“We are not friends,” she hisses, turning. “And I’m done here. I hate everything.”
Likewise.
Trailing after her out of the store, I revel in the way the sun plays with her hair as an autumn breeze coaxes it into a sway. Long. Pretty. Golden brown.
I wish to bury my fist in it until her hair scarf loosens and slips from the crown of her head.
While I’m stuck in the daydream, she sinks into the passenger seat of my SUV and buries her head in her hands.
I crank the engine and get some heat started. “You okay?”
“No.”
“Anything I can do?”
“Disappear.”
Ouch.
I blow out a breath. “I don’t think that’s the best idea. I’m not sure you can reach the pedals of this vehicle. You’d be stranded here, outside a Spirit Halloween until the spirits abandon the poor building, forever.”
Curling up on the seat, tucking her skirt perfectly around her legs, she puts her back toward me and mutters, “Whydo you have a sense of humor now?”
“Haven’t I always?”
She hugs her legs. “No, you haven’t.”
Maybe it was harder for her to tell I was joking when I was also simultaneously trying not to let on how badly I want to bury my fists in her hair and kiss her until her lips are raw and her lungs are burning.
I fix a lock of her hair against her back, and she shudders, peering—red faced—at me over her shoulder.
“You’re so—” I do a bad thing and swear, “—beautiful.”
Her blue eyes widen, then she collapses in on herself and whimpers.
Over these past few gloriously terrifying days, I have noticed something.
Mirabelle has told me togo awayandshut upanddisappearandstop it. But she hasn’t once said to stop touching her.
Stop messing with her. Stop teasing her. Stop trying to get her to say my name. Sure.
But not a singledon’t touch me.
Furthermore, she only pulls away—or pushes—when it looks like I’m trying to kiss her.
This is a dangerous game to play, but I can’t stop myself from indulging in the hope each passing round incites.
Curling my finger, I run my knuckle along the column of her neck. “Where would you like to go now, Mirabelle?”
Frail, she says, “Home.”
“You don’t have a costume yet.”
“I’ll just be passing out candy with my book club. I don’tneedone.”
“I’d like to see you in one.”
She glares at me over her shoulder again, completely ignoring the way I’ve left my hand to rest against her shoulder. “All the more reason.”
