Page 27 of The Crafting Con

Declan: Because he couldn’t fjord a new one.

I snort-laugh, rolling my eyes as I type.

Me: Dork.

Declan: You know it.

I do know that, and it’s doing nothing to calm the flurry of butterflies in my stomach. I look at my phone, adrenaline kicking at my pulse, then down at my sweatshirt. And for reasons I can’t bring myself to acknowledge, because they’re disastrous at best, I run upstairs to change.

Because maybe I don’t need to be quite so cozy.

CHAPTER 12

DECLAN

Eight days until OA Con

The street leading up to Stasia’s house is lined with cars as Hiro and I arrive, and upbeat music greets us loud and fast when Hiro opens the door and strolls through the entry hall like he owns the place. He peers into the darkened living room with its plush furniture pushed against the walls and mass of teens dancing beneath swirling colored lights. Then he smooths the lapels of his Hawaiian shirt with a satisfied nod. “Let’s do this.”

Yeah, this was a bad idea. I don’t recognize half of these people, and I’ve never even spoken to the half I do. Not that I have a beef with them or anything, no traumatic bullying history to unpack, we just don’t have anything in common.

“I don’t know, man,” I mutter, glancing back at the door. “It’s not too late to go home and play Valheim all night instead.” Or add the finishing touches to that staff I’m making for Jenni Messenger. It still needs to be weathered, and the convention is next weekend. What am I even doing here? I don’t have time for parties right now, I should be home working.

“As tempting as that sounds, I’m gonna pass. We came all the way here. We might as well check it out.”

“I’m checking it out right now,” I grumble. “It’s loud. And sweaty. Like, convention day three level sweaty.”

“Ah, but these people understand the finer details of deodorant use and basic grooming. Something I can appreciate.” His eyes widen, and he tips his chin toward the far corner of the room with a low whistle. “Speaking of appreciating…”

My heart lodges in my throat, pulse pumping louder than the speakers.

Sweet Cthulhu.

She’s… she’s…

“Dude.” Hiro elbows me in the side. “Ava is looking hot tonight.”

My mouth opens to agree with him, but nothing comes out. All I can do is stare across the room like an idiot while Ava laughs at something a faceless redhead says, her hair cascading over her shoulders like a golden waterfall. Her usual sweaters and hoodies have been swapped out for a silky black halter that falls low on her back, and the jeans she’s wearing could have been painted on, they’re so tight. A fact that is only accentuated by the black heels strapped to her feet.

Yeah.

This was a bad idea.

“I think I’m gonna head back,” I rasp over the rush of hormones wreaking havoc on my senses. “Do some, uh, warping. I mean, weathering.” That is one hundred percent what I should be focusing on right now, not long legs and swishing hair. I’ll see Ava tomorrow when she comes over, safe in the familiar confines of my garage. Crafting Ava I can talk to. Share corny puns with. This Ava…

My stomach sinks to my toes, the distance between us stretching before my eyes.

This Ava is utterly unapproachable.

I turn, ready to make my escape despite Hiro’s protests, but then I hear it—my name, called across the crowd like it’s the greatest thing ever. Ava elbows her way through the throng of gyrating people, gaze locked on mine. A welcoming grin on her lips. And then she’s there, standing right in front of me. Looking almost… shy? Is that even possible?

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “You made it.”

Hiro jabs me surreptitiously in the back when I fail to answer, and I croak out a, “Yeah.”

Hiro lifts his hand in a wave. “Hey, Ava. Been awhile.”

Her face softens. “It has, hasn’t it? It’s good to see you, Hiro.”