Page 93 of Left-Hand Larceny
“Yeah,” he says softly. “It is.”
We reach his porch again. He drops Howl’s leash, lets the pup trot inside, and then leans against the rail, still holding my hand.
“Can I ask you something personal?”
His head tilts. “You can ask me anything.”
“Last night, during…sex…”
He straightens.
“You started speaking in Icelandic.”
He freezes.
“At least, I assumed it was. Unless you know more Polish than you let on. You didn’t realize?”
He shakes his head slowly. “No.”
“What did you say?”
He studies me for a long time. Like he’s deciding something. He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear, fingers lingering over my cheek, stroking my skin.
“You don’t remember, do you?” I tease. “Make a man cum and watch him lose his brain cells?” I’m trying for flippant, but the words fall flat. Almost bitter.
“Sadie,” he shakes his head, and pulls his hand back, stuffing it into the pocket of his sweatpants. “It’s not that.”
Oh. OH.
He ducks his head, meeting my eyes head-on. “Ask me again, Sadie. But not until you’re ready for the answer.”
I open my mouth, but no sound comes.
Because I think—I might want the answer more than I’m ready for it. And I’m pretty sure Ragnar already knows it. I think he might know me better than anyone. Maybe even better than I know myself.
He nods. Like he understands.
Like he’s hoping I’ll want it soon.
And I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready.
Sadie’s been quiet.
Not completely gone—just… less. Her texts are shorter. Her emojis are gone. She turned me down for stats help twice this week with polite excuses and a promise to “get back to it soon.” When I asked if everything was okay, she said she was “fine.”
Which is worse than “busy.” Worse than “tired.”
“Fine” means dead inside.
I stare at my phone like it might wake up and fix everything.
Three texts. No replies. The last one was dumb—a picture of Howl asleep with a tennis ball in his mouth. I’d even added a stupid caption. “Guarding his treasure. Miss you.”
Nothing.
She used to text back before I even locked my screen. She’d send emojis and over-punctuated sarcasm and unfiltered joy like it cost nothing. Now there’s just… silence.
I don’t know what I did. Or if I did something at all.
