And just like that I’m sixteen again.
The bench dissolves and I’m back in my room, low blue light, his hand in mine, those exact words closing a door in my face.
Something in my expression must show it.
Everything in my expression always shows it.
I am an open book that has never once successfully pretended to be closed.
• • •
He tilts my chin up with two fingers.
“Get out of your head.” His thumb moves along my jaw. “I wasn’t finished.”
I wait.
“You can’t look at me like that,” he says, quieter now. “Because it makes me so fucking shy.”
A beat.
“The way you look at me and the way you smile every time—it’s everything to me. Perfect.”
I stare at him.
I feel the blush moving up my face in real time.
Completely unstoppable.
Deeply humiliating.
• • •
“Well,” I say, looking away. “How many smiles have you seen, you slut.”
I flick ketchup on his nose.
And skip away before he can retaliate.
Skipping might be a new thing.
Happy Rowan is apparently a little feral.
I’m getting used to him.
• • •
He catches up and grabs my hand and doesn’t mention the skipping which I appreciate because now I regret it.
We spend another hour wandering.
He makes up wrong names for every fish with complete confidence.
I correct him every time.
He ignores every correction.
We watch the stingrays for a while.
