Eunny shut the book. “Gremlin. No, just something Nev recommended.”
“Nev.” Gransen rested his chin in his hands, elbows propped on the table as he grinned at her. “So cute how you have your own pet name for him.”
“You call him ‘Olly.’”
“Everyone calls him that.”
“You and his mother.”
Gransen made a trifling gesture with his hand. “So, you and Nev. I’m trying to remember the last time I saw you be so chipper. Coincidence?” He blinked earnestly at her baleful look.
“I’m here because of what happened at the café. I had to.”
Gransen peered at her, head tilting from side to side. “Did you?”
“My roof fell on him,” Eunny said, incredulous. “He could’ve lost his job because of?—”
“I know, I know, you’re doing him a favor. Olly, my awkward little bean.”
She scoffed. “Nothing little about him.”
He immediately leaned forward. “How would you know?”
“I meant he’s tall.” Her shoulders hunched up around her ears. “Don’t talk to me.”
“Sure you did.” Gransen sighed dramatically. “Everyone rides in on a white horse to help a friend.”
“He got hurt helping me. Come on, Granse, you know that.” Eunny gestured at the couch bed Ollas was relegated to sleeping upon and the end table with the salve and bandages—though they hadn’t been needed as much of late. “I couldn’t be the reason he had to give up something else,” she murmured, trying for a wry smile. It felt more like a sad grimace.
Gransen sobered, continuing in a softer tone, “I think he’s really glad you came up here. Grateful, even. Your friendship was?—”
“He shouldn’t be.” She looked down at the table. “I’m like a bad luck charm. That’s nothing to be grateful for.”
“He doesn’t blame you. You do know that, right? Olly would never?—”
“He should,” Eunny cut in, voice harsh. “And if he can’t hold me accountable, then maybe it’s for the best that I do. I’ve done nothing to deserve his gratitude.”
Her magic being dragged out from under her, tearing away even as she tried so desperately to yank it back. How it had seared across Ollas, the crackling energy beneath her fingertips as his body writhed.
“I can never make it up to him, what I did,” Eunny whispered. “Can’t you see that?”
Gransen said nothing, mouth twisting as he considered her words.
She set her book aside and grabbed her cloak. “Good talk, but I’m going out for a bit.”
“Eun.” Gransen’s voice had her pause at the door. “Your feelings are your feelings. I respect that. But Ollas doesn’t blame you, and you should accept that, too. If you let yourself unclench for a minute, you’ll realize it. Give him a chance.”
“A chance to what?”
Gransen gave her a look. Eunny returned it.
“Are you going to make me say it?” he said, exasperated. “Because I will.”
Ollas, with his freckles and his enthusiasm for gardening, which she’d always taken for nerdiness but which was also, unsettlingly, compelling. Those shy smiles when she teased him. Ollas, so happy that she was around. She’d realized it, subconsciously at the very least. Enjoyed it, too—that warm little sense of satisfaction she got at his attention, that pleasure. Eunny wouldn’t admit it, but she was beginning to crave those feelings. Wanted to give them a chance to grow, to flourish, to see where they led. Wanted to take Ollas’s forgiveness and run with it.
The solemnity was long gone from Gransen’s face, a smug grin spreading from ear to ear.
“No.” She left.
