Page 49 of Claimed By the Mothman
“No, absolutely not,”Nell hissed, heat blooming in her cheeks. “This is not romantic, it’s horrifying! It’s emotionally perilous and socially irresponsible andwhat if he says yes?”
Goldie just grinned. “Then you wear something flirty and emotionally complicated and make it his problem.”
Nell threw a paperclip at her. Goldie dodged it effortlessly, still sipping her chai like victory had never tasted so sweet.
—
He had not meant to go to the community lounge. He had intended only to pass through and return a borrowed book to Mr. Caracas and vanish again before the couches started sighing or the wall sconces whispered their unsolicited opinions.
But as he entered—
“Dammit!”
Nell’s voice rang out across the lounge, bright with frustration and barely-hidden laughter. She was seated beside Catalina Vess, surrounded by yarn and hooks and what might have once been an attempt at a scarf, but now resembled a fibrous octopus in cardiac arrest.
“I’m doing it wrong again, aren’t I?” Nell said, huffing.
Catalina gave her a look of gentle horror. “You’re experimenting. I love it.”
“I’mfailing. I hate it.” In a flash of melodrama, she flung the yarny mess over her shoulder, where it struck Sig squarely in the chest.
The room stilled. Catalina looked up slowly, eyes wide. “Oh, my.”
Nell whipped around in horror. Sig stood there, holding a book at his side in one hand and the tangled mass of yarn clutched in his other like a small, defeated animal.
Nell’s face went crimson. “Oh my gods.”
Sig stared at the yarn. Then at her. With slow precision, stepped forward and held it out like an offering.
“You threw this,” he said, deadpan.
Nell let out a strangled noise and covered her face. “I’msosorry. I didn’t mean—”
“It is textured,” he added solemnly, glancing down at the yarn with a faint tilt of his head, as though it had personally offended him.
Catalina choked on a laugh.
From across the room, Mr. Caracas muttered from a recliner without looking up, “Young love is a hazard to common areas.”
Sig met Nell’s eyes. She didn’t look away.
“Thank you,” she said, voice soft now. Almost breathless. She reached out and took the yarn hesitantly from his hands. Her lower lip tucked quickly between her teeth and his chest seized at the gesture. “And…thank you for the bouquet, by the way.”
His breath caught and he nodded once, the gesture too formal for the setting, and turned to leave.
He had not expected her to keep it, much less speak of it.
He walked away, holding the faintest curl of hope between his ribs like a flame cupped against the wind.
Chapter 10
Nell had tried to bow out of the dinner party. She really had. She’d called Jem that morning with a voice full of apologies and invented fatigue, citing everything from a headache to family disasters to “just needing a quiet night in.” But Jem hadn’t heard a word of it.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she’d said, chipper and immovable. “No one cancels a handwritten invitation. Besides, if you aren’t there, we won’t have even numbers and the whole vibe will be off. Seven o'clock sharp! Wear something glamorous.”
And that had been that.
Goldie had shown up an hour before go-time, descending upon her in a one-woman makeover montage. There were contour sticks. There was perfume. There was a shimmering shawl that Goldie draped around Nell’s shoulders and tied into a beautiful knot thatalmostcovered the healing teeth marks on her neck.
