“It’s okay,” I spit out, trying to reel things back. “I don’t expect—You don’t owe me—” “Shut up, Snow.” I shut up. I think Baz is still crying. I’m so bad at this. At people. At him. I shouldn’t have come here. I stand up— His hand latches on to my wrist. “Don’t you dare.” I sit down again. “Okay. Sorry.” Baz doesn’t let go. His hand is cold. He’s still looking at his lap. “What does that mean?” He sounds careful. “That you want to try?” “Just what I said. That I want—That I wish I could—That I would like to—” I clench my jaw for a second. “Try. With you. To see . . . if it could be
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