Then he starts whistling.
I twist my mouth to the side to hold in my smile as he finally pulls out the correct pot and fills it with water. He sets it on the stove, then spins around to face me.
“Oh! I almost forgot!” he says, shoving a hand in his front pocket.
I raise my eyebrows and his grin somehow spreads wider when he pulls out a bright pink cat toy.
“I got Kahlo a new toy!”
I hate the way my chest clenches and heart skips at how excited he is to play with kind-of-my cat.
“Kahlo, ps-ps-ps,” Ro says, dropping to the floor and crawling to peek around the corner.
Now my heart is pounding for a whole different reason. What would he look like crawling to me? With no—nope.
Not going there.
I mentally kick myself and turn around, refusing to take in the cuteness that is Ro, an actual demon, playing with my demonic cat. Thatmustbe why they get along so well, there’s no other explanation.
Soon I’m stirring butter and powdered cheese into the noodles, then looking around for Ro.
“Ro?” I call, taking the pot off the heat before stepping into the hallway.
My bedroom door is open, and I roll my eyes. He’s probably poking through my dresser or something. I step into the room, and my stomach drops when I see him sitting on my bed with my grandmother’s journal.
“Ro!” I sprint to his side and snatch the journal from his hands, snapping it closed. Terror pounds through me. Did he read it? Does he know my secret? Is he going to try to use me, too? Or… leave?
“What are you doing?” I yell, my voice unnaturally loud in the small space. I back away, chest heaving as I stare at him.
Ro holds his hands up, eyes wide as he leans away from my outburst.
“Whoa, I, uh, I’m sorry,” he says, stammering. “I wasn’t doing anything.”
“You had my journal!” I clutch the journal to my stomach and his eyes drop to it, then return to mine. He looks taken aback by my reaction, but what did he expect? Journals are private, even a demon should know that’s not okay.
“I didn’t realize it was your journal, I won’t look again.”
He sounds contrite, his voice smaller than I’ve ever heard it, and full of remorse.
I eye him, taking in his tense shoulders, the wide eyes and shallow breaths. Either he saw and is ready to bolt, or he didn’t and is scared I’ll kick him out. I take a slow breath, trying to calm my racing heart.
I need to know.
“What did you see?” I ask, trying for a neutral tone.
“Nothing, I swear, I was just flipping through. I didn’t read a word of it.”
I pinch my lips as I stare at him, wishing I could tell if he was being truthful or not. Ro slumps under my glare, deflating as he sinks to the floor and leans against the side of the bed.
“I won’t touch it again. I’d never read your personal journal. I know I’m not the best at boundaries, but this is one I wouldn’t cross. It just looked like an old book, I…” he trails off, looking down at his hands. His knuckles are white where he’s clenching them together. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
I let the silence sit as my anger and fear dissipate. He’s not running, so… What does that mean? Did he really not read it? I slide down to the floor, sitting against the wall a few feet away from him.
“It’s not my journal, it’s my grandmother’s,” I say quietly.
Ro glances up at me, sorrowful eyes framed by long lashes made more dramatic by the dark eyeliner he wears. He nods, but doesn’t reply. Despite the disruption he’s been in my life, my heart pangs when I think about losing him. It couldn’t hurt to give him a second chance, could it?
My thoughts tumble from one to the next as I try to pull apart his essence, figure out what to do, how best to protect myself. Let him in, and risk my life and his? Or force him to go, risking my heart and budding happiness instead?
