Page 52 of Bones

When I’d initially seen it, I hadn’t recognized the emotion in my expression. But now I knew what it was.

Contentment.

It wasn’t something I experienced often.

Or ever.

The sensation began to ebb away before returning times a million. The buzzing suddenly turned to the stabs of a thousand bees stinging my brain. At least that was what it felt like. My fingers clutched Deke’s shirt as I swayed, my vision tunneling.

Going alert, Deke tried to release my jaw. “What’s wrong? You okay?”

I grabbed his hand and forced it back, not wanting the moment to be over despite the pain that split my skull. Like his touch was magic, the pain lessened, and I gave him what I hoped was a reassuring smile.

Deke’s lids lowered as something flashed in his dark eyes. It made the warmth in me stoke to a burn that overheated my body. My hand keeping his on my chin was unnecessary as his hold tightened again. His gaze dropped from my eyes to my mouth.

My breath froze in my lungs.

My heart froze in my chest.

My everything froze as anticipation hummed through my veins. Waiting.

Hoping.

Dark eyes raised to meet mine again.

In a blink, it was gone.

The heat.

The intensity.

The hold.

Deke released me to move away and turn the burner down to low. He took the measuring cup I belatedly noticed I still held, and I let out an involuntary gasp when his fingers grazed mine.

I wasn’t aware that fingers could be hypersensitive, yet there we were.

He tensed for a long second before continuing like nothing had happened as he put the cream into the fridge. “Gonna let this simmer while I chop wood before the snow starts.”

And then he was gone, too.

It seemed to be a pattern with him.

The little shot of joy at the mention of snow was overshadowed by my confusion.

What the heck wasthat?

I have a wild idea.

Maybe go ask him.

Use your words.

Running my fingers through my hair, I fought the urge to tug the length as I closed my eyes. And then I winced.

The pain had moved from a buzzing ache at the back of my head to a strained one at the front, courtesy of my burning eyes. Blinking only intensified the problem—like I wore lenses of sandpaper dunked in the ghost pepper-infused chili oil they used at Black Horse.

I checked the pot on the stove before going upstairs to try cleaning my contacts again. Plus, without Deke to distract me, I could no longer ignore the annoying wet sock. I flicked on the light, met my mismatched gaze in the mirror, and recoiled.

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