Page 35 of Mud

Maybe I just made it all up.

Maybe I should have?—

The sound of someone running something made of metal onto the railings of the stairs made the train of thoughts in my head come to a halt. I was still walking up the stairs without aim, trying to gather the courage to turn around and go back to my room—but then I heard that sound and I looked up, and my heart almost jumped out of me.

Taland was two floors up, looking down at me as he ran those rings on the railings slowly.

He was smiling.

I was smiling, too—impossible to help it.

He then continued to walk up the stairs, touching the railings with his rings all the while, and I followed him all the way to the last floor, down a short corridor that was empty by the time I reached it.

A door was open at the very end. Behind it was the rooftop deck, and Taland was there, wearing all black like the color was made for him, resting against the ledge that rose all the way to his hips, with his arms crossed and that grin on his face, his dimples to die for.

A table for two set in the very middle of the wide space, but I didn’t even glance at it twice.

Goddess, the way he looked in the light of the dying sun at his back…

My memories were liars—he was more beautiful than I remembered, and his smile was twice as perfect, if there even was such a thing. I couldn’t move at all. I just stuck to the doorway and prayed that I looked okay, that my hair wasn’t a frizzy mess—I should have tied it in a pony tail, damn it!—and that my smile didn’t make me look like a goof.

Then Taland moved away from the ledge. “Rosabel Miller,” he said, and I’d never wanted to wear a foreign skinso badly, mold with it completely. I wanted to be Rosabel Miller forever. “Welcome to our date.”

Finally able to move, I stepped onto the concrete rooftop deck as the door slowly swung closed behind me, and I was no longer shaking as badly, though I was still nervous.

“Wow,” was all I could come up with at the moment.

“I hope you like pasta, and I hope you don’t like wine,” he said, and I chuckled.

“You don’t want me to like wine?” Because there was a bottle of it on that table.

I hadn’t really had wine often, but Poppy had stolen bottles from the kitchen a couple of times, and though I didn’tlovethe taste of it when she shared, it wasn’t too bad.

“I want you to hate it together with me while we drink it,” Taland said, and now I was laughing.

“They do say misery loves company,” I said, and he came closer and closer until we were face-to-face right at the side of the table.

It was small and square, set with a black tablecloth, three candles in a golden candle holder, two empty plates, a tray covered with a silver dome, a bottle of red wine, and two glasses turned upside down.

Simple. Clean.Perfect.

“I’ll be Miseryif you’ll be Company,” he said, reaching out his hand for mine, and I immediately put it over his palm. He brought it to his lips and kissed my knuckles.

He actually kissed my knuckles.

Not only my cheeks, but every inch of my skin flushed as red as my dress.

“You look beautiful, Rosabel,” he said. “I’m glad you came.”

Speak, speak, say something!

I cleared my throat. “Thank you. You, too,” I said, then wanted to smack myself in the face.

He really did look beautiful, though. Hair messy but in a stylish way and eyes bright, cheeks smooth and dimpled, lips shaped like a heart, and a black shirt with the sleeves cut off, just like the white one of his uniform.

“I didn’t…see you anywhere,” I said, when he continued to just look at me, analyze my face like that, and I about died.

“I was watching you,” he said—and he was unapologetic about it.

---