I don’t answer, obviously. Instead, my gaze falls to my plate and the food I no longer have an appetite for. This is it. Stone will tell Pane he can’t remember who he is. Pane will listen, probably panic a little, and realize there’s no way in hell a hard hat fell from the ceiling, slapped Stone’s noggin, and caused him to forget his entire life.
I deflate because the hammer is about to drop—right on me.
“Excuse me.”
I head to the bathroom, as I can’t bear to be present for my own undoing. And I was just beginning to like this version of Stone, too. But let’s face it: When he told me to order for him because I “know” him, I died a little inside.
I don’t know him.
He doesn’t know me.
We don’t even like each other.
It’s clear now that my ask was too big. Fixing the resort while protecting the ley lines was too large a dream. I’m not a big dreamer. I’m a small person living a small life.
As if to confirm my own opinion of myself, blue sparks dance on my fingers. They smart, and I squeeze my hands closed.
“Go away,” I snap.
They fizzle and die.
For once.
I finish up in the bathroom, splash cold water on my face, and text Cristina to see if she’s discovered anything about the flower. What was it called again?
She doesn’t answer, which probably means she’s giving a massage. So there’s nothing to do but face my demise. Oh well, it was fun saving my town the whole five seconds it lasted.
As I head back out, my stomach performs an Olympic gymnastics floor routine. Stone is now off the phone, and the heaviness of doom blankets me.
It might be better to grab my purse and make a break for it rather than take the verbal beating that’s coming.
Stone sees me.
And smiles.
With genuine warmth.
A cozy feeling slowly bleeds over my chest. A feeling I quickly shake off.
There’s no time for that here.
“Hey,” he murmurs in a way you welcome someone who’s cherished, not hated with an ever-loving passion.
“Hey,” I squeak as I slide into the booth.
“How do they get it so gooey?”
“Sorry?”
He lifts a fork piled high with macaroni and cheese. Strings of cheddar stretch from his plate to the utensil. “The macaroni. How is it so gooey? And I mean that in the best way possible, of course.”
I’m thrown off-kilter. My world is supposed to be imploding and he’s talking about food? One thing I’ll say about this new Stone Maddox: He certainly keeps me on my toes.
“Extra cheese, maybe?” I inhale a deep breath and decide to go for it. It’s better to hear the truth from him now rather than wait until later. “So ...”
He takes a bite of macaroni and moans. When he finishes chewing, he replies, “So ... what?”
Is he serious? He’s really going to make me say it? “You have a brother! It’s amazing you remembered. What did he say when you told him?”
