But before I could reach my bedroom, the scent of sandalwood enveloped me, sending a thrill of anticipation down my spine. A strong, familiar hand seized my arm, gently pulling me into a side room off the hall.
“Rowan—” My surprised whisper was silenced immediately by his lips capturing mine fiercely. The kiss ignited something deep within, chasing away the lingering shadows of the morning.
Breathless, I pulled back, eyes wide with both excitement and mild scolding. “You’re going to get us caught, being this reckless.”
Rowan’s eyes sparkled mischievously, his lips curving into a teasing smirk. He leaned in closer, his voice a whisper against my ear. “Trust me, Mavis, I can be much more reckless.”
The playfulness of his tone made something flutter in my chest—not pain this time, but something perilously close to delight.
I rolled my eyes and stepped back slightly. “We can’t.”
His brow furrowed. “Why?”
“I’m busy. I’m still trying to figure out where Willam might have ended up.”
I still had a collection of books that I’d checked out and never returned. The librarian would probably come after me soon for them, but for now, they were still in my possession.
“I thought you said you discovered he didn’t make it here?”
“That doesn’t mean he’s gone,” I snapped, sharper than intended. “Just because he’s not in the records doesn’t mean he’s not out there.”
Rowan hesitated. “I just don’t want you chasing ghosts.”
“Then let me chase them. I need answers.”
“What if there are none to find?”
“Then I’ll finally stop looking. But I need to know. There has to be someone who knows something.”
He stared at me, silent for a long moment. Something moved behind his eyes—something unsaid—but then he sighed, and his hands found their way back to my waist.
“I get it,” he murmured. “I do.”
“Thank you,” I said, appeased. “Where have you been? You haven’t been at morning meals for the last few days.”
Rowan gave a half-smile. “You’ve been looking for me, huh?”
I smacked his chest playfully. “Don’t deflect. Where were you?”
His amusement faded.
“I can’t tell you. Not yet.”
“Why?” I asked, exasperated. “Why is everything with you a riddle? Why can’t you ever just say something real?”
He furrowed his brow. “Something real?”
“Yes, something honest. Something no one else knows.”
He tilted his head, considering.
“I hate cherries.”
I blinked. “Cherries?”
“They taste strange. And the pit situation? Absolutely infuriating. That objectively makes them the worst fruit.”
I snorted.
