Текст книги "Fever dream"

Автор книги: Elsie Silver

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

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CHAPTER 19

Julia

Theo

Honestly, Jules. Can you tell me ANYTHING? What about the title? I’ve been deep diving online, searching for clues, and reading fan theories. But it’s a brand-new show, and there’s zero information.

Julia

You need a hobby.

Theo

It’s the offseason. I’m bored. Have pity on me, sis!

Julia

You’re annoying. Go bug Winter. She signed up for you. I was born into this without consent.

Theo

I tried!

Theo

But she gave me that hot, grumpy look she does and told me to stop trying to make another baby. Apparently, it’s “too soon.”

Julia

Too much information, Thee.

Theo

I told her we could practice so that when the time is right, we’ll basically be professional.

Julia

I genuinely do not want to know this.

Theo

I’ll stop if you tell me SOMETHING.

Julia

Something.

The view from the top of Prickle Point is as beautiful as I remember. Emmett did not lead me astray with this suggestion. It’s the perfect spot for the show to film. As the crew buzzes around, arranging the set, their excited energy filling the air, I’m more puffed up than I have any right to be.

Glowing reference from Executive Producer Richard Wadsworth, here I come.

Ben, our director of photography, sidles up next to me, arms crossed while gazing out over the valley with a smile. “Your pictures didn’t do this spot justice.”

I grin and nod. “Well, Emmett suggested it. I just went digging.”

“It’s definitely the perfect spot for a romantic date,” Ben says dryly before his gaze lands on where Emmett stands. Richard is talking at him, hands flailing at a rapid pace as he explains… whatever he’s explaining. He carries on, moving around the space, acting out how he wants the scene to go.

“Dick Wad’s really micromanaging this one, huh?” Ben says, not bothering to keep the disdain from creeping into his voice.

I turn slowly in his direction, trying not to laugh at the joke. “Wait, do you call him Dick Wad too?”

The man slides his gaze to me. “Girl, we all call him Dick Wad. Because he is one. Why do you think your predecessor marched away from this gig without a backward glance?”

“Wait, really? I thought she got another job.”

Ben tilts his head, giving me a come-now sort of look. “Yeah, maybe one day. When he decides to take her off his Hollywood blacklist for leaving us with a last-minute opening.”

My mouth opens, but no words emerge for several beats. I was the last-minute hire? All I can think to say is, “I had no idea.”

“Just keep doing what you’re doing and you’ll be fine.” He pats my shoulder and traipses away, chuckling to himself, like I’ve said something funny. But this isn’t funny. This development does nothing other than stress me out. Because I do not want to have my career ruined by Richard before it’s even started.

With Ben gone, I try to refocus. He said I’ll be fine, and I’m sure that I will. Still, I stand facing out, my back toward the trees so that I don’t take a dazed tumble into a pile of cacti. I refuse to make that same mistake twice.

Last time, this spot was perfectly peaceful. This time, the crew spreads out, placing lights and microphones while setting up a picnic on a red-and-white-checkered blanket. I watch them place a wicker basket filled with snacks in the center, then a bouquet of flowers, and a bottle of chilled champagne.

It’s supposed to appear to audiences that Emmett went out of his way to set this up. But I know he’s had no hand in it. He’s too busy being coached by Richard.

For a beat, his eyes flash to mine so quickly that I doubt anyone else would notice. He turns his attention back to the showrunner, but I don’t miss the flash of uncertainty in his eyes.

It confuses me. He confuses me.

When I first found out Emmett was going to be the bachelor on Romance Ranch, my first thought was, Of course he would. He’d be perfect for this.

But that was before I knew him.

That was before I’d had a taste of his biting humor or witnessed the streak of tenderness beneath all the hard edges.

There’s no denying that Emmett has been known to get around. But what I’ve learned is that doesn’t preclude him from also being thoughtful and honest and dedicated. And in recent weeks, I’ve made peace with the fact that both versions of him can exist at once.

I’ve also learned that he doesn’t readily share every part of himself. Except with me—or so it would seem. Outwardly, he’s closed off and wrapped up. But when we’re one-on-one, his layers unfurl, and I always look forward to finding out more about who he really is.

That curiosity pulls me closer as I edge along the tree line, eavesdropping on what Richard is saying to him.

“So they’re all going to come up here, right?” Richard’s excitement is palpable, where Emmett’s is… not. His arms are crossed, his tongue popping into his cheek—something I now recognize as a telltale sign that he’s holding back from saying what’s on his mind.

