I hold his gaze. “Choosing differently.”
He looks away first. That feels like something.
The fire pops behind us, sparks drifting into the night.
“Careful,” he says after a moment.
“With what?”
“Thinking things change that easy.”
“I didn’t say it was easy.”
He glances back at me. “Then what are you saying?”
I tilt my head slightly. “That you already know how to do it.”
A flicker of something crosses his face. Gone almost as soon as it appears. “You don’t know me,” he says.
“Not completely.”
“Not at all.”
“Then why does it feel like I do?” The question slips out before I can stop it.
But I don’t take it back. His body goes still, aware now. “Dakota,” he says, quieter.
My name sounds different when he says it. Like it means something.
“Yeah?”
“You should go back to the house.”
There it is again. The line he draws.
I don’t move. “Why?” I ask.
His gaze drops, just for a second—to my mouth. Then back up.
That’s all it takes. The air shifts. Thicker. Charged.
“I told you about me. Now tell me about you.”
He shakes his head.
“Why not?”
“Because this isn’t a good idea,” he says.
“Standing next to you?”
“Yes.”
I smile, softer this time. “That’s a little dramatic.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then help me.”
