Page 53 of Her Wicker Guardian

“It can mean you don’t get to leave.”

His hands stop again, this time for longer. “You can leave.”

The words are simple and matter-of-fact, which makes them harder to answer. I swallow. “I know.”

Locke resumes the braid.

I think I like that about him.

The thought arrives so clearly that my eyes open.

I like him.

The realization should probably feel more complicated than it does. I like his questions, his stubbornness, and the fact that he’s offended by our bear’s shoulders.

And I really like his hands in my hair.

“There.”

His voice comes from behind me. I turn too quickly and nearly undo whatever he has made. Locke catches the braid in one hand.

“Hold still.”

I laugh. “See? Perfect.”

He studies me as though he suspects another joke.

I hand him the hair elastic. Without direction he wraps it repeatedly around the end of the braid until it is tight. Then I reach behind my head. “Can I feel it?”

He puts the end into my hand.

The braid is thick and smooth, running diagonally from one side before joining the rest down my back. I bring it forward over my shoulder and look at the part I can see.

It’s beautiful.

It isn’t fancy enough for a wedding or anything ridiculous, just an intricate braid that looks deliberate and soft and a hundred times better than anything I could have done in the twelve minutes I now have left.

“Locke.”

He watches my face.

“You did this?”

“Yes.”

“I mean, I know you did. It’s really good.”

“Good?”

“Very.”

His gaze stays on my face, and I can tell the answer pleases him. I reach up to touch the braid near my temple and find one tiny green leaf caught between two strands. I pull it free and hold it up.

Locke looks at the leaf and then at the braid as if deciding whether it belongs there.

“You’re shedding.”

“Bad?”