“So you’re gonna run around town with Micah all day, huh?”

She looks my way, gliding her fingertips along her temple, a curious expression on her face. “And Valine.”

“Valine.”

She nods. “Tall, tan, curly brown hair,” she lays out her basics as if I don’t know who lives in our group homes and need a reminder. “Miss Maybell said she has the hardest time with her. I guess she’s tough to handle, doesn’t get along with the girls, but I taught her how to make omelets today and she didn’t try to burn me with the frying pan.”

“That’s how you decided she’s not a serial killer?”

Brielle laughs. “I think she needs some free minutes of careless fun, I know I do.”

“That’s weak-minded.”

She studies me and then starts walking backward for the house. “Right, well, you have fun doing whatever it is strong-minded people do, and maybe I’ll see you later.”

“Man, little Bishop, you’re on a fuckin’ roll, aren’t ya?” flies from my mouth before she can get a step farther. “Already got friends, plans, and a backbone.”

She gapes at me. “Are you serious right now?”

“Are you?” I snap.

Her head draws back.

“I’m sorry,” she drags out, tipping her head like a brat. “Am I supposed to feel bad right now, because that’s crap. I’ve spent four years studying, sitting in the dark, fixing things other people broke, all while having no choice but to go to a school I hated, in a town that hated me. So, if you’re trying to guilt me for wanting to spend a couple hours with someone my own age, who doesn’t look at me and assume they know who I am, and do something fun and simple, don’t. It won’t work.”

“You sure?” I walk toward the porch and call her out like an asshole. “‘Cause you look like you’re ‘bout to cry.”

She throws her hands up with a little growl and stomps her ass two steps down, bringing us eye level, face-to-fucking-face. Our mouths dangerously close and both curved with frowns.

“You know what, fine,” she forces past clenched teeth. “Call me a liar because now I do feel guilty, but only because for a split clearly wasted second I thought maybe I hurt your feelings for not asking you first. That’s dumb of me though because you’re the one who said I’m not here to be your friend.”

“You forget where I said don’t trust those who want to be yours?”

“Well, good thing for me, Valine isn’t interested. I’m pretty much forcing myself on her ‘cause sometimes that’s what helps break through to people. She’s alone in her mind, like I have been for years. Sue me for not wanting someone to deal with what I have.”

“Little Miss Fixer, huh?”

“I don’t want to fix anyone, and it’s not like we’re off to get matching flower tattoos or brushing each other’s hair. I only want to offer my company to someone who might actually want it, even if she says different.”

Maybe I want it.

Wait, no.

No. no...

I get us back on track. “And Micah? How’s he fit into this?”

“I’ve gone to school with him for years, Royce. I know him well.”

“Well,” I repeat. “Which kind of well, little Bishop?” I shuffle closer until my shoe has no more room against the step. “You know what kind of topping he likes on his pizza, or is it that you know the face he makes when he comes?”

I wait for her to shout, deny, or run away to cry, but she does none of this.

Instead, she calls me out.

“Don’t stand here and act like you didn’t ask him all this when you hired him, and no,” she bites out. “He didn’t tell me that. I knew I was being watched, and two and two makes four.”

Watching her?

“What do you mean watching you?”

She sighs. “There’s no reason to deny it now.”

I’m not denying shit. He was watching her, but for a fucking day to make sure no bullshit came her way because of me.

Maybe her brother has someone loosely looking out for her after all?

A horn honks from across the yard, and we both look to find Micah hopping out, nothin’ but a pair of swim trunks on.

Fit little fucker.

He grins, holding a hand up as if to tell her they leave in five, offering me a tip of his chin before he disappears around the side of the boys home.

Mine and Brielle’s eyes move back to each other’s.

“Better go, little Bishop.” I slide a few spots backward, fighting off the irritation crawling up my skin. “Got people waiting on you.”

In the blink of an eye, her features smooth out, and she’s stepping down the porch.

“That’s it,” she whispers.

Another step down.

She flails me with a look of realization. Of understanding, and my muscles begin to coil.

“There’s no one home, is there?” she asks quietly, dropping a shoulder against the old post. “Your brothers, the girls...” She pauses, tipping her head slightly. “They’re out today?”

I scoff, shaking my head as I turn to walk away, a heavy twist in my ribs.

Annoyance.

That’s what it is.

She’s fucking annoying and out of line and—

“Royce,” she calls and way too fuckin’ tender-like.

Like she gets it.

Like she gets me.

I stop walking, telling myself not to look back, but do it anyway.

A small smile is what I find.

“I wanted to ask you to show me around today, but I thought you’d laugh or, you know.” She shrugs. “Tell me to piss off.”

Damn if I don’t clench my teeth to keep my lips from twitching.

“Maybe that makes me sound lame, but it’s the truth,” she admits.

“I told you, don’t let fear stop you from a damn thing. Ever.” I look from her silver hair to her turquoise eyes. “Next time you want to ask me something, do it.”

“I never said I was afraid.” Her body sways slightly as her eyes move between mine. “But I will, and maybe next time you want to bring me cake... you’ll stay long enough for me to say thank you.”

Thank me, like she did in that single text the night after I left her, when she realized I got the dickhead, who might have ran his mouth about the lonely girl I found in the dark on my lonely late-night drive.

A text I thought for sure was her colors showing, the inner bloodhound coming out as it does with every other girl who comes near me and mine. But that’s not at all what it was, and I was slapped in the face with a different kind of confusion, an unfamiliar one.

She thanked me.

It wasn’t delivered with unnecessary innuendos or phrases that could read naughty or nice, leaving it to me to decipher her true intentions.

It was simple, honest, and real fuckin’ unexpected.

The girl thanked me for fixing my own fuck-up, and it made me feel like a dick, ‘cause damn, I’m the piece of shit who couldn’t say for sure it was for her benefit.

I like to think it was, ‘cause the alternative pisses me off and makes no fuckin’ sense.

What did I care if people thought she was easy and made a play for her, right?