Page 112 of Collided

How the fuck does breathing work?

I’m still processing her proximity, when her thin arms wrap around my waist tightly, and her body is pressed flush against mine.

I feel my heart jump, but she decides it’s not enough fucking damage, so she lies her head over my shoulder. Very close to my fast-beating heart.

Lavender scent. Warm body. Soft skin.

My heart skips beats like one does when jumping through a pond over stones.

She sniffles and my chest tightens.

My hackles rise. “What’s wrong?”

“Everything.”

“Tell me. I’ll fix it.”

“You already did.”

I’m beyond confused. “A little more fucking clarification please.”

She rests her chin on my chest and looks up at me with her teary eyes. “You got me the entire series. I’ve been waiting for it since I was eight.”

I stay quiet. Too stunned by her reaction.

“Why did you do it?” she asks.

“It was on sale.” The lie rolls over my tongue so smoothly even I'm impressed.

I did it becauseshe wanted it. When she told me, all I could think about was getting her those books. They cost a lot, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing else matters when it comes to her.

Hope doesn’t reply, and I’m in doubt whether she’s caught my lie.

My arms stay plastered to my sides. This isn’t how a hug is supposed to be. Maybe I should return it.

On that vague thought, I lift my arms and hesitantly put them over her back. At the feel of her body, my hands twitch.

I gulp hard to swallow the fountain of emotions climbing my throat like a damn viper.

Fuck. This feels good.

Hope sniffles on my shoulder. “Thank you so much.” Long gone are her tears—thank God, I don’t know how to deal with them—and instead, there is a smile that hits me straight in the heart.

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s something.”

Stepping away from me—much to my dislike—she hurries to her new stack of books, flipping through pages and running her hands over the covers.

A dreamy look flashes across her face.

She really is something. I’ve never seen anyone look at books the way she does. It’s like they’re a breath of fresh air, or perhaps the most beautiful artifact of the world that she’ll treasure for the rest of her life.

I can’t put into words what she looks like when she holds books, but thereisa word I can use for her.

Enchanting.

I stare long at her and realize how serene I feel when she’s doing something as mundane as reading a book.

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