If Penelope were here, I’d tell her she’s wrong about me. She thinks I solve everything with my sword. But apparently, I can also solve things with my mouth—because, so far, every time I lean into Baz, he shuts up and closes his eyes. If Penelope were here, she’d make me explain myself. Thank magic she isn’t here yet. I’ve just pushed my fingers between Baz’s shirt buttons; his skin is room temperature.
