Page 47 of Blood Queen

I steal glances at him in the glow of the film, memorizing the shape of his jaw, the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheek. I don’t know if the movie is any good because I’m too caught up in this—his warmth beside me, his thumb brushing over mine, the sheer wonder of being here with him.

Afterward, he takes me for ice cream.

“You have to get at least two flavors,” he insists, grinning as we scan the rows of options.

“I don’t know,” I say, overwhelmed by the choices. “Which ones are best?”

“Depends,” he says, pretending to study me. “You seem like a classic chocolate kind of girl.”

I elbow him lightly. “Is that an insult.”

He laughs, then orders for both of us—one scoop of honey lavender, one of chocolate chip cookie dough.

“You need a little bit of adventure and a little bit of comfort,” he tells me as we sit outside, the night air cool against my skin.

I take a bite of the lavender, surprised at the floral sweetness. “It tastes like sunshine.”

Truman watches me, his expression soft . “Yeah,” he murmurs, “it does.”

Truman folds me into his life, into his family over the next weeks. Easily as mixing chocolate chips into batter.

When I spend time with Truman’s family, his mom is kind, gentle in a way that makes my heart ache. His dad is often at work but the few times he’s been around he’s been warm, too.

Kenzie, his fifteen-year-old sister, chatters at me about school, about books she loves, about the bracelet she made. She makes me one, too. She asks me to go back to school shopping with her. I love her spirit. Her playfulness. I hope she never losses it.

Nate, the youngest, is a ruckus wild child. Always a joke or playful jab at his brother’s expense.

It feels strange, being here, surrounded by a family that isn’t mine. I miss Papa so much it hurts, but at the same time, I feel like I’m slowly finding my way.

That night, Truman and I sit on the porch, the stars stretching wide above us.

“We need a plan,” he says, his voice low and steady. “If you’re coming with me, we have to tell my parents something when they send me off. And see you on the same bus.”

I nod, curling my legs beneath me. “That I’m going to school too?” I suggest. “Not the same one, but the same area. I hate the idea of lying.”

His hand finds mine in the dark, his fingers intertwine with mine. “Are you scared?”

I glance at him, my chest tightening. “A little,” I admit. “But not as much as I would be if I had to stay here alone.”

His grip tightens. “You’re not alone.” His voice is rough with emotion. “You have me.”

The weight of those words settles deep inside me, warming the coldest parts of my heart.

I squeeze his hand back. “I know.”

The next day I use some of Papa’s money to buy a bus ticket.

The last week of August comes faster than I expect, and before I know it, we’re standing at the bus station with Truman’s family, their goodbyes clinging to the humid morning air like the scent of his mother’s lavender perfume. They are emotional—bereft almost. I wonder if this would have happened between Papa and I if we were given the chance.

Kenzie hugs me so tight I can barely breathe. “Text me,” she demands. “Every day.”

“I don’t have a phone,” I remind her, laughing softly.

She pulls back, glaring at Truman. “Fix that.”

“I will,” he promises, then nudges her playfully. “Keep an eye on Nate for me, yeah?”

“Duh.” She rolls her eyes but wipes at them when she thinks no one’s looking.

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