“Right up here, right up the path. And they’re going to come here,” Richard continues, oblivious to the way Emmett’s jaw works as he keeps talking. “And then they’re going to see this beautiful picnic that you’ve set up for one lucky lady.”

“Okay, and what have I set up for them?”

“Pfft. You know. All the stuff chicks love. Champagne, cheese, berries, chocolate—they say it’s an aphrodisiac, you know?” He adds a sleazy wink. “And you just have to sit here and chitchat with this girl like she’s going to be the mother of your children one day.”

Emmett grimaces, and I stifle a laugh.

“Any thoughts on which girl you’re going to choose?”

Emmett’s head tips back and forth in consideration. “I was thinking—”

“Evelyn, right?” Richard provides firmly. It’s phrased as a question, but everyone on set knows he isn’t asking.

I swallow the lump in my throat. Just from reading Emmett’s body language, I can tell Evelyn is not who he was going to say.

“Good call,” Richard says before Emmett can get a word in edgewise. But I don’t miss the way he sighs as his shoulders slump forward slightly. “She’s perfect,” Richard forges ahead, not picking up on his bachelor’s feelings. Or he is, and he just doesn’t care. That seems more likely.

“There’s already tension behind the scenes in the bunkhouse with her and the girls. When they walk up here and see the picnic you laid out? All with Evelyn in mind? Ka-boom!” Dick Wad’s arms go wide as he reenacts an explosion. “Just like that, we’ve got ourselves great TV.”

He slaps Emmett on the shoulder like the friends they are not. And it’s clear he’s not at all in the business of helping people meet each other. He might as well be producing a soap opera as far as I’m concerned.

“Is that… what we want?” Emmett doesn’t sound convinced.

Richard barks out a laugh. “Of course, it’s what we want. We want ratings. We want drama. We want catfights.”

I stifle a groan, because that is not what we want. My recent research on reality dating shows tells me that Richard is an old-school producer, focused on creating trash TV. I know there are newer, more progressive sets that encourage healthy communication and let real relationships unfold. Ones where they have psychologists on set. Sometimes, nothing happens in an entire episode except two people getting to know each other. Some of these shows even have a reasonable success rate, with couples who go on to get married, have children, or live whatever their version of happily ever after looks like.

But Romance Ranch isn’t going to be one of them.

“To be honest with you, Richard, I wasn’t planning on picking Evelyn.”

“Bah,” he waves him off. “It’s just one date. She’ll get the ball rolling. Just think, whichever girl you’re into is going to see Evelyn getting your attention, and she’s going to step up her game. She’s going to want it even more.”

This time, Emmett doesn’t bother hiding the look of distaste on his face. “Are you recommending that I gaslight a girl into liking me more?”

“Call it what you want. I know this strategy works. I’ve used it a few times myself. Solid success rate guaranteed.”

Richard throws his head back in laughter, as if he enjoys messing with people’s lives and sanity. Once he catches his breath, his tone turns serious once more.

“And stop being such a fucking prude, Emmett. When the lighting’s right and the sun’s getting low, do me a solid and kiss the girl, all right?”

Emmett doesn’t respond, but the muscle in his jaw flexes as he stares down his nose at the older man. When Richard leaves him, Emmett’s eyes meet mine.

And then he winces before turning away, as if it hurts to look at me.

He chooses Evelyn.

My stomach sinks hard and fast when I hear him speak her name. And based on the other daters’ reactions, they aren’t impressed either. Akira and Catherine had turned to whisper into each other’s ears. And the look that Jada shot Richard was one of skepticism—one that tells me the other women might be more aware than he’s giving them credit for.

As for me? I’m torn.

On one hand, I’m horrified Richard pressured Emmett into this. On the other hand, I’m glad he chose her. This farm means everything to his family, and if playing along means they get the paycheck they desperately need to keep it all afloat, then how could I ever judge him?

I’d do the same for my mom or brother.

Fierce loyalty. We have that in common. And where other people may not understand his dedication to this cause, I do.

It doesn’t mean that standing here watching them sit on a picnic blanket making small talk feels great, though. Evelyn puts on a show for the camera, toasting champagne with a knowing glance, licking her lips as she stares at Emmett’s mouth.

Standing beneath a tree, I watch as she rubs his knee and tells him it seems like he needs some help releasing “all that tension.” As though people carry sexual tension in their knees.

