Iris’s lungs ached and she looked away—she didn’t want to see Stevie’s expression, whatever it was. She swiped at the moisture leaking from her eyes. Fucking wind.
“And Jillian?” she said, folding her arms and gazing at the waves. “Jillian was just the icing on a really big-ass cake.”
For a good while—felt like forever—Stevie didn’t say anything. She was quiet for so long, Iris glanced at her to make sure she was still there, but she was, gazing out at the waves too.
“Was that enough information about me?” Iris asked. “Did I shock you good and proper?”
Stevie looked at her, smiled softly. “I think I owe you a romantic outing.”
Iris frowned. “What?”
“You heard me. So far, we’ve only had one romance lesson.”
Iris’s cheeks warmed, the memory of slow-dancing with Stevie in her living room rushing back like a gust of wind. “You don’t have to do that.”
“It’s part of our deal,” Stevie said.
Iris had a sudden, inexplicable desire to sayfuck the deal, but pressed her mouth closed.
Stevie gestured around them. “Plus, weareon a beach.”
It was cloudy, and the ocean’s waves were wild, roiling and peaking with foam.
“Like... aWuthering Heightskind of beach, maybe,” Iris said.
Stevie laughed. “Fair. But, okay, if you were Heathcliff and I was Catherine, what would you do right now?”
“Um, leave you the hell alone? Heathcliff was a horrible person. Have you even readWuthering Heights?”
“You brought it up!”
“Yeah, as an antithesis to romance.”
Stevie swiped a hand through her hair. “Okay, well, narcissistic heroes notwithstanding, we should walk.”
“Walk.”
“Hand in hand.”
“Lazily, while we search for shells to leave on each other’s pillows?”
Stevie held out her hand. “Now you’re getting it.”
Iris eyed Stevie’s hand, hesitating only a second before slipping her fingers into Stevie’s palm. The contact zinged up her arm, causing an eruption of goose bumps, which was ridiculous.
Romance was nothing but brain chemicals and some pretty words, a nice setting. That’s all it was. A fiction brains told to hearts.
Still, Iris gave in to it, if just for Stevie’s sake. They walked along the shore for a while, swinging their hands between them. They searched for shells, scooping up the unbroken pink-and-white treasures in the sand and slipping them into their pockets. They talked about nothing, about everything. Iris learned that Stevie was allergic to strawberries, a tragedy in her mind, and she told Stevie about Paper Wishes and how she had to close it down last year.
“Tell me about your book,” Stevie asked. “The one you’re writing. I already read up onUntil We Meet Again.”
Iris smiled. “You did?”
Stevie gave her a look. “Of course I did.”
“Well,” Iris said, her cheeks warming, “this new one is about...”
She hesitated, feeling suddenly shy about the turn her book had taken.
