“Sure,” she said dryly. “Is he why you’re speaking in hushed tones?”
“He’s gone to bed, so yes.”
“And how is it working out?”
I rubbed my forehead. “It’s complicated.”
“I’ll bet. Does he know?”
“Know what?”
“That you’ve been halfway in love with him since you were sixteen.”
I groaned. “Raquel.”
“Oh, please. You think I forgot the sketchbook full of moody charcoal portraits of Mr. Sinclair, the Perfect Harmony Coach?”
“I was sixteen,” I protested.
“You were hopelessly in lust with him,” she corrected. “And judging by your tone, you still are.”
I didn’t deny it. I couldn’t, not after tonight. Not so much the lust part, but…
Who was I kidding? I’dwankedto thoughts of him, for God’s sake.
Raquel’s voice softened. “So, what’s he like now?”
I stared at the sketchbook in my lap. “Different. Still focused. Still too good at pretending nothing gets to him. But… there’s something underneath.”
Something I couldn’t see, that set my heart racing.
Raquel hummed, the sound thoughtful. “And you like him even more.”
I exhaled. “Yeah. Which is the problem.”
“Theproblemis that you’re finally around someone who makes you feel safe and seen, and you’re terrified it means something.”
“Maybe.” I wasn’t so sure about the safe part.
“Then promise me one thing.”
“What?”
“Don’t run away this time. Not from him, not from yourself.”
I laughed softly. “Still bossy.”
“Still right.”
I hesitated. “He’s complicated. I keep wanting to see what he looks like when he stops holding onto everything so tightly.”
“Then do that,” Raquel said simply. “Make him laugh. Be yourself.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It never is. Just don’t hide from it either. You’ve spent years pretending you’re fine. Maybe it’s time to stop pretending.”
I smiled, a little ruefully. “Still the voice of my conscience, huh?”