Page 54 of Her Pretty Words

“Did you miss the ‘arrogant prick’ part? And no, you just don’t deservethoseeyelashes. Do you know how much money I’ll probably spend in my lifetime on mascara?”

“What’s mascara?”

I roll my eyes. “Exactly. Undeserving.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes,” I say. “You were the bane of my existence.”

He grins. “You done?”

“Yes. You’re turn.”

His face loses all amusement, he turns serious. “When I first met you, I thought you were the prettiest girl I’d ever seen.”

I tilt my head. Perhaps I took it a step too far when I called him the bane of my existence.

He continues. “You embodied the rays of a thousand suns. You were joy personified. I thought you were lovely, Mace.”

Is he being sarcastic? I was a grump who had just left her terrible fiancé and found out her flight was canceled. “Were you in a parallel universe that day?”

“Perhaps,” he says, but there something hidden beneath the word, and I can’t explain why, but I feel like I should know what it is. I rack my brain for a clue but come up empty. “We’re here,” he says. I was so focused on him that I hadn’t looked out the window. We’re parked in a grassy field, along with countless other cars.

Before I can ask where we are, he climbs out of his car and rounds the front to open my door. The sky is naked, with onlythe sun to keep it company. Not a single cloud. My skin warms but it’s not too hot out today. We must be experiencing our first cold front, and by cold front, I mean it’s probably sixty-eight degrees and sunny.

He links our arms and walks toward a crowd of people. There’s a labyrinth of pumpkins. The air smells of fresh cider and hay, and there’s children with face paint running between the legs of adults. He leads me to a wooden booth. “Two tickets, please,” Grayson says after we wait in line. The lady gives us bright green wrist bands and Grayson hands her his credit card.

We walk through an arch made of flowering vines. A black and yellow striped butterfly flutters past me. This place feels magical, with families and their jubilant children together. “What is this place?”

He finally answers me. “It’s the annual fall festival.”

“You come here every year?”

“No.” He doesn’t elaborate.

There are colorful booths made of wood, painted to represent what they are. I pull Grayson over to the spiked cider and buy us both a drink. It leaves a foam mustache on his lip after he takes a sip.

I spot a sign with an arrow pointing toward the corn maze entrance. I tug Grayson, walking fast enough that the contents of my cup spill over the edge, making my hand wet and sticky.

At the mouth of the maze, I meet his eyes and chug the rest of my drink. He takes my empty cup and stacks it with his.

“Close your eyes,” I whisper.

He looks at me with beautiful curiosity and then shuts them. His lashes cast a crescent shadow on both his cheeks, and a part of me wants to stay like this forever. With his eyes closed, unaware that I’m learning every detail of his face.

I take off running into the maze. A thrill of anticipation shoots down my body. My hair is flying behind me, and the wind caresses my face.

I try not to contemplate why I want him to catch me while I run to escape him, why the idea of him finding me is exhilarating. I don’t want to understand why I can’t fathom ever hating him, how the idea seems ridiculous now. I go to bed every night with excitement, knowing I’ll see him first thing in the morning on our runs. I see his eyes when I gaze up at the full moon. I seem to find him everywhere, even when he’s not around. I try not to pay attention to my body, the way it feels as if I’m falling down a wishing well, hoping I’ll find him at the bottom. I’m a liar when I convince myself I’m not having these thoughts, these feelings.

I don’t look behind me, I just run until I meet a dead end, then I turn back and go another direction. The rows of corn are a blur as I whiz past. I haven’t seen a single person yet.

I hear the crunch of hay beneath someone’s shoes nearing behind, until a firm body presses against my back, and two arms of steel wrap around me.

His breath is warm against my racing pulse, as he whispers, “You think you can hide from me?” He slowly steps in front of me. “It’s me who can’t escape you, darling.” Lips feathering mine, he says almost to himself, “I’ve already tried.”

Then he kisses me. Hard. Passionate. Dizzying.

It’s the kind of kiss you read in a story and wish to experience at least once in your life. The kind in a fairytale before you read the wordsthey lived happily ever after.This kiss is a maze in itself, and I’m lost. Nothing exists other than Grayson and his devouring lips. As if they could ever be mine, he steals them away, and then there’s just his eyes. And I think of a full moon hanging in the sky, shining light on everything.

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