She practically snorts. “Changes? That’s not how it works, Giovanni.”
“In my world, it does. I’d change everything about you.”
“Why? It would be fake.”
“No.That’snot how it works. Not always. Sometimes people get stuck in a rut.”
“You think…” She laughs. “You think I’m in arut? Dude, you have no idea now unrutty I am.”
“Unrutty. As in… out of balance? I’m not a word collector like you, so I’m not familiar with the term.”
“It’s just…” She sighs, then looks over her shoulder.
“Hey,” I say, turning her face back to me. “He’s gone. We’re leaving in the morning. You’ll never see him again.”
She doesn’t believe me.
Hell, I’m not sure I believe me either.
“Rut. A groove or a track that is well-traveled. So the opposite of that is…” I falter. Distracted by her eyes. They’re green. Mine are green too—an amazing true green you only find in a rainforest. But hers are very pale. Sun bleached. Like they were made in the desert.
“Irregular,” she says. Finishing my sentence. “Messy. Chaos.”
“That’s what your life is like right now? I mean, before I came into it?”
She nods. “But don’t ask me about it. I’ll just lie.”
“Why?” I ask, one hand sliding down her back to press her closer. “Why would you lie about it?”
“Because I don’t want you to know.”
“You don’t want me to knowyou? You don’t want me to know yoursituation? Which?”
“Both.” She sighs, her shoulders dropping the tension. Finally. “I don’t like pity.”
I’m confused. “What does pity have to do with anything?”
“That’s what you would feel if you knew me.”
“Why?”
“I said I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Well, Emmaleen,” I laugh, “that’s just not how it works. As soon as I get back to the pool house, I’ll do a background checkon you and then I’ll know everything. So you might as well just tell me what’s going on.”
“No.” Her face hardens. It’s a very firm no. “You can check my background if you want. There’s no smoking gun there.” She looks away, her words drifting off. “Nothing official to find.”
Nothing official.
Interesting. “Do you come from circus people?”
Her frown breaks, but she doesn’t look at me. “You’re stupid.”
“No, you don’t come from circus people. You’re a poet. A word collector. You wield words like weapons.”
Except when you’re scared, I don’t add.Then you just go silent.
“You worked at a coffee house. But none of that is relevant to your current situation, so?—”