Page 68 of XOXO

She freezes, the tongs in her hand halfway through coating lettuce in dressing.

“Is that going to be a problem for you?”

“You lying or you being a changeling?”

“Either. Both.”

“I want to know why you were here first. And why you’re in my apartment.”

She sets down the utensil and skirts around the kitchen island.

Brynn stands close enough I can smell the soft, candy like, floral scent of her perfume.

“There’s no aunt,” she admits.

“No shit.”

“I wanted to raid your storage and Jay walked in while I was trying to figure out where things were.”

“And you thought, Hey, let’s fuck with Vi’s head. That’s a night of fun?”

“No, not at all, little bloom. I just . . . Jay caught me and it rattled me. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be there because of the holiday. I thought if I told him I was taking the patrol, he’d leave and I could go about my business.

“And then you walked in, and it made me mad. You were there, this beautiful, sharp woman, alone on Valentine’s Day, needing someone to keep you company. I’d already sold the lie about my great aunt to cover for my presence.”

She straightens the hem of my shirt and steps closer.

“There’s something about you, Vi. Something I can’t resist. I’ve tried to stay away. Even watching you breathe in your sleep is fascinating. I don’t know why, but I need more.”

I peer up at her, and her eyes hold that wide, uncanny intensity I’d doubted and disregarded. Iridescent purple rims, deep ocean-blue irises.

“Do you want me to leave?” she asks and drops her hands. Brynn, always so overbearing, tucks her shoulders like she’s ready for me to reject her.

Do I want her to? No.

I should. Everything I’ve read says that it’s a bad idea to let her stay.

I can’t trust her. There’s no reason to.

Except, she leans forward and places a soft kiss on my lips. It’s sorrowful and repentant, and it slices my hesitation in half.

She deepens the kiss, her arms wrapping around me, and the play of her lips is gentle and encouraging.

Brynn proves she’s earnest by showing me.

She’s sweet and considerate as she kisses the breath right out of me.

“I’ll make it up to you,” she promises.

“And if you can’t?”

It’s an honest question. I don’t know how to trust her again, even if I want to.

“I’m not used to being around others long-term, but I’d like to try.”

Several long moments pass, but I can’t muster another answer.

She seems to sense my internal conflict.

---