“So—”
Our words competed again, and we both broke off. The corners of his mouth twitched up. I felt mine follow. A second later, our laughter comingled in the barn, echoing off the lofty ceiling and concrete floor.
“So you wanted to check up on me?” I said, giving him the perfect opening.
Then wished I hadn’t when he stopped laughing. His eyelashes swept low as his gaze fell to my arm. “Yeah, I did. You seemed really upset when you left.”
As Hunter continued to stare, that trapped sensation, the one from school, rushed over me. Maybe inviting him over had been a mistake. If I were smart, I’d stand up, tell him I was tired, then send him away. Tomorrow at school, things would be safer, once the memory of the accident faded and there was a hall full of kids to distract him.
But my feet neglected to cooperate. My head, my heart, everything balked. Smart was good, but right now, I needed Hunter around. Right now, he kept me anchored to the world of the living.
“So your arm, is it . . . fixed?”
Here we go. “It is, actually. No permanent damage or anything.” I rotated my wrist so he could see it from every angle. Amazing, the way Mom had fixed it with a few random tools. All that remained was a thin pink line, like a long scratch, but Mom said even that would fade within two days.
What I wouldn’t give for a scar.
He reached out to stroke the inside of my elbow, his fingers warm against my skin. Panic mixed with flutter—lots and lots of flutters.
See that? Perfectly normal teen response. Okay, maybe not so much the panic, but definitely the flutters.
“May I?” he said.
“Um, sure.”
Ever so gently, he clasped my wrist. When he traced the scratch with his other hand, I swear something inside me flipped over completely. Somersaulted. Performed an entire circus act in less than five seconds.
No way could a covert nanocomputer android spy feel like that.
“Amazing. Not really sure how it’s possible, but it’s definitely amazing. How did it happen?”
The protective way he cradled my arm sent a ball of warmth careening through my stomach. His blue eyes connected with mine, tempting my lips to swallow the lie and release the truth. I could chuck the fabrication. Get another take—his take—on the whole unbelievable thing. Because right now, it still felt surreal. The two of us, we could figure it out. Together.
Of course, there was the other, way more probable scenario to consider. The one where I told him the truth and he laughed. Right before he backed away, ran for his Jeep, and alerted the entire school that I was a nutjob of epic proportions.
The iPod Man’s drawl whispered through my head, conjuring visions of jail cells and labs and other places I wouldn’t allow my mind to go. I shivered. No one could know. Ever.
Besides, I wasn’t about to chase off the one person who made me feel the most human. Sticking with a lie was my best bet.
“My arm is a prosthetic,” I said, disappointment making my voice flat. “I was in a car accident a year ago. It’s so realistic, I almost forget it’s fake sometimes.”
“I’m sorry.”
Yeah, me too, I wanted to say. For lying, for your completely unwarranted sympathy.
I needed a distraction. Something to steer his attention away from my arm, my past, the questions I couldn’t answer.
I pushed away from the wall, cocking my head. “Did you hear that?”
Hunter shot to his feet like his Vans were spring-loaded. “No, what was it?” he said, his eyes trained on the barn door.
My hand flew to my mouth to cover the smile that threatened to spill across my face. Hunter Lowe, who seemed so carefree and cool. Scared of a little bump in the night.
We both waited, him listening for a sound to follow the first imaginary one, and me pretending to listen. A horse snorted, followed by a solitary cricket chirp.
“Guess it was nothing,” I said a few seconds later.
“You sure?”
“Yeah, probably just one of the horses.”
His eyes flicked from me back to the door. “If your mom woke up . . .”
This time I was unable to stifle a small giggle. So that was it. Hunter was scared of being busted by Mom.
His shoulders relaxed. “Either way, I’d probably better go. Just to be safe.”
I led him to the door with slow steps, savoring every remaining moment. Once he vanished back into the night, the barn would feel empty again, robbed of his comforting presence. It would be quiet and still and lonely. “So were you really terrified of running into my mom back there? Disappointing.” I tsked.
He paused just as his lean fingers encircled the door handle. Out of nowhere, he turned and grabbed my hands.
I jumped, sending a strand of hair slipping forward into my eyes. Acutely aware that the space separating us had dwindled to mere inches.
“Yes, terrified . . . of being busted and ruining my chances to make a good first impression,” he said.
And then he stepped closer, and the entire world went still. I felt the soft swish of air on my forehead as his hand reached for my face. The warmth of his skin as his fingers slid down my wisp of stray hair. The sensation of my heart stopping as he leaned closer . . . only to pluck a loose bit of straw from the top of my head.
The smile that sprawled across his lips may have been a tinge smug as he tossed the straw to the floor. But he still didn’t make a move for the door. Instead, his hand slid under my chin, tilting my face up. My stomach coiled, my eyes closed. This, this was exactly what I needed.
One kiss, to turn my horrible nightmare into a fairy tale.
One kiss, to prove I was normal, once and for all.
One kiss, to give me a real story to tell.
But before his lips could so much as brush mine, a slamming door shattered our perfect moment. Our front door.
Mom.
Hunter released me and leaped back. I froze. For all my earlier teasing, the thought of Mom discovering I’d allowed someone onto the property at night made me slightly panicky. I couldn’t handle one of her lectures. Not tonight.
“Back door,” I whispered, pointing.
“See you tomorrow,” Hunter said. And then he bolted, running to the far end of the corridor, unlocking the latch, and slipping into the dark.
I hurried over and relocked the door behind him, turning just in time to see the other doorway frame a familiar figure.
“Mila? It’s late. You should come inside.”
Mom peered at me blearily. The red streaks in her eyes startled me, but I refused to soften. Especially not when I saw the emerald pendant peeping above her blue pajama top, restored to its former prominence around her neck.
Wrapping my arms around my waist, I padded over to her silently. I made a deliberate, conspicuous effort to duck the hand that reached for my shoulder, to avoid contact completely. She’d had plenty of opportunities for that kind of comforting before the big reveal. She’d chosen to pass them up then.
Now it was my turn to return the favor. Especially when every touch felt like a lie.
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