Lauren Landish

“I like lemon flavored Italian water ice the best.”

A small laugh leaves my lips in a huff. “Lemon?” I say with a smile.

She looks up at me, expectantly. It takes me a moment to realize what she’s waiting for. “Cherry. I think I prefer cherry.”

“He saw the woman he loved.”

“We are different,” I start, and I see her cringe, waiting for whatever she thinks I’m going to say. “But different can be good,” I finish. “I don’t really get why you cry when you see a painting or don’t always say out loud what you’re thinking, and I definitely don’t understand how you can get art from your brain out to the real world. It’s magic, it’s witchcraft, it’s something I absolutely can’t do.”

“Sure, yeah,” she says dismissively. “But people don’t want—”

“I wasn’t done. Last but not least, quit saying you’re not pretty or that this is unbelievable.” I use her earlier words so she knows I heard her. “You’re beautiful, and anyone who doesn’t see that is an idiot.” I don’t add that I was one of those idiots a few short days ago. “Any man would be lucky to call you his.”

But all I can focus on are Luna and her soft breathing.

The concern for her takes over, and I can feel my heart speed up. I should call her. Just to check if she’s okay. And on her way.

“Hey, babe. I was worried about you.” And then, right there in front of my family, I kiss Luna like I own her. Like she owns me—body, heart, and soul. It’s quick but impactful. My family holds their collective breath.

I do my best to stay focused but find my mind wandering to Luna again and again. I keep checking to make sure she’s comfortable, that she’s got what she needs, and that no one is eyeballing her in a way that makes her nervous. I keep my hand on her thigh because it lets me feel in-sync with her, and I’ve noticed that every time she feels uncertain about something, she wiggles her feet, so by touching her, I can respond as soon as I feel the movement.

“Luna, I don’t care what you do or don’t eat. You’re beautiful, and in case you didn’t notice, I was loving your thigh beneath my palm tonight.”

Is Luna Starr flirting with me? If so, I am fucked.

“Water!” I say too loudly, virtually running for the kitchen. This girl has me on edge, and the slightest encouragement from her, when it’s only the two of us and my bed is a mere twenty-five steps away—yes, I’ve counted—is danger waiting to happen.