To Emmett’s credit, he doesn’t return her affection. He plays his part, but his eyes have shuttered.

They talk, but it’s all surface level. He explains what his day-to-day life on the farm looks like and how it differs from being on the road, traveling from rodeo to rodeo for months on end to chase points. Hoping and praying you accrue enough to qualify you for the WBRF finals.

I’ve seen my brother do it. It’s a tough life. The injuries are perpetual. The risk is endless. Your family’s worry? Constant.

It’s why I don’t do cowboys.

As it turns out, Evelyn is a life coach. I have to swallow my laugh, because who the hell is taking life advice from this woman? She talks about wanting to be an actress as a child and how hard it’s been to give up that dream. That disappointment, she says, led her into life coaching. When Emmett asks about her qualifications, she skims the question and explains how she can do her job from anywhere—something that would, according to her, make traveling with him or working from the farm easy for her.

Possessiveness flashes hot and bright inside me. It comes in a searing wave that washes over me when she mentions living on the farm. Here. In my valley. Where I’d run into them.

It’s not like I personally want to live on the farm with Emmett. That’s not even on the table. But I sure as shit don’t want Evelyn doing it. Living that life. Having breakfast with the Brandts. All at once, I feel fiercely protective of their family—of what they’ve built here.

“Wow,” Evelyn breathes, pushing up onto her knees to face over the ridge. Her hand stays on Emmett’s knee.

From somewhere a few people down, Richard whispers eagerly, “Yes, perfect. Just like we talked about. Good girl, Evelyn.”

I swallow down my growing disdain for the man and remind myself that I’m just here to do my job.

But it doesn’t help the lurching sensation that’s taken over my gut. I will it away, but it sticks there, consuming me with every passing second. Unease spreads through me as I watch them.

The sinking sensation is making me worry that somewhere along the way, Emmett has started to feel less like a job and more like… something else. Something he shouldn’t.

As the sun drops toward the low-slung mountains, the light atop Prickle Point takes on a golden pinkish hue, casting the entire set in a stunning glow.

And like that’s her signal, Evelyn leans in toward Emmett.

“This has been the perfect date,” she whispers, just loud enough for the cameras to pick up.

I know what’s coming, and I want to look away… but I can’t.

I freeze, staring raptly as Evelyn draws closer to Emmett’s mouth.

Her arms hook over his shoulders, but his hands stay planted behind his body where he’s propped himself up on the checkered blanket.

I suck in a harsh breath when her lips press against his, my throat constricting as I look on in fascinated dismay.

He freezes. His hands stay planted on the ground. His eyes stay open. They land on mine.

She’s kissing him, but he’s looking at me.

This is what we’re here for. This is the job. And still, a trickle of unwelcome nausea roils in my throat as I hold his gaze. He looks… mortified.

When she moves to lift one leg to sit astride his lap, our connection snaps. Emmett shifts, jerking away as though he’s been burned. And it sends Evelyn tumbling off the blanket, toward the downhill slope.

She catches herself with her palms. Right on the clusters of cacti that I am all too familiar with. It elicits a shocked squeal from her as she rears back on her haunches and lifts her hands to inspect.

They are full of the same spines that I had in mine. She breathes hard, tears welling in her eyes, and if I didn’t irrationally dislike her as much as I do, I might sympathize with her.

Instead, I’m almost gleeful. And it reminds me of when I learned the German word schadenfreude during a philosophy course at university. It describes the feeling of finding pleasure in someone else’s troubles. And I remember thinking, what a perfect word because anyone who could look me in the eye and say they’ve never felt that way is a big, fat liar.

Which is why I don’t beat myself up as a nasty little voice inside of me murmurs “good.”

It’s just a little schadenfreude. Perfectly natural.

“Oh my god,” she whimpers. “Emmett, can you help me?”

I could stomach the kiss, but the thought of watching him take care of her the way he took care of me sends hot, stabbing, undeniable jealousy through my gut.

Emmett looks at her, then at me, his head tilting ever so slightly. Richard follows his line of sight, looking perplexed when it leads to me.

And after what Ben told me about the last location manager’s demise I don’t want to be at the center of whatever this is. So, I turn away, pretending to take a call that is entirely made up.

I don’t want to get myself into trouble and do not want to watch any retakes either.

Desperate to get away, I walk down the path, silent phone pressed to my ear, away from the scene playing out on camera. My presence is no longer necessary in any professional capacity. I’m just hanging around on set for no reason other than trying to learn as much as possible.

