Page 87 of Myla: The Hawthornes

“They’re good,” he said. He was watching me closely. Too closely. I fought the urge to fidget. Jesus, why was I being so weird? I hung out with tons of men that I didn’t have feelings for. I could act like a normal person for the half an hour he’d be at my house. I needed to snap out of it.

“Is Ronan still planning on coming out here at some point?” I asked when he didn’t elaborate further.

“You wanna talk about my brother?” he asked flatly.

“I’m making conversation,” I replied, my tone just as flat as his. “The last time I heard, Ronan was staying behind, but he wanted to try and move if he could.”

“He’s still workin’ on it.”

“Well, that’s good. I hope it works out.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“How’s Aisling feeling?” I stood straight again. The nonchalant leaning on the counter had started to feel awkward. “She hasn’t texted or anything.”

“She’s gettin’ settled. Had to bring her into the emergency room the other night—”

“Oh, shit,” I murmured.

“Turned out to be nothin’,” he said, shaking his head. “She’s healin’.”

“Good.”

Cian tipped his head to the side, watching me. “Why are you on the other side of the counter?”

“What do you mean?” I knew exactly what he meant.

“You’re standin’ over there like you need”—he gestured toward the counter—“some kind of barrier between us.”

“I’m just standing here.”

“What’s goin’ on, Myla?”

“Nothing.” I tossed my hands up. “Why do you keep asking that?”

“Because you keep givin’ me a bullshit answer and I’m waitin’ on the truth.”

“I’m just standing here.”

“All right,” he said, walking around the counter.

My heart raced as I forced my feet to stay planted. If he got close, I knew I would waver. It was impossible for me to be in Cian’s proximity without touching him. I didn’t even remember how at this point.

“You mad at me?” he asked softly. I held my breath when he reached out and brushed my hair out of my face.

“I’m not mad at you.” I took a step back, and his hand dropped.

“What the fuck, My?” The muscle in his jaw pulsed.

“I think—” I swallowed hard. We weren’t even together! It wasn’t as if I was trying to break up with him or something. “I think we need to set some boundaries.”

“Boundaries,” he repeated slowly.

“Yeah, just, you know—” I took another step backward, slamming the small of my back into the edge of the counter. “We’re friends, right? So, let’s just do that. Be friends.”

“What the hell are you on about?” he asked, frustration and the slightest hint of an accent bleeding through.

“Hands to ourselves,” I said desperately. The directions from elementary school were the first thing I could think of.

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