“I think so.”
“You’re safe from my judgment.”
With his coffee mug in hand, he laughs, sending the steam swirling around us. “It would have been a crushing blow, Kansas.”
He smiles. I smile. The courtyard is quiet. The Enders are hanging on our every word.
Rook takes a sip of his coffee and scans the garden as if looking for more clues about his life. What an odd thing, getting to know a man as he gets to know himself. It almost takes some of the pressure off.
There is an ease about Rook that I very much enjoy. Edward was always trying to impress me. It was endearing, but sometimes fake. Like I only got the real version of him in brief moments, in flashes of vulnerability.
I get the distinct impression that while Rook is teasing me about my judgments, he actually doesn’t care. That others’ opinions of him don’t matter in the least.
And there is something alarmingly sexy about a confident man.
I never realized it until now, until I witnessed it, until I felt it.
Rook turns back to me and catches me watching him. It’s hard not to squirm beneath his gaze. It’s all-consuming.Penetrating.
There is a knowing flicker in his eyes, as if he is aware of my every thought, my every move.
I drop my gaze back to my toast and busy myself slathering heaps of jam on it. “Did you sleep well?”
“I did. I’m still a little sore, but the bed was comfortable.”
“You’re feeling better then?”
“I am.” He pops a berry into his mouth. I find myself watching the movement, scanning the veins that twist over his hand as his fingers move. The way his lips press together as his tongue rolls the berry around in his mouth.
A visceral hunger wells up my throat.
A hunger that cannot be satiated with food.
Is he doing that on purpose?
I shift on the seat of my chair, suddenly warm.
“Hello. Excuse me?”
We both look up.
A woman stands beside our table, her hands folded in front of her. “You’re the man who has no memories?”
Rook tosses another berry in his mouth. “The one and only.”
“Well… my name is Pipps Gladwell.”
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Gladwell.”
She fidgets. “Truly, the pleasure is all mine. I just… I thought maybe…” She clears her throat and a nervous smile appears on her face. I feel her pain. Every moment I’m with Rook, the less sure of myself I become.
“Would you like to sit and get your bearings?” He gestures to the third chair between us.
“Okay.” The woman sits. The chair creaks beneath her. She readjusts her skirt as she angles her body toward Rook. “There’s a woman in the Hollow who suffers from a Great and Terrible Curse—”
“How tragic,” Rook says.
“Yes. Quite. But it does have its uses. She can sometimes tell your story through touch. Usually it’s just your past, sometimes your future, if you’re lucky. She might be able to shed some light on your identity and I thought that might be helpful to you.”
