At that, he freezes. “Oh. I…sorry. I didn’t mean?—”
Shit. Why am I telling him this? I wave him off. “It’s fine. Really.” The look on his face right now is dripping with fuckingpity. “My mom’s good now, and so am I, in spite of my horrific bagel injuries.”
He nods and glances away, and silence settles so long it turns awkward. “Well, um…I should, uh…probably go.”
“I’ll take you back,” I say, slapping my thighs before standing up. I appreciate that he’s letting this all go instead of giving me the third degree about my past.
“Oh. No, thank you.” The words are polite, but his tone isn’t.
I snort. “Do you seriously think I’m going to let you walk home after a seizure?”
“I feel fine?—”
“I’m sure you do, but that’s still not going to happen. You said they can happen in clusters, so I literally can’t send you off on your own. I can walk you, drive you, or call your brother.”
He stares, and I meet his gaze steadily. He might be bossy and rude, but he’s not winning this one.
After a short eternity of getting lost in his honey-brown irises with the thick black ring around the edges, he blinks, and I startle. Fuck, why does he have to be so pretty?
He’s different from his brother. Easton could be on magazines. Leo is more like a forest spirit, hiding amongst the trees, trying to lure you into his fae rings.
I try not to seem so obvious as he sits up and sets his feet on the floor.
“A ride will be nice. Thank you.”
I nod, then bend down to grab his pasta. “Here. You dropped this.”
“Oh. No.” He shakes his head. “That’s yours.”
I frown. “Uh…no it isn’t. This is definitely not mine.”
Whatever’s inside of here is an abomination deep from the pits of hell. Even if I were drunk, stoned, and suffering some kind of neurological event, I wouldn’t make pasta this horrendous. It’s swimming in some kind of milkyjuice.
“No. I mean,” he groans, sounding frustrated, and passes a hand down his face again. “I made it for you. Fuck, that’s why I’m here.” He sounds almost surprised by his own words. “I made you pasta.”
I yank the container back, holding it against my chest like the abomination pasta is suddenly precious. “You made me pasta? Why?”
“Because you sent crows to my house.”
I blink at him. Shit. Maybe heishaving a stroke. I move to sit down, but Leo quickly waves me off.
“I figured you sent them to my house to tear into my trash can and put trash all over my yard after I ate your leftovers.Andnow that I’m saying all this out loud, I realize that was probably the seizure scrambling my head.” His cheeks go pink again, and he’s determinedly not meeting my gaze anymore. “I thought you were angry at me and might be a witch who controls the crows.”
“Carbonara,” I correct, and then I hate myself a little for that because who fucking cares what kind of pasta it is? “And why does everyone think I’m a witch?”
He blinks at me for a second. “Who else can control crows?”
I almost laugh. “I don’t control crows, I promise. I just give them gifts, and they hang around.” I stop, then add, “Except for Russell, but he’s different. Anyway, I didn’t send them to your house. I don’t care that you took my pasta. Or, well. It wasn’t mine. It was for Rune.”
Leo glances at my face very briefly. “Oh. Rune’s nice. I didn’t mean to take his food. My brother’s the one who gave it to me.”
“It’s fine. Rune didn’t go hungry, and I wasn’t…I mean, even if I could control my crows, I wouldn’t train them to litter, no matter how angry I was.”
“Were you?”
I frown.
“Angry,” he clarifies.
