Cal laughed and walked on, apparently lax enough on his family’s hero worship that her remark didn’t bother him. He had a long, loping stride but she was able to keep up with him somewhat easily in her sneakers. Considering how quickly he had caught up to her when she ran, though, she suspected that he was slowing down his natural pace significantly.
“What is it about me?” she demanded unhappily. “You keep insisting that you see something in me—what did I do to make you notice me in the first place?”
“You looked sad during your sister’s wedding. That was the first thing I noticed about you.”
Nadine cringed inwardly. “I was worried. It felt like she was getting married way too fast. It felt like she didn’t even know the guy.”And she didn’t.He killed her.
“You have that same expression on your face right now,” he observed.
“Because I’m scared that you’re going to hurt me and put me in that book.”
“I watched you afterwards,” he confessed. “Not after the wedding, although I did that, too. I wanted toseeyou, Nadine. You were so sweet. At first, I told myself that I was looking for the lie beneath it, but by the end, I was just looking for another taste of you. And then you came here for your sister, and instead you found me. Waiting to fucking eat you up.”
The hard kiss made her take a step backwards, as sudden as it was brief.
“You’re not going in that book, little sparrow,” he said.
The way he spoke was so heavy with conviction that she almost believed him.
Almost.
They kept walking, as the sun beat down on their heads and shoulders through the trees. Then Cal came to an abrupt stop, throwing out an arm.
“Look at that. I’ve been watching it grow for months.”
Nadine followed his finger to some strange semi-transparent flowers tinged with arterial reds. They drooped downward and looked unnatural in their otherwise green and brown surroundings.Like something deposited from an alien planet, she thought.
“What is it?”
“They’re called ghost pipes—it’s a parasitic plant that doesn’t have any chlorophyll. Usually they’re pale pink or bone white. The red ones are rare. The pigment that makes them that color is the same one that’s found in beets—it’s called betalain.”
“Are they poisonous?”
“No. I’m told you can eat them in small quantities.” Cal unhitched his pack and laid out a blanket. “Supposedly it tastes like cooked asparagus. Do you like it?”
She wasn’t sure if he meant the flower, the taste of asparagus, or the spot. The answer to all three was a halfhearted yes. Cautiously, she got to her knees, deciding he meant the flowers. “They’re pretty, but they look a little like they’ve been stained with blood.”
“Some people believe they house the spirits of the dead.”
She watched him lay out sandwiches and a bottle of wine. “If that’s the case, there must be a lot of them here.” Her voice was bitter.
“There are. Though, I never really thought about it that way. I suppose if there’s a forest that’s going to have its ghosts, it’d probably have to be this one.” He nodded at her sandwich. “I checked the ingredients myself. They’re perfectly safe.”
“Because you care so much?”
“Sparrow,” he said, when she let the sandwich fall to her side, uneaten. “Here.”
He handed her a full glass of wine. It occurred to her that he might be trying to get her drunk but she didn’t care. At the moment, she wanted to be. Her body felt like it was on fire and she was standing on the other side of a locked dam, waiting for the wild, unstoppable torrent that would bring her release. “I’m sorry,” she said, taking a long, deep sip. “I’m just not hungry.”
“Don’t apologize.” He slid his arms out of his jacket, the movement pulling his shirt taut. Then he began folding it to—the wine nearly went down wrong—make a pillow for her head. He took the half-empty glass from her, setting it aside as he nudged her backwards on his hands and knees. “Just kiss me,” he said, fastening his lips to hers and kissing her until she was supine, cradling the partial weight of him against her body as he settled between her thighs.
Just kiss him, she told herself, laying back as he touched her. It wouldn’t stop there, but out here she could pretend. She could be the girl who believed in fireflies and first kisses.
The girl who still had a sister who was breathing.
He began unbuttoning her dress, making a pleased sound when he didn’t find anything beneath it. The sun was warm against her bare skin, almost luxuriant, and when he pushed the fabric open with another hard kiss, letting the cotton fall open around her breasts, the cool current of the air stirring against her sensitized nipples made them instantly hard.
“I love this on you,” he whispered. “I think about that night all the time.”
