But the frame was empty.
Chapter 25
Arthur,
Before
You’re still not ready?”
I shot Eva a look of exasperation as I tugged on my shoes. “How are you so awake this morning?” We’d been up past midnight, watching movies and stuffing our bellies with popcorn. It wouldn’t have mattered, except today was Sunday—or “bird-watching day,” as the bee girl had dubbed it weeks ago.
She wiggled the last bite of a pancake in my face, then popped it into her mouth. “Easily.”
Eva was a bear until she got her morning pastry. Last week she’d nearly bitten my head off when I stole the last slice of brioche. The girl did not like to be toast-teased.
“Insufferable,” I muttered.
Eva hooked my chin with a finger and tilted my face up. Instantly, I began clicking through her features. Round cheeks. Damp hair. A masterpiece of freckles.
She deserved analog. Soft focus, hazy light, rolls and rolls of film.
When her lips puckered, I realized I was staring at her mouth.
“Suffer me, then,” she whispered, leaning in to plant the faintest kiss on the corner of my mouth.
My breath caught, and the mudroom hazed around me.
Before I was ready, she pulled back and flashed a dimple, brushing her palms over the pockets of her sunflower-patterned dress. “Five minutes, sleepyhead, or I leave without you.” Then she slipped out the door, leaving me speechless.
She’d kissed me. Actuallykissedme.
After a long moment, the monster nudged me.“Let’s go, little death-touch.”
It was kidding, right? I touched my lips. “I can’t?” I was frozen in this spot, probably forever. Stuck in the feeling of Eva’s mouth on mine.
Wait, no.
Not on my mouth, exactly. On my… cheek? My neck heated. Was that on purpose? Had she missed? Maybe she only meant to kiss me as a friend, and I turned my head wrong—
“Calm down.”
A new fear uncoiled inside me. She’d run away so fast. Did that mean she regretted it?
“She woke up early. For birds,”the monster said, exasperated.“I don’t think she regrets it. Now finish your laces.”
Right. Okay.
I yanked the knots to my boots tight and scrambled to follow after her. The strap of my Minolta hung comfortably over my shoulder as I rounded the corner, where Eva stood facing the woods, her new book on local songbirds tucked under her arm. When she heard me coming, she turned, smiling.
A warm glow stirred in my chest. “Ready?”
In answer, she shook a packet of wildflower seeds.
It was Eva’s idea to practice controlling my death-touch. I’d never tried before, afraid I would slip up and make things worse somehow. But Eva eased that fear, bringing the plants I killed back to life with a simple touch of her own.
As we angled for the path, Eva opened the packet and poured a handful of seeds into her palm. In seconds, the seeds cracked. Thin sproutlets pushed out, spinning themselves into long green threads. By the time we reached the clearing I’d chosen, Eva held a palmful of white candy-stripe creeping phlox, their pale roots dangling from her wrist.
She extended the bundle to me. Anxiety buzzed in my chest as I accepted the fragile blossoms. “Slow,” Eva reminded me.
