Page 60 of Sweet Heart

My skin prickles instantly at that. There is a shiver that runs all the way from the base of my spine to my neck, and I shiver involuntarily.

“Maria…” I warn her in a low tone, and she has the audacity to giggle.

“Sí?” she taunts, and my belly swoops. “Something wrong?”

“You are pushing it, querida,” I murmur into her ear, but my lips are ticking up.

She laughs some more, and I sink further into the cushions, my whole body unwinding from the day. My muscles let go, and I feel like I take my first full breath of the day.

“Tell me about your day, please.”

I hear some soft rustling on the other side, almost as if she is getting comfortable, too. I hope she is.

“It was beautiful, really. After my walk this morning—”

“Did you check your glucose before you left?”

“Mm-hmm,” she hums, and my unease settles instantly. “So, after my walk, I went into Stonewall Shelf for a cup of coffee—”

“And breakfast?”

“Just coffee. Anyway, I—”

“You should eat after your walk.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. She knows this.

“Say, can I tell you the story, or will you school me every other sentence?”

Her words come out sharp, but there is no real bite to them. It’s more amusement. Regardless, she is right. I interrupted her three times in under a minute. And you are not her mother.

“Yes, sorry. I am tired, and my boundaries are a bit blurry. Please, tell me the story.” She lets out a soft huff, and I smile. “I’ll be quiet.” Now she really laughs.

“You don’t have to be quiet, you know that.”

“Mm.”

“Anyway, I was in there, and I saw that Devina Black is coming in for a signing on Saturday. Tessa got me two free tickets if you want to join me.”

Her voice ticks up at the end, hopeful. My brain rakes over my schedule. What day is it even? Three days on, two off, and then two on again. I roll my eyes at my schedule, but before I can open my mouth to say no, she is already talking again.

“I mean, you don’t have to. I know you are busy. You probably have to work. And this sapphic romance thing might not even be your taste. Wait, do you even like to read fiction?”

I ignore the little sting when she mentions my schedule and instead let out a surprised laugh. I’m not sure if I’m more amused by her rattling or stunned by her questioning my love for books.

“Yes, I do. I have three of her books, actually.”

“Huh, interesting.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” she trails off hesitantly, and I chuckle softly.

“What? You thought I only read The Lancet?”

“Sorta, maybe?”

I scoff, almost offended at her instant reply.

“I do romance.”