Page 29 of Red Flags Only

Golden hair swishes as she shakes her head, making a point to finish her breath. “Sorry,” she says. “You’re just so…” She gestures at me, and I nod.

“That I am. However, all of thatjust sohappens to be in your corner. You know that.”

She winces, and an endearingly pink blush steals over her face. “I do. I’m sorry. I think it’ll just take some time beforeI can fully reconcile you being Jupiter and you being Jove. I’ll try harder to make that happen quick, though. I don’t mean to make you feel bad.”

I frown. “You’re not making me feel bad. The issue is that you feel uncomfortable when you don’t need to, and I don’t like you feeling any negative thing. I want you happy. Comfortable. Content. The opposite of on edge. Sassy like in your letters. Sweet like in your blood.Everygood thing. You know?”

She blubs, adorable, then blurts, “Maybe don’t givewe need to talkenergy if you don’t want me to be uncomfortable?”

Ah, mouthy Lyra. Bless all.

My heart rate kicks up, adrenaline rushing through my blood. “Time for play,” I mumble. Then, louder, “I said ‘one more thing’. In what world does that givewe need to talkenergy?”

My breath stalls in my lungs as she hesitates, and I bite my cheek. Come on, Lyra love. Play with me.

“Every world?” she replies finally, and a pleased smile stretches across my face.

“Name three,” I order, all things obnoxious.

“Name three worlds?” she huffs. “Are you serious?”

“Dead,” I confirm. “Go ahead, name them.”

“Earth, Vulcan, and Andoria,” she counters.

I snort. “Are those Star Trek worlds?”

“Maybe,” she hedges. “Does that make a difference?”

“No,” I laugh. “It’s just adorable.”

Another blush washes over her cheeks. “What was your one more thing?” she asks.

Ah. “Right,” I say. “One more thing.” My brows furrow as I frown. “The letter.”

Her fingers twist together, and she glances at her butterfly, lower lip caught between her teeth. “The letter?You’re not taking it back, are you?”

What am I, a monster? “Of course I’m not taking it back. That’s yours to keep forever. I’m talking about the letter you’re going to write to me.”

She blinks, oh so innocent. “What about the letter I’m going to write you?”

“Mainly that I want it to actually happen, and I don’t trust that you’ll write it if I leave.”

Her mouth forms a cute little o, convincing exactly no one of her intention to write me back.

“You’re not fooling me,” I tell her. “You’re more likely to close the door on me and immediately start freaking out about me, our friendship, our movie night, our schemes, and our nugget sharing than you are to sit down and create a reply. Or, if you do sit down to reply to me, you’ll work yourself up about trying to match energies. As if I need a huge papier-mâché insect to be happy when I am, and always have been, content with your scraps.”

Blub, then, “You’re rather verbose.”

I snort. “Did you think the man who wrote you page-long letters and weaves words together for a living wouldn’t be verbose?”

Her eyes wander to the side, considering, then meander back. “That does make sense. I haven’t ever seen you talk much in person, I guess. At school? Or around town. You usually let your actions speak for you.”

“Show don’t tell,” I respond. “The first rule you learn when you start writing.” My hand lifts, fingers trailing a loose strand of soft blonde hair before tucking it behind her ear. “Some people, though, deserve the thoughts behind the action.” I smile, tapping her nose. “Now, about you replying to my letter?”

She sighs. “I’m going to reply to your letter, Jupe. I promise.”

“Excellent. Could I get that in writing? While I watch, perhaps?”

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