“You.” His finger moves to another word. “Are.” Then another. “Beautiful,” I read them aloud.
A blush heats my cheeks, and his fingers stop me from looking away from him.
“You didn’t see the other girls.”
Side to side, his head shakes again—a smile forms, just wide enough for me to see a hint of missing teeth.
I see you,he signs.
Taking my hands to his lips, he places the softest kiss on my knuckles.
A million memories I’m trying to suppress come flooding into my mind, and I feel phantasmic platonic touches that I’d hoped would one day be more. Kisses on my forehead that made my insides squeal with excitement, because one day, he might kiss my lips. My ears ring out with the flutter of pages from every book, including the one he holds now, that he used to tell me I’m beautiful.
And my heart races.
Snapping my eyes shut, I edge forward. My free hand lands on his face, brushing gently over the scars, over the paint.
Opening my eyes, I’m closer to him. My head tilts as I stare up. The clown makeup doesn’t seem scary—just beautiful.
But only on him would clown makeup be beautiful.
My lips part slightly as we share breathing space.
That long-awaited kiss feels too close. His lips land on mine, and just as I’m about to fall into him, the door handle turns, and I jump back. My eyes immediately flick in that direction as Bubbles rushes out around Shane, who stands with an accusatory look.
Squinted eyes stare back as his name barges out of my mouth, “Shane.”
The heavy judgment of all the house’s previous occupants weighs down on me as I try to stand. My legs shake, and I can’t be sure of the reason.
“Can I have a word?”
“Sure.” I nod. Twisting to Ambrose, I add, “Enjoy your book.”
I continue to the kitchen, the long walk through the reading room lets me clear my senses.
What was I thinking?
Low moods and too many memories had gotten the best of me.
“What’s up?” I ask as I unlock the back door for Bubbles.
“What were you doing with him?”
“I didn’t know he was in there. He showed me passages from his book. It was my favorite growing up.” I potter around the kitchen, pulling out a cup and filling it with water.
Nerves bring a smile to my lips as I wonder how much Shane saw.
“You looked close?”
“We’re trying not to be enemies,” I say, leaning back against the counter, cup in hand. I shake as I take a sip, hoping he doesn’t notice.
“Really? You do remember he killed your parents, right?”
“Why do you always go back to that?” I place the cup on the tabletop and check it for cracks when I realize I slammed it down.
“Because it’s like you’ve fucking forgotten.”
No, I just block it out.
