Page 28 of The Garnet Daughter
I open the door before he even has a chance to stand from his bed and stop short in the threshold, realizing how ridiculous it is to wake him as if I am a child plagued by nightmares.
He sits up on the edge of the mattress, shirtless and squinting from the brighter firelight coming in from the gathering room hearth.
“Something wrong?” he asks, and it makes me realize how silent I am.
I glue my eyes to the rafters of his room to concentrate. “I think I folded in my sleep.”
“Say again.” He clears his throat, and First Mother help me, I watch his Adam’s apple bob a little too intently.
“I folded while I was sleeping.” I shift on my feet.
He finally processes my words, eyes widening and alert. “How?”
“I don’t know, but it happened before . . . last night.”
“You’re certain?” He scoots closer to the edge of the bed, so close if he reached out, he could touch my crossed arms.
“I’m very sure. When I woke up both times, there was sand and rubble on my feet.”
“Sand.” He furrows his brow and then his eyes widen. “All the way back?”
I nod.
He smiles to one side and rubs his chin in that charming way he does when he’s considering. “Well, that’s unexpected.”
“I know.”
“Do you think it will happen again?” He stands, his hands hovering on either side of my arms, like he does when he wants to touch me but doesn’t want to cross a line.
“Maybe, I’m not sure.”
I should not have come in here. Being in a room with August has never been an issue. We slept in the ship alone, shared spaces together, but letting myself glance at his bare chest the way I want to feels different now. If he has noticed how focused I am on avoiding doing just that, he has not alluded to it.
“You should try to sleep again and I will watch,” he offers.
The spell that this room cast on me is now broken. “What?”
“I mean, I can see if you are folding for sure,” he clarifies, then smiles awkwardly.
“Oh.” I step back.
“What if you fold to Cosima and wake up there? I’d be stuck.” He paces across the room and back, thinking to himself.
“It’s not a terrible idea, you staying awake so I can try again,” I concede. “If we were . . . touching, you would fold with me.”
“I can do that,” he says, low and determined, like I have given him battle instructions.
My stomach does an annoying flutter again. “If you stay awake and we fold, you could wake me up. Lock us in place.”
He clears his throat, suddenly very focused. “Where do you want to do this?”
It doesn’t matter. The location won’t make it any less awkward.
“Here is fine.” I point to his bed.
He stares at it like he isn’t sure how the piece of furniture works anymore.
I decide to make the first step toward it, determined to keep this as logistical as possible because this could be our way home and that’s much more important than acknowledging how flustering this situation has become.
