Page 54 of Love, Morgan

I did know that. Of course I knew that. The turtles at the bottom of the ocean knew that. But what other choice did I have? Sure, she flirted a little with me, but she was a fan. I doubted she really meant any of it, and I didn’t want to be that person who made things awkward and weird.

It was hardly the first thought in my head, but if I did that and it got out, that wouldn’t be good either. I had no idea if my career could withstand something like that. I’d avoided scandals for years, I couldn’t afford them now. I’d been so careful and distant and neutral, and now I was risking it all on a mango and a beautiful woman?

“I think,” I started, aware of how much I sounded like I couldn’t breathe, “that I don’t really know you all that well. We’ve spent some time together, but I don’t… know an awful lot about you.”

She stopped, her smile dropping, and she looked away.

She was quiet for long enough that I began to worry I’d said the wrong thing, done the wrong thing—moreof the wrong thing—and that I wouldn’t be able to fix it.

“Huh,” she said, finally sliding her eyes back to my face. “I guess that’s fair.”

I could hear a pounding and whooshing in my ears that sounded like my frantic heart and the ocean in a shell but left me feeling unbalanced and terrified. She said it was fair, as in true. But I hadn’t meant it as a complaint against her, and I hoped she didn’t take it as one.

She frowned very slightly, clenching her hands together where I could only just see them below the table. “I guess I don’t… give much away.” She shook her head. “I’m open enough about who I am, but, yeah, personal stuff… I have my close friends and my life, and I don’t usually feel the need for more than that, you know?”

I nodded even though, with regards to friends at least, I didn’t really know. I was here trying to make friends, trying to figure out what that meant, how to do it, how to let people in. And she was here flirting but trying to keep me out?

She shook her head, unhappy with herself. “I like people. I like my life. I worked hard for it.” She huffed. “I guess we’re doing honesty. Fine.”

“You really don’t have to,” I assured her quickly.

She quirked a lopsided smile. “No, I think I do. I think I should.”

I didn’t want to force her to do anything, but I wouldn’t stop her if it was something she wanted to do. Not sure of the right thing to say, I simply sat in my chair, sinking in on myself in my bid to take up as little room as possible, and waited for her to figure out her thoughts.

“You know how you’re different online and at live shows?”

“Yes.” My stomach roiled uncomfortably. I had no idea where this was going, but that wasn’t a great start.

“It’s kind of like that. The you that’s there is stillyou.” She smiled softly. “I don’t know if you know that, but I can see it. It’s a confident, more polished version, sure, but it’s still you. And then, in real life, you’rethisversion of you. Still the same person, but with real life around you. You’ve got fears and flaws and a history—a million real things that make youyou.”

I nodded, my brain momentarily stuck on the idea of my many flaws.

She kept smiling, but she looked far away. “And all of that makes you better. Don’t get me wrong, you’re amazing as The Pretty Gift, but here, in real life, you’re better. The fears, the flaws, therealthings about you, they make you better.”

My heart was in my throat. I didn’t know whether I was coming or going, what this conversation was, or what I was supposed to say, but I would never be ungrateful to hear her say that the parts I thought I needed less of were the things that made me better.

“I have that façade, too,” she said, looking at me more seriously. “It’s still me, but I have this history, these things, that I don’t like to share. And, especially with you, I guess I sometimes shut down things I’m supposed to share, shut down opportunities to do so, because, if I share, then things become real, and that might be dangerous.”

I didn’t think that was true. I’d liked who she was before, but, no matter how hard my chest was pounding, I liked this version more. I liked her being honest. I liked knowing what was happening in her head. And, if she was being honest, I liked being able to ask for clarification.

I sucked in a shaky breath. “Why especially with me?”

She smiled coyly. “Because Ripley thinks I have a crush on you.”

If I couldn’t see the perfectly calm sea in my peripheral vision, I would have been certain a storm was raging across it. The sound of crashing water and raging winds filled my ears.

I’d told her Thalia thought I had a crush on her. She’d instantly known it was true. Now, she was telling me Ripley thought she had a crush on me. Was I allowed to know that made it true?

“And do you?” I asked, repeating her earlier question back to her.

She laughed. “Yes.”

I don’t know why I hadn’t been expecting her to be direct about the answer. I’d thought she’d dance around it like I did. I’d thought we’d never quite get to the point, and then we’d run out of time, and it wouldn’t matter anyway. But here she was—brave and honest.

Wasn’t it a sapphic thing to dance around this for the rest of time? Nobody had ever told me what to do when it was right there on the table. How had I never considered it as a possibility before?

“Yes?” I repeated back, staring blankly at her.

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