“You came back?” I say.
“I…did,” he says, but doesn’t step inside, doesn’t close the door. I don’t move, either.
“I shouldn’t be here,” he says.
“They brought a sorcerer,” I say. “They’re breaking the curse tomorrow. I was afraid I’d have to leave without…without seeing you again.”
“I shouldn’t be here,” he says again.
“I’m glad you came,” I say.
“Tandy,” he says, and then pauses.
“When Mother asked if you were my lover,” I begin, and he blushes. I swallow. My hands are shaking so I stuff them into my pockets. “I said no, but I want you to know, I—” I look around a little wildly. “I think I’m in love with you and I wanted you to…to know. In case I don’t get to tell you again.”
“You’re not in love with me,” he says, a little sadly. “You like me. I give you something to think about. I annoy you. I tease you. I push your boundaries a little. I don’t think you’ve had much of any of that before. That’s not love. That’s just…novelty.”
I’ve never read a book where someone confessed her feelingsto someone else, and that person told them, very gently, that they didn’t actually feel that way. I don’t know what one is meant to say to someone who doesn’t believe you. I’ve read too many tragic romances. Usually, the one person confesses their love, and the other sweeps them up for a single night of passion, always frustratingly left un-narrated, and when the scene resumes they wake the next morning thinking they have their whole lives ahead of them, together, when really, an evil duke is about to come abduct her and keep her locked in a tower for the next forty-five years, or he’ll have to return to his kingdom and marry the nice, sensible girl his parents have earmarked for him, the only way to keep two kingdoms from war. But no one ever confesses her feelings only to have the other person deny them. That’s not a sweeping tragic romance. That’s just a little everyday heartbreak.
“Those are reasons that I like you,” I say, balling my hands into fists in my pockets, willing him to believe me. “But I love you because you’re smart and you’re interesting and you’re funny and you smell nice and you feel good. And you make me happy.” I look down at the surface of my desk, willing myself not to cry.
He’s silent, but I can hear him breathing, hard. I look up and find him watching me, his expression careful. Guarded.
“I don’t mind if you don’t love me,” I say. “That’s not…Why would you? But please believe me when I tell you how I feel.”
The silence stretches between us.
“Why do you think I wouldn’t love you?” he finally says.
That, thankfully, is a straightforward question. “I’ve never done anything,” I say. “You’ve traveled to the ends of the earth. You stole something so precious, so powerful, from a sea witch that she cursed you to be eternally afraid of the sea, the thing you’ve loved since before you knew what love is. My life is so small,compared to yours.” I wave a hand at the darkened shop. “This is the biggest thing that’s ever happened to me, and it’s four stories and a nest of bluecaps.”
He smiles, a little sadly. “I don’t know how you can even think that,” he says. “You’re the kindest, most generous person I’ve ever known. Every person who meets you falls in love with you. Why do you think those seven idiots keep hanging around? It’s certainly not because this town has anything else worthwhile to keep them busy. They all live in hope.”
“They do not,” I say, aghast. “They all have to stay because Driz is staying!”
“And why do you think His Most Worshipful Loudmouth is staying?”
“We’refriends.”
He ducks his head. “Plus, you’ll be less impressed when you learn what I stole from the sea witch. My abiding hope is that you’ll leave before I’m forced to confess.”
He’s trying to distract me. I won’t be distracted.
“I want you to stay tonight. With me,” I say, desperation making me bold.
“Tandy,” he says, trailing off.
“They’re breaking the curse tomorrow,” I say. “Don’t you see? I’ll lose everything.”
“You won’t lose anything. You’ll be free.”
“I have more freedom inside here than I ever did out there. Please stay. Please let me have something that’s just mine, that no one can take away from me.”
“Tandy,” he says, for a third time. There’s some little magic in saying a name three times, I dimly recall, but this is something else.
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” I say, feelingwhatever boldness, whatever madness had impelled me to speak, begin to ebb. He doesn’t want to stay. Why would he?
“It’s not that I don’t want to be here. With you,” he says. “There’s nothing I want more.”
