Page 35 of Knot Shattered
“No.”
“Say it softer.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Say it in French.”
“I don’tspeakFrench.”
“I’ll teach you.”
She shoved me. I nearly fell into a table of beer pong bros, and I swear one of them saluted her like she was their new god.
We played air hockey. She cheated. I cheated more. She threatened to bite me when I distracted her by blowing kisses across the table.
“You keep that up and I’m gonna carry you out of here like a prize,” I warned.
“Win me a duck first,” she said, winking.
I nearly blacked out from joy.
Later, when we sat on a neon-striped couch in the corner of the prize room, she leaned her head on my shoulder, cheeksflushed, fingers tangled in the string of prize tickets she refused to cash in just yet.
“This was the best date I’ve ever been on,” she murmured. “Like… actually. Ever.”
I didn’t say anything for a second because I was trying not to combust like a faulty firework.
Instead, I took her hand. Kissed her knuckles. Then whispered against her skin, “Good. Because I’ve got at least twenty more planned. And I haven’t even started trying yet.”
She looked up at me, eyes shining. “Yeah?”
I nodded, nose brushing hers. “Yeah, sunshine. And next time we will... commit a crime!”
She giggled, pulled me into a kiss that tasted like sugar and victory, and I knew one thing for sure. If this was what being hers felt like? I was never coming back down.
Micha
September 30th
5:37 P.M
“Sunshine?”
My voice was quiet, but it could still be heard over the faint sounds of her music. Her work area was carried by the scent of dust, sweat, and something sweet that clung to every beam and corner of this place. Her scent. Faint blueberry pancakes, threaded with something warm and grounding.
Odette looked up from the hunk of marble she was preparing. The sun coming through the garage door windows litup her hair in molten streaks of orange and gold, and the pale smudge of dust on her cheek made her even more unreal. Like she’d stepped out of a dream made of fire and stone.
Her face brightened when she saw me, like I was something she had been waiting on.
She wore an old T-shirt knotted at the waist and a pair of black leggings covered in chalky handprints. Her steel-toe boots looked like they’d seen the inside of a battlefield and somehow still made her legs look like art. She set the chisel down and wiped her palms on a rag, stepping away from the block like she hadn’t just been elbow-deep in creation.
Across the room, Henry shifted from where he stood beside a workbench. The man was a sentinel, silent, immovable, and sharp-eyed. He wore dark jeans, a weathered leather jacket over a gray shirt that clung to the muscle across his chest, and he didn’t bother to hide the blade clipped to his belt.
He gave me a long look, then nodded once in that way of his.
I returned the nod and stepped further in, keeping my voice even and calm.
“Do you want to go on a date with me?”
