“It is the least I owe you.”
“I’ll settle for you owning a pair of jeans that don’t sayJuicyon the ass.”
His expression didn’t change. “They are comfortable.”
I groaned. “Okay, but before we go—wait. Wecango, right? Isn’t the sun a problem for you?”
He considered this, gaze flicking toward the window. “Typically, yes. But the bond may alter that. When I am close to you, I feel… shielded… at least while inside in indirect sunlight.”
“Shielded,” I repeated. “Like you’re wearing sunscreen?”
“Something of that nature. I believe your resilience transfers through the link between us.”
“That’s weirdly romantic and also a little parasitic.”
“If I am wrong,” he said, “I will know quickly. We can retreat indoors before I turn to ash.”
I stared at him. “That’s your plan?”
He nodded once. “Yes.”
“Great,” I muttered. “Nothing says self-care liketrial by sunlight.”
Cristian straightened, all calm confidence. “I trust you.”
Still shaking my head, I grabbed my keys. “That makes one of us.”
Boston in the daylight was a whole different kind of experience. Horns blared. People hurried past, the tail ends of their conversations drifting toward us. The scent of coffee from the various cafés and carts permeated the air. Cristian’s face didn’t move, but I could feel the tether between us, his discomfort brushing against the edge of my thoughts.
He squinted against the sun. “It’s not pleasant, but I’m not erupting into flames, so we’re fine.”
I tried not to stare. He looked unfairly good in daylight. My brain short-circuited somewhere betweenthank God he’s not burning aliveandhis jaw could cut glass.
“See?” I said, shoving my sunglasses up my nose. “Totally normal. Just two completely average people going to buy normal clothes. You’re doing great.”
He nodded solemnly, and then—of course—bowed to an elderly woman walking her dog.
I grabbed his arm. “Please. For the love of all things normal, stop doing that.”
“She looked important,” he said.
“She’s wearing Crocs.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
I sighed. “It means no bowing.”
Cristian made a small, put-upon sound but adjusted his pace. When a car sped too close to the curb, he shifted me to the inside of the sidewalk without saying anything. My breath caught, which was ridiculous. It was nothing but a thoughtful gesture. Even so, it still spread warmth through my chest.
When we reached the store, the air-conditioning hit us in a cold wave. Cristian froze.
He turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. “What is this place?”
“Welcome to the modern temple of capitalism.”
“I see,” he said gravely. “A place of worship.”
I took his arm. “Just walk. Blend in. Pretend you’ve been in a department store before.”
