Page 68 of The Otherworld

The threat of tears blurs my vision as I tug my gaze away from his. The only way to avoid crying is to push the sadness away as quickly as possible and replace it with something joyful.

Gathering up my courage, I rise from the table. “You know what we should do?”

Adam glances at me questioningly.

“Make cookies.”

Nothing gladdens an overcast day like baking—a scientific fact that I try to convince Adam to believe as I twirl around the kitchen and gather ingredients. He continues working on the clock while I measure the oil and honey, the latter of which I make Adam sample. He agrees that our bees make the best honey in the world. I explain the process of harvesting honey as I crack eggs into a bowl at the counter, whisking and whipping ingredients together from memory. Lucius sleeps under the table, a lazy pile of sandy fur, paws twitching as he dreams of chasing seagulls. It seems that time could be standing still right now—would we know if it was?

I stop mixing to swipe a bite of dough and pop it into my mouth.

Mmm… perfection.

I sigh with satisfaction, closing my eyes. When I open them again, I find Adam’s hand in the bowl, stealing cookie dough.

I smack him away. “Adam!”

He laughs, hand retreating. “What? It’s not fair if you’re the only one who gets to try it.”

“All right, fine.” I swipe a fingertip of cookie dough and shove it past his smiling lips. They feel as lovely as they look, though I only touch them for a second before sticking my sugary fingertip back in my own mouth.

Adam smirks, his gaze shifting to my lips.

“Why are you smiling?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. You, uh… you have flour on your face.” He reaches up and gently strokes his thumb over my left temple. All my senses seem to intensify within a single breath. The warmth of his skin on mine is everything. My heart flutters in my chest as his fingers trail slowly down the side of my cheek, brushing softly against my lower lip.

As if suddenly awakening from a sleepwalk, he withdraws his hand and takes a step back. Just like that, the moment has passed.

Adam turns away to put another log on the stove, and I refocus on my cookie-baking, nervous energy buzzing under my skin. To distract myself, I start singing a song Papa taught me, which Adam recognizes. He says it’s called “Wild Mountain Thyme.” By the time the cookies are done and the house is sweet with the aroma of cinnamon and sugar, I’ve taught Adam all the lyrics to the song—and I force him to sing it with me. I perch on the edge of the table, scratching Lucius’s head as the water boils for tea, and Adam smiles bashfully because he doesn’t know how good his singing voice is.

When the cookies come out of the oven, we settle on the floor in front of the fireplace with ceramic mugs of tea fresh from our flower garden. Lucius lies between us, whining over the cookies he can’t have.

I fall into a pensive silence, watching Adam in the firelight and noticing how different he looks now compared to that night I dragged him in from the storm.

“You must be looking forward to your father coming back,” he says.

“Yes and no,” I admit, gazing down at the steam curling from my mug. “I’ll be glad to have Papa home again, but… I’ll be sad to lose you.”

I pause, searching his face for a sign—a hint of regret or pain or dread. Anything that could reveal his true feelings without him saying it in so many words. But if he feels anything, he keeps it under lock and key. I glimpse only the barest twitch of his jaw, the slightest flex of his hand in the firelight.

“I can’t stay, Orca,” he says, his voice a mahogany whisper. “I need to go back home.”

“But we can still be friends, can’t we?”

“Of course we can be friends.” Adam submits to a weak smile. “If you come to the mainland someday, you can look me up.”

“And you can come back to the island whenever you want.”

He looks down. “I don’t know if that will be possible.”

“Of course it’s possible. You’re a pilot. You can fly!”

Adam’s smile is like the flicker of a single match struggling against a cold front. A wave of embarrassment hits me, coloring my cheeks with a blush.

“Or don’t you want to come back and see me? I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair. Of course, you have your own life and your own people, and you’re very busy—”

“No, I do want to come back. I…” He falters, his gaze roaming over my face until his voice returns, softer now. “That’s not how I feel about it, Orca. That’s not how I feel about… you.”

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