Our gazes snag. Jamie breaks eye contact first, clearing his throat. “Well. Why don’t you go relax now?” “I’d rather have a cupcake.” He bites back something, then clears his throat again. “If you must. Though, fair warning, if you take it to the sofa, Sir Galahad and Morgan le Fay will probably come meowing for it.” “I’m sorry, what are their names?” Then it happens. It actually happens. Jamie smiles. It’s soft and small and crooked, but it’s there. I watch it unfurl, and my heart morphs into a gilded balloon that bursts, a shower of gold-leaf glitter sparkling in my chest.
