“Nope,” I reply bluntly.
“But he said it to Bailey?”
“I assume so. I mean, look at her. We’re nothing alike.”
He frowns. “I disagree.”
“Come on, even Jonas commented on how different we are.”
“He’s wrong. You have the same eyes,” he says. “Not color, yours are prettier, but they’re both almond-shaped.”
Prettier?I shake my head, even as my heart lifts and swells. “My eyes aren’t anything like hers. Hers are big and boo-like.”
He’s understandably confused at this description. “I don’t know what that means, but I do think you both have big eyes. And you both have perfectly straight noses.”
I grin at him, tickled by the fact that he’s obviously taken some time to consider this.
“Have you two always got along well?” he asks.
“No, not really, not when we were younger. We didn’tnotget on, but we weren’t close before this trip.”
“Why not?”
“Partly because of the age gap, partly because we haven’t spent much time together, and also, we’re justdifferent. She’s much more outgoing than I am. I’ve always felt a little small in comparison. We’ve bonded this summer, but ultimately this isherfamily I’m staying with. I’ll always feel like my dad is more hers than mine.”
His eyebrows pull together. “I’m sorry you feel that way. It seemed clear to me when I came inside that time that your dad really dotes on you.”
I blow out a breath. “My dad can’t evenhugme. I mean, he hugged me when I came here and he’ll hug me when I leave, but this side of my family doesn’t really do physical affection. Not with me, at least. I think the only time Sheryl has ever hugged me properly was a couple of weeks ago when she was apologizing for something she did when I was younger.”
He has me anchored with his attention, compelling me to explain in more detail.
“She hid that photo album I was telling you about. Bailey used to like looking at it and Sheryl took it away from her. I think she felt threatened by me, by my mum, by my dad’s history with us. She never let me get too close to her, used to make me feel like I was a nuisance. I remember once when I was about eight or nine, she got a perm and her hair was so curly and shiny. I was dying to see what it felt like, but when I tried to finger one of her curls, she batted me away. She wasn’t that nice to me when I was growing up.”
“Do you think that might be partly why you’re insecure?”
“Am I insecure?”
“For someone as clever and talented as you are, I think you’re quite insecure.”
I stare at him, my insides fluttering as I try to make sense of his words.
“I don’t suppose it helps that my dad deserted me. And then Scott did too,” I add with a flippant shrug.
It’s yet another thing I’ve tried to make light of that he doesn’t find funny. His gaze is pressing and intense. Heat shimmers over my skin.
“I think I should probably head to bed. I’m too drunk for this conversation,” I decide suddenly.
He nods, slowly leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, his glass cradled in his hands. He watches me as I stand up.
I am hyper-aware of his attention as I go and refill my water from the bottle in the fridge. I head back across the living room to the bedroom, hesitating before turning around to say good night. He’s still looking at me, and for some reason, I can’t speak. I stand there, motionless, waiting, though for what, I’m not sure.
“Youarebeautiful, Wren.”
He says it so quietly, so sincerely, that I open my mouth and close it again.
His eyes hold mine for so long that my thoughts scatter like bowling pins. I try to untangle our gazes, but I’m wading through honey again, locked in amber. Something inside me begins to unravel, unfurling toward him. I feel myself being pulled in his direction, but when I take a single step, his eyes drop to his drink.
“Good night,” he says.