The tree line swallows me, but not before I hear Emmett’s voice ring out through the evening air. “Actually, I’m really not good with blood.”

A loud groan follows, then an irritated-sounding “Cut!”

I don’t turn back. I continue down the mountain feeling strangely flayed open and satisfied all at once.

Because Emmett seemed to handle my bloody hands just fine.

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CHAPTER 20

Emmett

I WAKE UP EARLY with an unfamiliar weight pressing against my sternum.

Guilt.

Partially because kissing Evelyn felt all wrong, but also because Prickle Point holds so many memories for me. Wholesome family memories with people I love. Parker, Riley, Evan, Oma, and Opa.

If I close my eyes, I can even see flashes of having gone there with my mom and dad.

And now I’ve sullied it.

The discomfort of lying with that realization draws me out of bed before the sun is even up. It has me agitated and unsettled.

I make a pot of coffee and scroll social media, but I’m distracted. Not myself. Like a dog with fleas, I can’t stop itching, can’t get comfortable.

All I want is space and fresh air, to move my body. This unrest is what drives me to do risky things. It’s what gets me on a bull. It’s what sends me searching for my next conquest.

Neither of which is an option right now. So I pour my coffee into a thermos, slip into a pair of gym shorts, lace up my sneakers, and make my way out of the cottage. I pop my earbuds in to blast something distracting and head toward Prickle Point.

When I hit the trail, I decide I won’t just go for a simple hike. I make it hurt and run the incline just to challenge myself—just to clear my mind. My lungs burn as badly as my quads do. They are screaming by the time I near the top.

The air is still cool against my damp skin as I suck in deep breaths and slow to a walk, approaching the peak.

I wipe the back of my hand over my forehead and sigh. The view from here makes the pain worth it. And I’ve made it just in time to watch the sun come up over the horizon.

“Yeah. You’ve got this.” I puff the words out as I gaze at the sky. Giving myself a pat on the back for adding the memory of an intense cardio workout to Evelyn straddling my lap.

Genius.

Shaking my head, I take a sip of my coffee. It’s not refreshing, but I know I’ll need the caffeine boost to make it through today.

The sound of a throat clearing startles me. “In the interest of not being a creepy back seat prowler like someone I know, I feel the need to announce my presence.”

I spin, and there is Julia. Hair pulled up in a high ponytail, spilling down her neck like a waterfall. Her face is scrubbed clean, and she’s wearing those tight little bike shorts she’s always sporting, along with an oversize Stal Brandt crewneck.

The sight of our family farm logo emblazoned across her chest sends an unexpected surge of pleasure through me.

“Funny,” I deadpan, covering for the unfamiliar warmth in my chest. She’s surprised me, but I’m not mad about her presence here. Still, I find it hard to look at her after yesterday.

I’m tempted to apologize. To beg her to forgive me. And for what? She understands what this show is. Hell, she’s the one who told me to own it—to sell it. She probably doesn’t care at all. And yet the guilt from this morning floods my senses, rushing through me like water from a broken dam.

I turn back to face the valley just to escape the sensation. It’s one I don’t know that I’ve felt before where my love life is concerned. Shame. Remorse. Regret.

She moves forward carefully, coming to stand beside me. Her elbow brushes mine, a gentle olive branch extended. And I make no move to create any space between us.

“Are you stalking me, Baby Silva?”

Julia snorts. “You wish.”

I joggle my head, not entirely mad at the idea.

It only earns me an eye roll.

“What are you doing here?”

She hikes a thumb over her shoulder, pointing out a black garbage bag. “Making sure the crew didn’t leave any garbage or equipment behind so the city can’t find any reason to fine us. Very glamorous, I know.”

The sun is just peeking over the horizon. She works too hard, but I don’t tell her that. Instead, I nod, peering out over the lake, toward the mayor’s house. Palatial in its design, the home takes up several waterfront lots. “Good call, the mayor is a royal douchebag.”

She peers up at me. “Oh, yeah?”

I shrug. “Parker dated his son pretty seriously. Ended poorly. Now I have to hate their entire bloodline purely out of solidarity.”

