“You’re not the best speller, are you?”
A smile pulls at the edge of his mouth— and then mine. We share a long look, equally frustrated and amused by each other. A weird string strains between us, tugging at me, reminding me that I like him, I liked him from the start, I don’t want to fight with him.
Maybe I could tell him. He would understand, I think. He’s gruff and abrasive, a little mean, but also aware of cumbersome stuff like duty, responsibility, love. He wouldn’t judge me for doing what I needed to do. Maybe he’d help me through my last few months. Maybe I wouldn’t be so alone.
That just sounds . . . good. So good, I nearly say, Koen, I need you to know something.
But he would never keep a secret that big. And then Misery and Lowe and Ana would know, and I want better for them.
