Page 34 of The Cruelty of Thorns

And then he released me, taking his heat away as he stepped back and turned down the hallway. Within seconds he had exited out the door and was gone, leaving me once again wondering if I had imagined the entire thing.

I stood there for a full minute, trying to get myself under control. What had just happened? I could feel my lips still burning from his touch, his taste still coating my tongue. A door opened somewhere, sounds of activity, then someone speaking to me.

“Are you all right?”

I looked up at a young man in a white chef’s coat holding a black trash bag. Obviously he worked in the kitchen.

“Yeah,” I managed to say. “Just felt a little dizzy.”

“Do you need me to call anyone?”

“No, I’ll be fine. Thank you.”

I turned and headed back through the door to the diningroom, wondering how I was going to get through this evening.

If Ron suspected anything when I got back to the table, he didn’t mention it. I listened while he carried most of the conversation, managing to comment when prompted, but I felt like I was sleepwalking through the meal. By the time we had finished eating, I was sure he’d never want to see me again, but he was still the perfect gentleman. Mama Capellini came out to our table to wish us a good night when we rose to leave, hugging me tightly, and I felt like I would collapse against the woman.

Once out on the street, I couldn’t stop my eyes from scanning the shadows, wondering if he was out there watching me. If he would try something more forceful to intervene. He said he didn’t like seeing me with Ron. I knew I should’ve been mad about that–what right did he have to tell me who I could or couldn’t see–but I couldn’t erase the feeling of his lips on mine, the taste of his tongue in my mouth. The way his body felt pressed against mine.

“You never answered me,” Ron was saying.

I looked at him, racking my brain to remember what he had asked.

“About your artwork. When did you start drawing?”

I exhaled, fought for control. Stay in the moment, I scolded myself. “I guess when I was in kindergarten. Art was always my favorite part of the day.”

I didn’t want to talk about this, but I couldn’t run away from him again. He would surely think I was crazy. And the truth was, I did like him. He was sweet and charming, not to mention very good looking, and if the evening had gone the way it had started, I was sure I would have had a wonderful first date.

But then Julianus happened.

“How about you?” I asked, deflecting. “When did you start drawing?”

“I guess it was when I started reading comics and fantasy books. That was around the fourth grade. I just drew stuff from my imagination, mostly doodles in class at first.”

I nodded. “Yeah, me too. Half the time I don’t even realize I’m doing it.”

“I’d hate to see how good you’d be if you concentrated,” he chuckled.

I shrugged. “It was once very important to me.”

“What happened?”

I turned away from him, swallowing the lump that had suddenly formed in my throat. “I lost someone.”

He reached for my hand and squeezed it, his eyes finding mine in the dark. “It’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it.”

I looked at him as a wave of gratitude washed over me. We walked in companionable silence until we reached the campus, and I noticed he hadn’t released my hand.

“A few of us are getting together this weekend to go to the lake north of town. Take a lunch, play some flag football. I was wondering if you’d like to go.”

“How do you get there?” I asked.

“I have a car, and we usually double up for the people who don’t. We go a few times a semester. I’m sure Kristin will be there. It’s a good time.”

I thought about that. Of having friends to do normal things with. I’d never had that.

Then I remembered what happened earlier outside the restroom. I don’t like seeing you with him. It was away from town; surely he wouldn’t follow me there.

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