Eva’s mouth creased into a reluctant smile. “Good.” She reached past my shoulder for the calendula cream and set it in my palm. “Help me with this, won’t you?”
It took a moment for her words to process. Oh.Oh.I sat up straighter and held up the balm, my cheeks flaming nearly as much as my swollen jaw. Eva swirled her finger in the paste and smoothed it over the sting. I took in her vital signs. Flushed skin. Clear eyes. Even breathing. All clear indicators of life. Still, the clamp in my chest wouldn’t loosen. It didn’t make sense. Why could I touch her when I couldn’t touch anyone else?
“Am I hurting you?” I whispered.
“No.” Eva smiled. Her bees stopped humming. When I looked up, I found a half dozen clustered on the dusty blades of a long-broken ceiling fan. One particularly fat honeybee scooted closer to the carcass of a moth that had died upside down, tiny feet still gripping the wood grain.
“Do they ever sting you?”
“Rarely,” Eva murmured. “And I’m a quick healer.”
I’d noticed that. She never really seemed to get sick either.
I winced when Eva smeared the healing cream a little too roughly over the wound.
“Sorry,” she said.
“It’s fine,” I murmured, quietly reveling in the touch. I felt dizzy from the soft pleasure of contact,realcontact. Skin on skin, reverent and nervous. I didn’t want her to pull away, even if staying close cost a little pain.
“I found a robin’s nest in the woods yesterday,” Eva said, drawing the words out as her thumb lingered at the hinge of my jaw. Our eyes met. “Maybe tomorrow… we could go see it?” Her words were tentative. “I know you love them, and I—”
Her words faltered at the gentle press of my thumb to the side of her leg. I didn’t even realize I’d done it until she looked down. “I do love them,” I whispered, heart pounding.
In the almost painful beat of silence, I cupped my hand more fully around the back of her knee. A trickle of pink stole up her neck.This is too much.I tried to pull away.
“No. Don’t stop,” Eva rasped.
And just as it had when our hands touched for the first time, a current of warmth melted from the top of my crown all the way down to my toes. I couldn’t refuse her. I didn’t want to, didn’t even know how. Eva leaned into my touch, and my eyes shuttered, my hand gently squeezing the muscle of her thigh. A sweet sound of surprise burst out of her.
I didn’t expect the flicker of pride in my chest. I’d made her feel something good. And I wanted to do it again.
Eva drew in a shaky breath.
If Jack Moreau was my lighthouse, his daughter Izzy was the relentless tide pushing me back to shore. And maybe I needed them both, but the bee girl was different. Not a beacon. Nota wave. She was the seafloor, home to broken, sunken ships. I wanted to drown in her graveyard of blue, to cut gills in my flesh and rebuild my lungs on her.
I squeezed the muscle of her leg again, hungry for her approval. The sliver of space between us pulsed.Wantingwas its own heartbeat, and it thrummed everywhere we could have been touching but weren’t.
Jack’s tenor rumbled through the back door. “You two still in here?”
We sprang apart.
“Almost done!” Eva squeaked, cheeks florid with color. I doubted I was any better.
As Jack stepped inside, he plucked a green tenderling from his scalp with a wince. His eyes flicked our way and stopped. Heat rushed up my neck. Did we look how I felt? Scraped bare? Exultant?Debauched?
The monster snorted.“You held hands.”
I shook my head the barest amount. I’d done far more than that. I’d let down my guard. I hadn’t been careful, and worse—
Eva plucked the lid to the calendula cream off the table and screwed it back on, then went on her tiptoes to replace it in the cupboard. She touched her cheek with the backs of her fingers.
Worse, I wanted to not be careful again.
Chapter 18
Arthur
I’d spent a lot of time over the years thinking about homes.
