Page 27 of Who Let The Wolves Out?

“Surprisingly, yes.”

“I thought you were gonna combust.”

“I thoughtyouwere gonna start juggling to distract them.”

“I would’ve,” I say, “but my act involves interpretive shirtlessness and three flaming raccoons. Bit much for rehearsal.”

She snorts and claps a hand over her mouth. “Don’t make me laugh, I’ll cry.”

I watch her for a long moment, letting the quiet stretch.

And then, real low, I say, “You’re incredible, y’know.”

Alice stiffens slightly. “You don’t have to say that.”

“I’m not sayin’ it to be nice.”

She turns her head toward me. The soft light from the stage behind us glows in her hair, makes her eyes look almost gold.

“I’ve seen a lot of people fall apart under pressure,” I murmur. “But you? You hold it together. You show up. Even when you’re scared outta your mind.”

Her voice is just a whisper. “I am scared.”

“I know.”

“And I feel like I’m screwing everything up.”

“You’re not.”

“I’m not who they think I am.”

“That’s okay. I see who you really are.”

That hits her. I know it does. Her eyes widen just a bit, then she looks away like the truth of it is too much.

And that’s when it happens.

Her hand, resting in the grass between us, shifts.

Just enough that her fingers brush mine.

She doesn’t move them.

Neither do I.

My heart starts to race, but I keep my voice calm. “Alice.”

She meets my eyes.

There’s something raw in her gaze. Unspoken. Terrified. Hopeful.

I sit up slowly. Reach out.

I let my fingers trail up her wrist, gentle as moonlight.

She shivers.

“Are you cold?” I ask, voice low.

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