Nova.
Something soft. Warm. Vanilla layered over something else, something I’ve already memorized without meaning to. Her. It cuts through the evening air like it’s the only thing that exists.
I breathe in again. Deeper. Testing.
Still there. Stillher.
She’s too far away to smell. That’s the thing. She’s at least thirty feet out, maybe more, and there’s no wind, and I shouldn’t be able to—
But I can.
Mine.
The word hits before I can stop it.
There’s no logic or reason. Just truth, declared by something deeper than my brain. Something that doesn’t give a fuck about what’s possible.
My hands curl into fists on my knees. Something in my chest is pulling, tightening, like a rope being wound around a drum. I can feel my pulse in my throat, in my temples, behind my eyes.
Mine.
She’s closer now. Carrying bags, hair down, catching the late afternoon light, and—
I forget what I was thinking.
Something’s different. Her face. Hermouth. Soft pink and I can’t stop looking at it, can’t make myself look anywhere else, and she’s wearing the same clothes she left in but she doesn’t look the same. She looks like someone finally showed her what I’ve been seeing this whole time.
I can’t breathe.
Zoe sees me first.
Her stride doesn’t falter but something shifts in her face—a knowing look that turns into a smirk. Her eyes move from my face to my fists to my face again, and I watch her decide not to say anything.
Smart.
They stop at the bottom of the steps. Zoe leans in close to Nova, says something I can’t hear. Nova’s brow furrows, confused. Then Zoe’s stepping back, already turning toward her own place.
She catches my eye as she goes. Mouthsbreatheat me like I’m a disaster she’s enjoying.
Then she’s gone, and Nova is standing at the bottom of the steps looking up at me, and every single thought in my head whites out.
She’s close now. Close enough that the scent isn’t a question anymore—it’s an assault. Vanilla and warmth andher, flooding my lungs, soaking into my bloodstream. I can feel it in my teeth. In my fuckingbones.
“Hey,” she says.
Her voice is uncertain. Her shoulders are creeping up toward her ears. She’s watching my face, trying to read it, and I realize I must look—
I don’t know what I look like. I don’t know what’s showing. But whatever it is, it’s making her shrink.
“Is everything okay?” she asks. “You look—”
She stops. Swallows.
“Sorry.” She’s already turning away, already retreating. “I’m probably reading this wrong. I’ll just—”
No.
No.