I do hate the mayor. I also hate everything he stands for. Cascade Valley is a study in juxtaposition. From up here, you can see it plain as day. The ultrawealthy all blend in with the ultrahardworking. Perfectly manicured downtown streets bleed into high-end neighborhoods, then stretches of farms. Most lakefront property gets snapped up at eye-bulging prices by professional athletes and corporations hoping to build resorts. The rest of us are left clinging to the outskirts, trying to make a living and keep our heads above water.

I glance over as Julia nods, gazing out over the valley serenely. Warm, rosy light illuminates her every feature. She looks beautiful. It’s a sight I’ll never forget.

She takes me aback when she declares, “Now I hate them too.”

I can’t help it. I bark out a laugh, gazing back at her with approval. “Just like that?”

She shrugs. “Just like that.” She points at the front of her sweatshirt. “I’m Team Brandt.”

I turn and gaze over the valley again, trying my damnedest not to gawk at her. “I appreciate that, actually. Seems like every other member of the crew is Team Bottom Line.”

Or Team Evelyn. I don’t want her here. I just want to stand beside this woman—one I genuinely enjoy—and soak in the view.

“Most of them are,” she replies with no hint of doubt.

I incline my head toward her. “Show isn’t what you thought it would be?”

She smiles, the painted sky reflecting on her glossy lips. “No.”

“You’re in good company then.”

“Gotta tough it out, though. I need this on my résumé.”

“For what?”

She sighs wistfully. “The next gig.”

“Which is?”

She glances over at me. “Eventually? Major motion pictures. Directing, hopefully.” Her expression turns bashful. “A pie-in-the-sky goal, I guess.”

“You can do it.”

She turns to face me now. “You don’t know that.”

“Yeah, I do. You’re here at the crack of dawn putting in the hours. You’re the last one to leave at night. It’ll happen.”

She snorts, as though she’s amused by my belief in her. “You sound like my dad.”

Any bull rider in the world would be honored to be compared to Gabriel Silva. “Do I now?”

“When I was little, I asked him what he’d do if he couldn’t be a professional bull rider. And he told me in that lilting Portuguese accent of his that he’d direct action movies. Mission Impossible. Top Gun. Movies with explosions and stunts. But where he didn’t have to put himself at risk. He knew I always worried about him riding, so now I wonder if he only said that to pacify me.”

She chuckles fondly, tongue darting out over her bottom lip. “But that was the same day I told him I wanted to direct movies too. At first, it started out as a little girl’s dad hero worship, but over time, it became… real. He always told me I could make it happen if I worked hard enough. Well, until…”

She hits me with the saddest smile. One that has me rushing in to patch up the wound she’s just revealed to me.

“Wise words from a wise man.”

Lines crop up beside her eyes as she squints to regard me. Like she isn’t sure what to make of me right now.

“He was a good dad.”

I dip my chin in agreement. “I have no doubt.”

She turns away, looking at the rising sun. “Sorry yours sucks. I shouldn’t be waxing poetic about mine knowing what I know.”

A snort lurches from me. “You can talk about him to me any time you want. Mine… well, he is what he is.”

“Do you see him much?”

I give a sharp shake of my head. “No.”

“So you’ve gone no contact?”

I sigh. Fucking Carl. He’s a fucking prickle in my ass. “No, not that either.”

“Why not?”

“I guess…” I grapple with my next words. “I guess after losing one dad, completely cutting out another one—shitty as he might be—feels like a big step. Gonna have to deal with some feelings that I’d rather just gloss over and ignore.”

“Healthy,” Julia deadpans.

And I find myself watching her. Wondering why I am so damn comfortable talking to her. Sharing with her.

It’s fully out of character for me. But when she’s around, I’m like a leaky fucking faucet, dripping my baggage all over the goddamn place.

“Yeah, he can be awful. Yeah, he’s hard on me. But I’m only as good a bull rider as I am thanks to him. He’s a piece of shit, but he’s a hell of a coach. And I’ve learned to endure his tirades and pluck out the useful bits of wisdom he weaves in with all the insults. It’s easier than the drama of cutting him out completely.” I shrug before adding, “Not all of us get Gabriel Silva as a mentor.”

I raise a brow at her, referring to Rhett Eaton, her brother’s friend and coach, who was Gabriel’s lucky chosen one when he first started on the circuit.

“Okay, well, when you’re ready to hate him in solidarity, let me know. I’m game for that too.” She points at her sweater again while tossing me a wink. “Team Brandt, not Bush.”

Team Brandt. Not Bush.

God, no wonder I don’t want to kiss any of the contestants.

