Winston sets down the rest of his orange. “So living in this empty, depressing house is actually giving you hope?”
She meets his eyes. “Is that horrible?”
“No,” Winston says, his eyes drawing together. “It’s just confusing.”
“Why?”
“Because Kenji loves you.” He laughs, but the sound is tense. “If you haven’t moved on, why can’t you just be together? Why do you need—”
The door swings open without warning and I stiffen, alarmed, as Rosabelle flinches in my arms.
“Why doesn’t anyone knock?” Nazeera says.
“Hello?” says a familiar voice.
“Why didn’t you lock your door?” Winston counters.
“I never lock the door,” she says, heading toward the entrance. “You lock your door? In The Waffle?”
“Hey, why is it so dark in here?”
I see Adam before he sees me. Nazeera’s single light bulb is doing little work to illuminate the house.
“Oh, hey,” Nazeera says, relief washing over her face as she takes him in. “Thanks for coming.”
“Yeah, no problem,” Adam says, his boots echoing. He looks around as he enters, slamming the door shut behind him, and Rosabelle flinches again.
“I just saw your page a few minutes ago,” Adam says, “otherwise I would’ve—Holy shit—”
He finally sees me sitting in the half dark, and he visibly startles, backing up a step. “Bro, are you trying to give me a heart attack? Fucking say something.”
“Hey, man,” says Winston, lifting a hand.
“Jesus.” Adam recoils again. “It’s like a haunted house in here.” He turns to Nazeera. “Why haven’t you bought any furniture yet? Is that why you never invite us over? And why haven’t you turned on the lights?”
“Wait—” Nazeera tries to say. “Don’t—”
Adam hits the switches for the recessed lights in the kitchen, then the front hall, then the area where the diningroom is supposed to be, and the small house blazes into relief all at once.
Rosabelle’s face pinches. She makes a sound of distress.
Shit.
Adam, meanwhile, takes a third step back, this time like he’s been slapped. He’s suddenly staring at me like I’m diseased. “Please, for the love of God, tell me I’ve lost my mind,” he says, his eyes widening. “What the hell am I looking at right now?”
Rosabelle stretches a little, her head tilting upward, her lips grazing my neck. She murmurs something there, against my throat, and I nearly black out.
She relaxes back into my arms, but I’m not doing so well. My heart is fucking wild. I’ve never wanted so badly to be alone with her.
I never get to be alone with her.
I never get to process anything with her in private—in peace. No murdering. No trauma. No running for our lives. I just want ten minutes. Hell, five minutes.
I’d take sixty seconds.
Thirty seconds.
Thirty seconds of no one breathing down my neck. Sometimes I just want a single second tolookat her without being interrupted.
