Page 13 of Chivalry is Not Dead

Alrighty then. I push myself off the bed and tiptoe into the restroom. I actually do need to pee so I take care of that and then stare at myself in the mirror as I wash my hands. “Penny Graves, you are brave. You can cuddle with a man. You can enjoy cuddling with a man and not catch feelings because that man will eventually go back to the ether. Keep it cool. Keep it casual. Keep it⁠—”

“Penelope, I can hear you.”

I hate it here.

Splashing some water on my face in an attempt to calm my furious blush, I take three deep breaths before opening the bathroom door.

Sanders has propped himself up, hand supporting his head, other arm slung over his knee and a stupid, smug smirk painted on his lips. “Do not worry, we will keep it cool. Though I admit I do not quite know what you mean by that.”

“It’s a saying. Like ‘be calm,’” I huff, still standing in the doorway.

“You do not have to lay back down with me, but I will admit I would enjoy it immensely. However, you are always allowed to say no to me. It has been… a long time since I have had any sort of companionship,” he admits. “I dare say, I do miss having any sort of human interaction that lasts longer than twenty-four hours.”

I hadn’t even thought about that aspect of Sanders’ curse. Because that’s what this is—a curse.

“I’ll come lay with you, but we’re just friends. Okay?”

His grin is genuine when he says, “I have been desperate for a friend, Lady Penelope.”

Tentatively, I lift the covers up and slide into bed next to this knight in modern-day shining armor—gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt.

I try to put some space between us, and of course Sanders immediately wraps his strong arm around my waist, pulling me in to be his little spoon. “You are quite soft,” he whispers into my hair.

He is… rock hard. Everywhere.

“Is it normal for you to cuddle with someone after only knowing them for less than forty-eight hours?” I muse.

“It feels like much longer that we have known each other,” he replies. “Do you feel that too? If I pause for a moment, deep in my bones it is as if my body knows yours. My soul calls to your soul.”

I do what he asks, pausing to listen, studying the crisscross of scars, freckles, and thin blond hairs that coat his arms. “I’m afraid I don’t feel anything.” Not a lie, but not the truth either.

“Close your eyes,” he commands.

Sighing, I do as he says. For a witch, even I can be a skeptic sometimes. My eyes are closed long enough that our breath syncs up. I open my mouth to say there’s still no soul connection when—there. I feel the tiniest tug in the center of my chest. That familiar sensation of a needle pushing through a thick piece of fabric. A thread that, ever so faintly, seems to be reaching out.

“Gods,” I gasp. “What is that?”

“I am not sure. All I know is that I felt it the moment I opened my eyes this past All Hallows’ Eve. I followed the tug and it led me to your friend Leah’s house and… to you.”

“To me? But why?” I feel an overwhelming mixture of confusion and confidence that he’s telling the truth.

“Again, I do not know. I am hoping you will help me understand. Help me find peace.”

Such a big ask for such a pitiful excuse for a witch. I feel tears coming, and I’m desperate to keep them down. Desperate to stay in this moment where someone believes in me.

Sanders strokes up and down my stomach. “Do not be sad, Lady Penelope. I will understand if you do not want to help me.”

The first tear falls, dripping down my nose. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I just don’t know if I am able to.”

He waits, letting me process what I want to say. Somehow knowing that I need that time. “You already know that I’m not very… skilled at magic.”

“I know that you believe that to be true.”

His words startle me. “Well, yes. I do believe that to be true because it has been my experience so far in life. I worry that I won’t be able to perform whatever magic will help you return where you are meant to be.”

He waits several more moments before asking, “Will you try?”

On a deep breath, I rotate so we are face to face. His expression is not pleading anymore. Instead it’s filled with assurance. He might be crazy.