“I don’t know. The glass bursting — I think that’s where we were. I think it was the four of us at the ritual. I think the bird and the snake have something to do with it too.”
I shake my head and take another sip of the whiskey-laced drink, letting it burn down my throat all the way into my belly.
“I have a bad feeling about it.”
“I believe in you, Ivy,” Caleb says. “Between you and your stubborn sisters, if it can be done, you four will do it. For what it’s worth, I think your grandmother was right.”
“About?”
“If you did it when you were kids, you can do it again now that you’re grown up.”
I don’t answer him because I don’t want to argue, and for all I know he might be right.
But the vision didn’t leave me feeling like things are going to be okay.
It left me feeling like things are going to be very not okay.
The last thing I want is for Caleb to look at me like… that. Like I’m something to be scared of, something less than.
I don’t say that to him, though.
I drink the hot toddy and let myself relax under his capable fingers, and I try to remember the last time I let anyone take care of me like this.
“Thank you,” I tell him as he washes the shampoo out and works the herbal-scented conditioner into my hair.
“Ivy, I’d happily do this every day for the rest of my life,” he tells me. “But you’re welcome.”
“It should scare me,” I tell him, staring into the hot toddy like there are tea leaves in it for me to read. Not that I know how to read them anyway.
“What, the type of conditioner you bought? Afraid you’re going to get hooked on the fancy stuff?”
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
He’s quiet for a few minutes, the only sound the gentle strokes of the conditioner through my hair and his strong hands.
“You and me,” I say finally. “I should be scared of this.”
“Am I going too fast?” he asks. “You don’t normally let your dates wash your hair on the second night?”
I seriously consider dousing him with water but settle for turning around and giving him the dirtiest look I can muster.
“Are you being serious right now?” I ask him.
“No,” he says. “Just wanted to see that look on your face.”
I roll my eyes, push his hands away, and submerge my hair to wash it out myself.
Finally, I pull the plug on the tub.
“You’re done?” he asks, sounding vaguely disappointed.
“If I don’t get out now, I’m afraid you’ll never let me out. Hair takes forever to dry, and I’m cold.”
He runs his hand through his own hair, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “I knew I should’ve put that hair dryer thing in the cart.”
I cough to cover my laugh as I step out of the tub, reaching for the towel.
But he doesn’t give it to me, nope. He just stares.
