“I always thought you were going to kill me,” I say. “Me, too,” he says. “I tried not to think about it.” I wind my fingers in his hair. It’s thicker than mine, and curlier, and it shines golden in the firelight. There’s a mole on his cheek that I’ve wanted to kiss since I was 12. I do. “For a long time,” I say. “Hmmm?” He opens one eye. “I’ve wanted to do this for a long time. Almost since we met . . .” Snow closes his eyes again and smiles like he’s trying not to. I smile, too, only because he isn’t watching. “I thought it was going to kill me.”
