Page 158 of A Dead Girl's Guide to Living
A soft, breathless laugh escaped her, and I felt the warmth of it on my face, the hint of spearmint toothpaste carrying with it.
Her laugh was nervous—almost disarming.
“I like you too.”
I wondered what happened next. What happened once Margaret was fully laid to rest and Liv hopefully crossed over. We’d have the drive home—likely a little more express this time—with a few stops carved out to catch what we missed. But it wouldn’t be much of a scenic route.
Was this energy we had with each other only for the road? Or would it carry on back in Chicago?
“You’ve been hanging around me too much,” Ellis murmured. “I can hear your thoughts from here.”
I grinned.
“Oh yeah? What am I thinking?”
Ellis poked my arm under the blanket, and I caught her hand.
“Everything that I am,” she said, her voice quiet as her fingers looped through mine. “Maybe we should just talk about it instead of spiraling on our own.”
I brought her hand to my mouth and pressed a kiss to it.
“What happens then,” I asked, my voice a little shaky, “when we get home?”
A pause.
“I’d like to keep seeing you,” she said, and the knot that had been growing in my chest loosened slightly. “If you wanted that too.”
“I’d like that,” I said, trying to keep my voice casual.
“I could get sick again,” she added carefully. “My heart might fail. I might not live very long.”
My heart ached at her words—the careful warning she gave me, like the final disclaimer as we both made our choice.
I squeezed her hand.
“I might get hit by a bus or fall off a cliff or choke on a grape,” I told her.
Her laugh was real, and I felt it deep inside me as she squeezed my hand.
“We never know what’s coming, Ellis,” I said. “All we have is the right now.”
I could see her faintly in the dark, nodding at my words.
“Okay.”
Her voice was clear, simple, and held a tone of finality that had me closing the distance between us, finding her lips in the dark and kissing her. It was slow and tentative, and I relished the warmth of her lips, the fruity scent of her shampoo lingering in her now-braided hair.
Her kiss was restrained, cautious, even as her hand curled into my shirt. But I could still feel the hesitance in her, the same I’d felt this morning, and I broke away.
“Are you okay?” I asked her carefully.
I could feel it then—that flicker of uncertainty, the quicker rise and fall of her chest.
“I’m embarrassed.”
Her words were rushed and breathy, and I felt her hand tighten on my shirt. I frowned, my thumb grazing along her cheekbone.
“Why?”