Not when she’s everywhere. Just being her. Making me question everything with the most simple sentiments.

I know I’m not after a relationship, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to just… spend time around Julia. Surprisingly, we get along. And there’s nothing wrong with enjoying her company while we’re both stuck here, working on a show that is nothing like we thought it would be.

She might be the only person on this set that I have anything in common with. And I can’t seem to stay away from her, so why keep fighting it?

Like she’s giving her silent agreement, we fall into a companionable silence, watching the sun rise side by side. Birds chirp in the trees, signaling the start of a new day, and the swelter of Emerald Lake’s summer expands over the horizon, heating the air.

“Beautiful,” she murmurs, dark eyes glowing as she soaks it all in. There’s something soothing about her—peaceful.

I swallow and shift on my feet. The sunrise might be even more jaw-dropping than the sunset. Or maybe it’s just the company. “Keep this time of day under wraps or Richard will drag us back up here to film another kiss take,” I joke. Trying to test the waters after last night. Make sure that she’s not… I don’t know.

That she doesn’t hate me. For some reason I can’t stand the thought of Julia Silva hating me.

“Please, he’s going to have to hire a coach for you after last night.” Then she leans toward me, bumping her shoulder against mine in a show of camaraderie. “You were awkward as fuck, Bud.”

My jaw drops in shock. “Are you joking? Kissing is an actual strength of mine. It’s on my résumé. I’m basically a professional at interacting with women.”

A grin tugs up one side of her mouth as she turns to face me, amusement dancing in her eyes. Her arms lift as she moves in jerky mechanical motions. “Why do you act like a virginal robot in front of the camera then?”

I turn to face her head-on, staring at her, agape.

And she laughs in my face.

“A virginal robot?”

“Just calling ’em like I see ’em, Brandt.”

With that, she holds herself rigid, opens her eyes almost comically wide, and leans forward with only her neck while puckering her lips.

She’s laughing. Making an offensive mockery of my kissing abilities.

“Maybe I don’t want to kiss any of these women. And that’s why it looks so ridiculous. Ever think about that?”

She snorts, and it’s completely unladylike. “Well, you better find some motivation because this shit is just getting started.”

Running my tongue over my teeth, I regard her from below furrowed brows. “Very inspiring. Very directorial.” I turn my feet, positioning myself to face her. “Pretend you’re actually my director. Put all that fancy school to work. What would you tell me to do? Imagine everyone naked?”

“I kind of assume you already do that, to be honest. It’s your default setting.”

“Well, what am I, a pervert or a virginal robot?”

She brings me up short when she blurts, “You’re trying too hard.”

“Oh?” I step closer, the rush of a challenge flaring inside of me.

“Yeah. You need to loosen up. Act natural.” She reaches up, gripping my shoulders and maneuvering them—as though that will help.

Before I can think better of it, I crowd her and reach for her waist. She sucks in a startled breath and stares down at my palms covering her hip bones.

“Like this?” I ask, quirking my head.

Not feeling the least bit robotic or virginal with my hands on her.

“Getting there.” Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, eyes flicking between mine in question.

But I don’t have any answers for my behavior right now.

“And this?” I lower my head slowly, the tip of my nose grazing her hair. It smells fresh, sweet and herbal all at once.

“Sure. Yeah. Better.”

I’m close enough to hear her throat work as she swallows.

“Hmm,” I hum, considering my next move. I’m close to crossing a line, but I barrel toward it anyway. “I could do something like this…” Lifting one hand, I drag my knuckles up the side of her neck. A ragged sigh racks her body, and for a beat, I swear she leans into my touch.

My heart rate accelerates as I move up, fingers lifting to tip her chin, so she’s forced to meet my gaze.

With a smirk, I drop closer, my lips nearing hers. Just a breath away. “Is this better for you, Julia?”

“Yeah,” she inhales, eyes searching mine as though she’s confused by what’s happening but refuses to back away either. “Something like this would be fine.”

“I’m so glad you approve,” I whisper, gaze dropping to her mouth as my pulse thunders in my ears. “I’ll try to be less virginal for you going forward.”

I rub my thumb across her bottom lip and pull away, watching her take one long blink.

“Later, Jules,” I say casually before I turn and walk away. Leaving so that I can process whatever the fuck just overtook me.

And as I retreat, I blink, too, but it doesn’t lift the spell. Which is fine by me.

I came here to fix the damage I’d done to my cherished Prickle Point memories.

And it worked.

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