Page 86 of Fool Moon First Aid

“If I don’t bring a quart of sherbet home for Tyler, I’m pretty sure he’ll stage a mutiny,” he deadpans.

I play along. “Naturally.”

As we place our orders, blending seamlessly into the crowd in our casual attire, a question looms over me, heavy and unspoken. Why here? Why now? Ethan shuffles from side to side, glancing at me every few seconds.

With our treats in hand, Ethan guides me to the other side of the shop, directly to…

“My booth,” I whisper, the words slipping out as I slide into the familiar seat.

Ethan takes his place across from me, and suddenly, the pieces fall into place. “You mean my booth?”

The reason for our visit.

My breath catches, and a flood of memories cascades over me, transporting me back to a crucial moment—a playful challenge to a young boy that would forever alter the course of our destinies.

He did bite. Kind of.

After all these years, my pet wew-wuff came back to me.

Ava

“You remember,” he whispers. I don’t see him as the man he is now, but as the innocent boy he once was, with ice cream smeared liberally across his mouth and chin.

The glow from a streetlamp outside bathes his features in a soft light, and for a moment, it’s as if I’m watching a time-lapse video of him aging from the mischievous boy to the complex man before me. His features shift and morph, the stains of childhood fade, and his cheeks hollow out, his cheekbones becoming pronounced under my gaze. The innocence of his baby face retreats, replaced by the ruggedness of a five-o’clock shadow. When he offers me a smile, though, it’s like a glimpse of that little boy is peeking through, mischief and innocence intertwined just beneath the surface.

My treat, now a forgotten casualty of the moment, sits untouched as I lean back in the booth, absorbing the weight of his words. “I remember.”

He swallows, a visible bob in his throat betraying his nervousness. “Are you angry?”

I frown at his question. “Why would I be?”

He licks his lips, a gesture of unease, as he leans in, closing the distance between us across the table. “I nicked your finger,” he confesses in a hushed tone. “This… Your transformation… It’s all my doing.”

My gut screams that this isn’t his fault, but I’m not positive, knowing what I know now about my mama. “I don’t think this is your fault.”

“One bite, Ava—that’s all it took. My saliva mingled with your blood, and then…you changed,” he continues, his gaze flicking to the door, wary of unseen listeners.

“Do you regret it?” My question is soft, laced with curiosity rather than accusation.

He pauses and bites his lip, his thoughts swirling behind his eyes. Watching him wrestle with the question is captivating, a furrow forming between his brows as his gaze deepens, lost in contemplation.

“What is regret?” he muses, leaning back with a philosophical tilt of his head, his expression smoothing into one of reflective calm. “Regret is the echo of past decisions—a reminder that every choice we make sculpts not just our future, but the heart of who we are. It’s the toll we pay for growth.”

“Is there a beatnik poet lurking beneath that tough exterior, Ethan Hughes?” I tease, a smirk playing on my lips.

“Maybe,” he concedes with a playful dip of his head, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that sends shivers down my spine. “No, I don’t regret nicking your finger, Ava,” he declares, his eyes brimming with unspoken promises. “I’ll never regret anything that brought you into my life.”

“Well, shit. How do I respond to that?” I say, feigning exasperation as I finally turn my attention to my melting ice cream, the spoon slicing through the soft dessert like a boat through calm waters.

How do I really feel?

A strange sense of acceptance washes over me. All this time, I’ve been at odds with the notion of fate, and the idea that the spiritkin world, with all its mystique and preordained paths, felt like an elaborate ruse. Ethan’s revelation somehow diffuses the weight of destiny, making it feel like less of a cosmic script we were forced to follow and more like a road we chose, unknowingly, as children.

“I’m glad I dared you to bite me,” I whisper in the quiet ice-cream shop. It feels like a confession, a secret shared between the two of us amidst the ghosts of our pasts and the echoes of our laughter.

“Do you think, all those years ago, we altered the course of our fate?” Ethan asks, his actions mirroring mine as he scoops up a portion of his ice cream, the spoon momentarily pausing at his lips.

“Does it matter if we did?” I shrug, the question hanging in the air between us like a delicate bubble, ready to burst with possibilities.

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