It’s enlightening to see Slate through Bastian’s eyes for whom he clearly means the world, but it’s also dangerous. Dangerous, because I have feelings for this insufferable boy, and they’ve gone way past the simple crush phase. Way past any feelings I’ve ever had for any man. Even for Adrien.
What worries me isn’t that they aren’t mutual. What worries me is what’ll happen once the ring comes off. He may have a house here, connections to this town, but he hates everything about Brume.
“That’s really sweet of you.” My voice is wrought with emotion.
With a slow blink, Slate slides back into the present. “Nothing sweet about it. Just normal.”
“No, it’s not, Slate.” Bastian pushes his plastic-rimmed glasses farther up his nose. “Then again, you’re not normal.”
Slate gives him a small headshake.
“I was just glad to have an excuse to leave St. Tropez. What a fucking dump that was.” Slate lifts the empty wine bottle and taps on it. “We need more. I can’t handle all this sentimentality.”
Alma kicks my ankle under the table to get my attention. The second I look her way, she shapes a quick heart with her indexes and thumbs. The wine raised my body temperature, but her gesture makes it reach a whole new level of toasty. Thankfully, our main courses have arrived, which has the boys distracted.
“Did you book a hotel room, Bastian?” Alma suddenly asks over a bite of pan-fried monkfish.
“There’s a hotel in Brume?” Slate asks.
“In Brume?” Alma titters. “Nope. In the next town over.”
“I have a guest room. If you or Slate need an extra bed.” My heart speeds up at the idea of Slate sleeping over again.
“Bastian and I are used to tight sleeping quarters.”
I’m not sure what that means, but I don’t press him either way. “The offer doesn’t expire in case you change your mind.”
Nodding, Slate swallows a large bite of stewed meat, then wipes his mouth on his checkered napkin. For a moment, I’m stuck looking at his lips, wondering how the night would’ve gone had Bastian not showed up in Brume. Not that I regret anything about this dinner. My best friend is here, and I’ve learned so much about Slate.
He leans toward me and puts his mouth to my ear. “Better stop looking at me like that, Mademoiselle de Morel.”
My body floods with more heat, which makes me pull off my cardigan. Alma hops to her feet, announcing she’s going out for a smoke, and does Bastian want to come? She’s a social smoker, not that it makes her habit all that great, but at least she’s not addicted. Bastian doesn’t even hesitate.
Once they’re gone, Slate angles his body toward me, and his legs flop open around my chair. “Bastian doesn’t even smoke.”
“No?” My pulse is thrumming so wildly that I’m a hundred percent sure the contours of my body are blurred.
Slate eases the fingers with which I’m strangling my fork off the skinny handle and slots them through his own, pulling them onto his hard thigh.
“This isn’t the evening I had in mind,” he says, all low and gravelly.
“I’m really enjoying it.” How I wish my voice wasn’t shaking as hard as my body.
He smiles, but not with his mouth . . . with his eyes.
I lick my lips, which makes his gaze dip there. He’s no longer smiling when he looks back up at me; he’s cogitating. I’m too busy undergoing a complete system meltdown to do much cogitation. Is that even a word?
I suddenly wonder why I’m waiting for him to make the first move when I’m plenty capable. Fingers tightening around his, I start to lean forward but panic and freeze four centimeters away from his mouth.
Slate’s hand twines through my hair, anchoring my face near his. “I’m trouble, Cadence.”
“I know.”
“I don’t think you do. I’m not the sort of guy you bring home to Daddy.”
I shake my head, or at least, try to. “You’ve already been to my house and metPapa. Besides, I don’t need his approval, Slate.”
His eyes roam over mine.
