“Miss Hathaway,” he said gently. “Do I make you nervous?” She brought herself to look up at him. “No,” she said immediately. “No, of course you—yes. Yes, you do.” The night deepened—one of the torches had burned out—and the conversation devolved into something halting and broken and delicious, like pieces of barley sugar melting on the tongue. “I would never hurt you,” Cam said. “I know. It’s not that—”
