Page 7

I’m checking another rabbit skin for holes, a needle and thread between my teeth, when I become aware of voices traveling down the hall toward my workshop. There’s a brief knock at the door—hooray, they’re getting it—before the disembodied voices enter. Lara’s chirping voice assaults my ears, but I don’t bother to turn my head right away, too busy parting fur between my fingers.

“This is Sunny. He looks like a total grump but he won’t bite you, I promise. He’s been working on some mounts for the new exhibit, but if you need anything specific, or if anything needs fixing up, let him know.”

My usual go-to remark would be something inappropriate and flirty—I’ll bite if they ask nicely—but I’ve been told off for that before too.

Eye contact isn’t my favorite thing in the world, so the first place I look is at their feet. I don’t know what I was expecting—one of those uptight pencil skirt girls, maybe—but it certainly wasn’t pristine lilac chucks with white socks poking over the top, with tanned legs leading up to short denim overalls. My memory sparks at the sight.

When my eyes reach the bottom edge of a lilac crop top and land on an incredibly familiar planchette necklace, I nearly swallow the fucking needle.

There is no way. No, this cannot be happening right now. Nonononono…

I was only thinking about him yesterday, and now the angel from my nightmares is standing right in front of me—at least, I think it’s him. The hair is the same, unruly blonde waves that kiss his forehead and curl around his neck. He’s lost the baby fat on his face, revealing a sharper jawline than I remember, but he still looks younger than he really is. Still the same pillowy, bitable lips and striking gold eyes.

“Sunday?” My name is barely a whisper on his lips, triggering a million and one memories that crash through my mind like the waves of a tsunami.

One in particular slams to the forefront: the echoing sensation of my knuckles splitting as I recall pummeling that meat sack jerk who’d pushed the new kid over in the schoolyard.

“Here. What’s your name?” I ask, pressing a wad of tissues into his delicate hands. Being a long-term sufferer of random-ass nosebleeds, I always had some on me.

“Um…it-it’s Bellamy. I uh…I just moved here.” His voice is still wobbly, but the tears seem to be slowing. The color of his eyes is unlike any I’ve seen before, a liquid gold threaded with amber. Bright, almost blinding in their brilliance.

“I’m Sunday,” I say, and his eyes flash with that look people always get because it’s the stupidest fucking name ever.

“Sundae? Like…ice cream?”

Laughter rumbles in my throat. “No, Sunday as in the day of worship and rest.”

“Oh…right. Yeah, that makes more sense.” He blushes, tucking his golden waves behind his ear. He has a nice voice. Soft and lilting.

“Does it? Maybe you can explain it to me then because I don’t get why my parents picked it.”

He looks down at his bloodied knee, but I see his mouth tightening as he tries to squash a smile. His nose does this cute little crinkle thing, then he looks up at me through his damp lashes.

One memory bleeds into another, friendship becoming more, becoming less, becoming⁠—

“Sunny? Do you two know each other?” Lara’s voice pulls me from the tide of thoughts threatening to overwhelm me.

My gaze slams directly into his, sea meeting sun. A vicious blush sweeps over his heartbreakingly pretty face. In some ways, he looks like the same kid I knew, with that wide-eyed expression. But the gold isn’t as strong. Dimmed, almost.

“Nope.”

“Nah.”

We both answer at the same time, the sound of his voice a noose tightening around my neck, cutting off my oxygen. He looks away, feigning interest in something else before jerking his head back to me, just as a phantom wind blows a few stray feathers off the table.

Weird shit like that always used to happen around him. Back then, he said he could see ghosts—it was part of the reason we broke up in college.

“Riiiiiight. Well, whatever. Sunny, Bellamy, Bellamy, Sunny.” Lara interrupts my thoughts again, throwing me a look that gives you owe me gossip before ushering Bellamy back out of the room. He throws a pinched expression over his shoulder as he leaves. The second he looks away my traitorous eyes drop to his denim-encased ass. Shit, fuck.

As soon as they’re out of the room, I slam my forehead on the table, missing the dead rabbit by mere inches.

Of course, of course the new employee is someone I have a history with. Why not?

Maybe I need to find some more kids to swear at after all.

Chapter Four

Bellamy