“Well, I’m about to ask you another question, so brace yourself.”
April grimaced. “I’d rather discuss the mating habits of brook trout.”
“Brook trout?”
“The official freshwater fish of New Hampshire.”
“Of course,” Daphne said. “I’m fascinated by their mating patterns.”
“As are we all.”
Daphne cracked a smile, and April very nearly mirrored her expression, but stopped herself just in time. She didn’t want to smile at Daphne Love. And she definitely didn’t want to answer any of her questions. They fell silent, and Daphne sliced throughthe water one more time before setting the paddle across her lap. They drifted lazily in the darkness.
April tilted her head toward the dark sky packed with stars, hoping they could just stay like this—quiet, getting used to each other’s presence without having to deal with anything real. That was all she really needed. Simple adjustment. A settling in.
Of course, Daphne had other plans.
“So what exactly is your problem with me?” she asked.
April kept her gaze on the sky, eyes searching for constellations. She could always spot Orion, the Big and Little Dippers, Cassiopeia. Others were a little trickier, but she loved the hunt. She wondered how long she could simply ignore the question, looking for Virgo and Hydra, but then something Daphne said on the dock floated back to her.
“Why have you had the worst spring of your life?” April asked, head still tilted to the heavens.
Daphne was quiet for a second. April spotted what she thought was the crab in the sky—Cancer.
“That’s how you’re going to play this?” Daphne finally asked. “Answering a question with a question?”
April looked at her now. “Tit for tat. And you answer first. Those are my terms.”
Daphne pursed her mouth. “Can’t we start with something easier, then?”
“Like what? Your favorite color?”
“Perfect,” Daphne said. “It’s gray. What’s yours?”
April gave her a look. “Gray. Your favorite color is…gray.”
“Even my favorite color annoys you?” Daphne asked.
“It doesn’t annoy me. I’m surprised, that’s all. I figured someone like you would pick lavender or baby blue or, like, fuchsia.”
“Someone like me?”
April sighed.
“Would youpleasestop doing that?” Daphne asked, teeth obviously gritted.
“Doing what?”
Daphne just pressed her eyes closed, shook her head, and took a deep breath. “I like gray because it’s soft and calm, like a cloudy day. A blanket pulled over the world. And I like the possibilities of it—it’s not black, it’s not white, just a million shades in between.”
April felt something in the center of her chest loosen. Daphne’s green eyes were big and liquid, and she looked at April as though waiting for her to offer back some sort of poetry about colors.
April cleared her throat, straightened her shoulders, then motioned toward her pants. “I like black.” And that was true, she did…but black wasn’t her favorite color. Not by a long shot.
Daphne pressed her lips together, nodded. “Got it.”
“Why did you have the worst spring of your life?” April asked again, barely letting a beat pass. She understood the absurdity here—she didn’t want to share her favorite color, for goddess’s sake, but she wanted to know all about Daphne’s pain.
