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“It’s surprising, you know that?”
He made transitions from one topic to the next like a stunt driver jumping bridges. “What are you talking about?”
“This.” He motioned between us. “Us.”
My mouth went dry as I tried to formulate words. Was he… What… When he said us… did he mean…
“Us,” he said again with more emphasis. “We’ve talked through letters for years, but I have to admit, a part of me thought I was out of my mind to ask you to come. After more than a decade, I doubted our ability to conduct a conversation in real life. After all, the last time we spoke, we were teenagers, and yet here we are, no transition, no awkwardness, just Fitz and Coco, at it again.”
Bubbles appeared in the pancakes, and I took my cue to flip them. “I mean, it hasn’t been totally perfect. I’ve upset you more than once in the last week.”
Fitz scoffed. “That’s not new, Coco. You’ve done that for years, even in writing, I assure you.” He eased closer. “I guess, I’m trying to explain something, but as usual I’m mucking it up.”
His hand followed the curve of my waist, dragging slowly as he cut the space between us in half. Heat radiated from his frame, challenging even the warm glow of the griddle.
“I don’t think you are.” I rarely thought about our height difference, but with him nearly against me, it became hard to ignore. If I tipped my head up, and he tilted his head down, we would be almost perfectly distanced to…
“If I am…” his eyes searched my face for objections, “you should say something, because I’m likely to keep going.”
We weren’t talking about how well we’d come back together anymore. This was about chemistry, about our connection that had grown in new ways since we’d reunited. His featherlight touch slipped over my jaw, cradling it as he brushed flour from my cheek with his thumb.
“Why can’t I feel this with any of them?” Fitz shook his head as if answering his own question with confusion he couldn’t escape. “Why don’t they light me up and leave me aching like you do? Why must fate be so cruel?”
“I—” I didn’t have an answer. What was I going to say? There weren’t words because words wouldn’t say what either of us were feeling.
“They’re burning,” Fitz whispered, jarring me from the spell that kept me hostage.
“Um, yes, sorry.” I swallowed hard and started stacking pancakes on each other. “Will you get me a plate?”
While he went to find one, I poured more batter onto the griddle, working quickly as if I could somehow outrun whatever had transpired only moments ago. He set the plate on the counter next to me but didn’t return to the same place. Instead, he leaned against the wall, content to watch me work again.
“So, wingman,” his tone returned to what I recognized, “who really found the flag today?”
“Sadie.” I flipped the pancakes. “She found it, but she was scared to climb, so I retrieved it, then the snoods attacked, which by the way is a crazy element to add to Capture the Flag. I was trying to get it to her, but then she hid and…” I started stacking the pancakes, “…well you know the rest.”
“I get the feeling she doesn’t want to be here.” Fitz crossed his arms over his chest. “Perhaps I should put her out of her misery and send her home tomorrow night.”
“No, you can’t.” I poured the last of the batter and then faced him. “She wants to be here, trust me, it’s just she—” Could I really tell him about her fiancé’s death? “She lost someone, and she’s trying to do all this with a broken heart.”
The muscles in Fitz’s face twitched, surprised by even my vague news. “I had no idea. She’s never said anything.”
“She feels out of place and she’s from the poorest province while everyone else is wealthy, or at least has known wealth of some kind.” I started flipping the last of the pancakes. “She’s here for you, or else she wouldn’t be here at all. She’d be home grieving.”
“That is enlightening.” He nodded slowly. “Thank you for that.”
“You can’t tell her you know, Fitz.” I pointed the spatula at him to drive the point home. “She told me in confidence.”
He put his hands up to show innocence. “Don’t get all miffed. I won’t.” He pushed off the wall, moving closer again. “But if you try to throw the competition again and weasel out of things like you did today,” my lips burned as his stare shifted to them, “I can’t be helped for what will come next, Lady Coco.”
“What are you saying, Fitz?”
That same crackling tension took hold of the air again. Nothing waited on the griddle. There was nothing to stop us from crossing over.
“I’m saying, Michaela,” his head tilted toward me, “you owe me.” With a wink, he took a step back, leaving me breathless in the wake of it. “Now, you grab that plate, I’ll find syrup and some—”
“I heard voices, Sturgess. I think that Camille is in the kitchen again.” The woman’s voice sounded from the doorway on the far side of the kitchen. Fitz’s eyes widened to saucers. So much for his big talk about never getting in trouble.
“Go,” he whispered tersely, pushing me toward the door.
