“So are you.” “Yeah,” he nods, “I am.” I open my mouth and shut it. What do I say to that? Look away? Have your fill, young mage? Look at me and stare and gawk, because that’s all I want to do to you right now? I am bubbly and giddy and warmer than I’ve been since moving here, and I want nothing more than to just keep looking. Fingers reach, grabbing one tendril of my curls, and he studies it, then me. And just like that I’m suddenly jealous of all his paperbacks for experiencing what it’s like to be held and known so intimately by Fletcher Harding.
