Page 127 of A Heart So Haunted
It wasn’t until the marshmallows were roasting over the fire, the smell of smoke had seeped into my hair, dried my eyes, and heated my toes, that I realized I could do this: life, with the three of them.
My marshmallow caught fire when I drifted in thought. I gasped, wrenched it out of the flames, and huffed on it so hard I saw stars.
“No! That was a good one,” I whined. I’d gotten just enough crisp to it that it would’ve melted the chocolate.
“Here.” Hadrian dug another marshmallow out of the bag that Sayer had stolen. “I’ll eat that one.”
Emma had given me a secret, wicked grin. Sayer saw. Glanced at me. Wiggled his eyebrows.
I’d rolled my eyes, but inside, my chest warmed.
And I very well thought, if he’d let me, I might have floated away right then out of happiness.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Do you worry about what’ll happen? If things progress, I mean?” I asked, trying to ignore how Hadrian’s body radiated heat.
Darkness had nearly fallen, leaving us with lightening bugs drifting in and out of the tree line. Emma had ventured back inside to retrieve another bag of marshmallows, to which I’d said I was good. Sayer said something about using the bathroom, but I wondered if they wanted to leave Hadrian and I alone for a minute.
Hadrian eyed the last of my s’mores. I offered it to him. I’d ended up in the chair with him. A thin layer of sweat dotted his neck and chest, with one arm looped around my back. He brushed his fingers over my arm.
“You don’t want it?”
I shook my head. “I’m good.”
I was trying. But trying didn’t mean the roadblock was gone.
He gave my arm a squeeze. “Are you sure? You are all right?”
I nodded. Without words, I knew that he knew. Of course he knew.
He polished off the last of mine, licked his fingers. I watched. Then he pulled me into his side and whispered, “I’m proud of you, you know.”
“For what?”
A half shrug. His hand went back to making idle trails along my arm. “For being you.” Then, after a second, “For trying.”
I suppressed the sudden knot in my throat. My only answer was a nod.
And that, somehow, meant more than any string of words could have ever meant.
I’m proud of you for trying.
An old wound itched at his words. “You don’t think I’m too—”
Skinny.
“Do not finish that sentence.” His voice went hard. “You are not too much of anything, Landry.”
I frowned at him. The seriousness in his expression made the tears well up—stupid, persistent tears. “Why did you say that?” I asked with a wet chuckle. This was so embarrassing.
“Say what?”
“Something—so—” I used my shirt’s neckline to dab the tears. “You’re making me cry. Stop it.”
“I hope I’ve nevermadeyou do anything.” He gave a soft smile. “It’s all those years of experience you teased me about before.”
Inside the house, Marion Blanchet started playing again. Above, a single bat swooped down from the treetops before twirling back up after a bug.
