. “Me too.”
He reached out and took my hand, lifted it to his lips, and pressed a kiss to my knuckles that made my heart stutter.
“Good night,” he said.
“Good night.”
He didn’t let go of my hand. We fell asleep with our fingers intertwined.
