Page 93 of All's Fair in Love and Blackmail

For example, I did not know I was such a coward. It was not until exactly thirty seconds ago that I realized this unfortunate truth.

But I have seen the harsh, glaring, blinding light.

I take a deep breath and stare at Cyrus’s front door some more. I’ve been staring for several minutes, so I may as well round it off with a bit more of an inspection. It’s red—interesting choice for Cyrus—and the knocker is probably going to turn into a face at any moment, like inMuppet Christmas Carol, after which it will proceed to laugh itself silly at me.

Get it together.

I’ve sort of lost the right to flip Cyrus the bird and do whatever I want. So I knock sharply on the door.

Nothing.

I knock again, louder this time. When a rustle finally sounds against the door from inside, I let my fist drop.

Except…he still doesn’t answer the door.

And that’s when I realize he’s making me wait on purpose. I roll my eyes and pound on the door this time.

“Open the door, you son of a—” But I break off as I glance around; I’m outside, and this looks like a neighborhood where kids might live. So I bite my tongue and knock again.

When he still doesn’t open the door, I call, “I’m going around back and I’m going to break your window.”

One foot is off the porch when the door finally,finallylurches open, revealing Cyrus.

The look he gives me is definitely grumpier than usual. In fact, it’s aglare.

“Can I come in?” I say, but I don’t wait for him to answer. He’s lucky I’m trying to remain polite at all after refusing to open up. So I step inside and muscle past him—he puts up a fight, clearly feeling extra petty—and then see myself into the living room. Poppy isn’t here, so I take her usual seat on the couch.

I hear the door slam shut from the front, but I don’t let myself wince. When Cyrus storms in, I don’t let myself cower then, either.

“Why are you here?” he demands, flinging himself into his chair. His hair is a little messier than usual, and his shirt looks like it’s been slept in; I think I’ve caught him deep in a research hole.

I swallow and sit up straighter. “Wanted to tell you that I’m going to date your sister.”

And although he glares at me some more, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses, Cyrus doesn’t look surprised. “What if I say no?” he finally says, his jaw ticking.

I shoot him an apologetic look and a little shrug. “I’m probably going to do it anyway. If she says yes, of course.”

I told India I didn’t know how I felt. It was true. But I know now. I might even have realized earlier if I hadn’t been so scared.

Which is so stupid, by the way. I shouldn’t be scared of falling in love. I don’t have some tragic past. My heart has never been broken irreparably.

Somehow I’ve been afraid anyway, running from the ways people change—the waysImight change—hunting down fun as though it’s any replacement for happiness.

I don’t know. I don’t understand everything. Sometimes I’m not sure I understand anything. But I like her. I think I even like her a lot.

That’s enough for me to go on with, even if it feels scary.

“You let her into your house,” Cyrus says, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“Yeah,” I say, a little surprised now. “I mean—just the once.”

He eyes me, his fingers drumming on the arm of his chair, his expression less overtly threatening now. “You don’t ever let people into your house.”

My brows jump. “I—how did you know that?”

“You told me. Poppy, too. Years ago.”

I rub the back of my neck. “Did I?”

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