14 Chapter 14

“Why don’t I show you how fun and creative doodling with a key over a new car is,” I said with a sweet voice, leaning over. “I assure you it’s dead funny.”

His emerald eyes narrowed. “Since I'm in the mood for funny things tonight, it’ll be my greatest pleasure to let you show me—only if you promise not to cover yourself while we’re at it. My humor seems to get a boost when you’re hands are dangling by your sides.”

“How nice,” I gave him a lady-like smile, full of corrosive syrupiness. “I’ll go and change for the raucous graffiti, then.” I leaned back.

“No changing either.”

“Because…”

“Because I say so.”

“Just like that.”

“Yep, just like that.”

I snorted. “I think you’re forgetting to whom you’re talking, Mr. Everyone-is-at-my-feet,” I said while stepping down two slabs of wood. I wanted to level my eyes with his and show him I wasn’t afraid.

“And I think you’re a…” He stopped himself and shook his head, as if pushing away the words that had died on his mouth. “Look, I didn’t call you back for this charming chit-chat.” He held up his hand when I opened my mouth. “Let me finish, please.” I swallowed back the sting in my words. He took a deep breath and continued. “I know we can’t stand being around each other without snapping back every two seconds—or doing stuff to piss off the other—but I’ve been thinking…and the more I think, the more things get clear, and, I mean, this isn’t healthy. This mordant thing between us it’s just, too, out of bounds—and we should fix it. You’re soon going to be eighteen, and I'm nineteen already, so let’s do this like adults and be mature.” He stepped closer and stretched out a hand. “Let’s make a truce.”

I watched his hand as if the devil itself had shown up asking me to sell my soul. “Why would I do a truce with you?” I asked, unsure, my mind trying to decipher, again, the machinations behind his eyes. But there seemed to be none. Was he being honest? Or did he want me to unfasten my arms to check out my “perks” and make fun of me while a tide of embarrassment raked through me all over again?

“Because I’m your sister’s boyfriend?” He arched his eyebrows. “And because you did a truce with her that includes me in the whole package. I’m part of her life, whether you like it or not, Dafne.”

To my dismay, he did have a point. Treating him like scum would only bother Buffy, because he clearly didn’t care. I looked down at his hand again, his long, pianist fingers waiting to hold mine in agreement, and my heart skidded over a few unsteady beats. Why was I so skeptical about this, so nervous? I wanted to press my palm against his, so that should’ve been my cue to proceed. If my skin was so impatient to shake hands with him, then that meant I’d already made up my mind on the matter.

I gave it no more thought and clasped his hand, keeping the other arm tight across my chest. The friction sent funny tingles through the tip of my fingers to the full length of my arms, weakening them a little. Was I really so anxious about this truce that I couldn’t help the shivers running under my skin? I pulled up my eyes and stared at him. That odd nervousness was cornered in his eyes once more, bordered by an intense emotion that I couldn’t read, but that wasn’t what bowled me over in that moment. The texture of his hand was an artistic fusion. It was soft and gentle, like the petal of a flower in full blossom, yet rough on some of the edges, like the calluses of a sculptor. It was as if I was feeling Church’s painting Above the clouds at sunrise with my bare hand—the roughness of the shadowy trees, the softness of the pink fog and soothing sunrise—a beautiful antagonism of natural elements.

“So, we’re good?” Ian prompted, shooting to my brain an electroshock of awareness, scorching my thoughts into charcoal. I realized I’d been staring at him longer than I’d intended, and suddenly my face joined that burnt chunk, which I immediately hid by dropping down my gaze when I took back my hand.

“I guess,” I said, pulling up my arm to the other one.

“Whoa,” he sighed, “and I thought I had to, at least, reincarnate five times to see this happen. The Big Guy up there must love me.”

My lips curved up, slowly, and after a full grin stretched out, I let a small chuckle escape my mouth.

“Okay, I take that back.” He sounded incredulous. “He must adore me. Is that a real smile?”

“Shut up,” I looked at him, the said smile still playing above my chin.

“No, really, I think he’s spoiling me too much all of a sudden.”

“If you don’t stop with that your luck will end. I can tell.” It was funny how I suddenly didn’t want to leave. I was, surprisingly, enjoying Ian’s company, something I wouldn’t have imagined in a million years—or in hundreds of reincarnations. How had this happened so fast?

He barked a clean, joyful laugh, and something inside of me widened.

The door of the kitchen swung open. “What’s so funny?” Buffy inquired, ping-ponging her eyes between Ian and me, back and forth.

“Nothing,” he breathed.

She frowned, as if not convinced, and then shrugged, letting it go. “Are you cold?” She looked up at me.

“I, uh, yeah,” I pulled up my shoulders below my ears, trying to give the impression of feeling colder. It was easier than explaining this vest I’d made with my arms, which I knew wouldn’t be so greatly taken. Buffy was my sister, but exhibitionism was exhibitionism, and nobody wanted a semi-naked girl around her boyfriend. “I should go. See you tomorrow,” I told her and glanced at Ian on my way up. He was smiling. My stomach squeezed and I bit back a smile.

When I reached the hall, a strange force stilled my legs, dragging me to stay. I suddenly found my ears perking up to catch the soft mutter of voices downstairs and realized that strange force wasn’t that strange, after all. It had a well known name: snooping.

I ignored the prick of guilt and the little voice saying ‘it’s none of your business’ and sat down on the edge of the step, feeling like a disobedient kid all over again. I leaned forward a bit more and opened my ears.

“…said that?” Buffy asked about something.

“Yeah,” Ian answered. “She agreed and everything. I never thought she would.” There was a short pause, and then, “Amazing, huh?”

“Totally,” Buffy sounded impressed. “You look happy about this.” I imagined her eyes scanning his face.

“Because of you,” he lowered his voice. I heard a step and the rustling of clothes being pressed together. “I'm happy because you’re with me. I could care less about that stupid truce with her. I'm only doing it for you. It’s just pretense.” He said with a smile on his voice. “Just pretense,” he repeated, as if he needed to say that one more time.

My ears shut. A cold fog clouded my mind. I could feel my hands fisting and the nails digging in my palms, more sharply every second. A hot whirlwind formed inside my stomach and turned with fuming strength, burning my insides as if with fire. I rose to my feet with extreme slowness, deciding whether to go down and throw my rock-hard fists into Ian’s mouth or hold back and do something meticulously planned later.

At the end, I went for the latter. Good things always took time.