Page 94 of Jinxes and Drumsticks

And who knows, maybe we’ll come back with some solutions for that whole thing.

I glance down at the ring on my thumb and smile at it, twisting it around my finger. Lillith... Man, she’s doing everything she can to keep me safe and happy, keep me protected. I see it reflected in her exhaustion, in her hesitance to see me leave, in the kindness she shows my bandmates. I feel impossibly lucky to have her, and so damned frustrated that I have to spend any time away from her, ever.

I hope we can find her mother, and I hope that woman has answers for us.

When Lillith and Oren return, she’s beaming up at him and talking animatedly with him about... something. Hermes something or other, Pamela Whosit. I make a mental note to steal the book Oren’s buying when he inevitably passes out when the van hits the freeway for longer than an hour, like he usually does.

Oren pays for his book and Fletcher lets out a sullen, “Listen, we really ought to get going if we’re going to make it to the rental in time.”

“Or if we want to avoid the rich people heading up the mountain to their lake houses,” Roxie agrees.

“I’m ready when you guys are,” Wren says.

Yet both Wren and I look right at Lillith. She’s putting on a brave face, but there’s a tension where her lips meet—a sort of uptick in the angle of her eyebrows—that tells me she’s upset.

“I’ll see you guys out there, give me a second to say goodbye,” I say, hoping it’s sufficient to dismiss her best friend, too. No offense to her, of course, but I can’t go whispering filthy nothings in my girlfriend’s ear if I have an audience.

They file out as I walk up to the counter. Lillith has returned to her perch on her barstool and fiddles with the receipt for Oren’s purchase that he refused. I’ve never seen someone look so interested in some thermal reactive paper.

I reach out for one of her hands, stilling it’s fidgeting. “Hey,” I say.

She draws her lower lip between her teeth, not looking up at me. From my vantage point, I see a solitary tear drip off the tip of her perfect button nose and land on the countertop. I feel my lips pull into a grimace. I don’t want to leave her while she’s crying, but I don’t dare tell her that. I know she already feels guilty enough.

I collect her hand in both of mine, lifting it to my lips and kissing it a half dozen times before it vanishes in my gentle grasp. I give it a few quick squeezes.

“This is so stupid,” she finally says, lifting her gaze to the ceiling as if gravity will coax the tears gathered on her lash line back into her tear ducts.

“It’s not,” I say, quirking a smile. “It’s sweet.”

“You have to go,” she says.

“I do,” I agree.

“And I’m making it harder for you to do that,” she continues.

“Marginally, but not really,” I say. “Only by way of me hating to see you sad.”

“I’m not trying to manipulate you.”

“And I don’t feel manipulated.”

She uses the thumb of her free hand to swipe the tears from below each eye. She sniffs and meets my eyes, swallowing audibly like it’s hard to do so.

“FaceTime every night,” I promise.

“And obnoxious numbers of texts,” she adds with a nod.

“At least one nude,” I say. “Solicited, of course.”

She cracks a smile finally and a little knot of tension loosens in my chest. “Only if it’s you, though,” she says with a skeptical look.

“Oh? Not interested in seeing Oren’s massive nutsack?” I ask.

“I can’t believe you just said those words to me in that order.”

I laugh and lean forward, brushing my nose against hers. “Gotta get an edge over him somehow,” I say.

“Always with the edging,” she says with playful exaggeration. Her lips meet mine, rocking in tempo with the soft undulation of her tongue. I deepen it just a little, leaning over the counter and into her space. I slip a hand into the back of her hair and gently tug, relishing the soft nasal inhale it pulls out of her.