Page 196 of The Romance Adventure

Legs pulled up to my chest, I give myself a little hug. A hug I would’ve liked from Magnus once I was safe on land.

Upon a brief reflection, paddling out to the ship was dangerous and immature of me, but I wanted to show Magnus that I am strong. Stronger than he thinks. Strong enough to withstand life’s challenges.

My phone beeps with a text—the Coconut Wireless probably got word and wants a statement that I’m okay.

To my surprise, it’s Magnus.

MM: Remember the first text you sent to me?

Me: Yeah.

How could I forget the mortifying autocorrect? Even though I recently spent a few hours on the ocean, my reply is dry. So are my eyes. I could be sad, mad, or in between, but I feel nothing. Just emptiness.

My phone beeps again. There’s no reason for him to rub in that mortifying autocorrect.

MM: I should’ve said yes.

Me: Yes to what?

I have to admit, I’m confused. If he’s talking about yes to me taking the bed in the hotel room, or eating cake, or us... He changed his mind because all I’ve been feeling from him are big, fat no’s.

The little gray bubbles indicating he’s replying blink at the bottom of our message thread. Madame lifts onto her spindly legs and lets out a throaty growl. General barks twice in warning.

I listen carefully, suddenly afraid the sailors from the Dark Seas are coming after me. I keep my phone on, ready to call for help.

Someone knocks on the door. I click off the light.

“Pirates, if that’s you, know that this place is booby-trapped and I have dogs. Big, mean, angry dogs that will tear the flesh from your bones.”

Whoever it is responds, but I can’t hear over the dogs’ barking.

I pick up the dog ball slingshot thrower thingy that I keep by the door. It’s the closest I have to a weapon.

“I’m warning you,” I repeat.

“Lally, it’s me.”

“Me? Identify yourself,” I demand, my pulse racing.

“It’s Magnus.”

“Are you being held at scabbard point?”

“Lally,” he says in a wholly different tone than the one he used to reprimand me earlier.

To his credit, he wasn’t wrong. I would’ve been worried about me too.

“Can I come in? I think we should talk.”

The angry, rejected side of me wants to growl and bark at him. Too little, too late, buddy!

“Oh, you want to talk now? In the middle of the night?”

“We’re good at staying up late talking.”

I tip my head to the side, remembering fondly that night in the hotel.

Unbolting the first lock, I pause. This past week of him being bitten by a black widow, seeing a strong man down for the count, worrying. Then distancing himself at the official opening of the retreat center has been a roller coaster—and not the fun parts.