the top panel. She twirled around to tell Quentin about the note and was startled by how close he and her favorite smile were. Her stomach fluttered, her heart raced, and her breathing came in quiet pants. “Um, my mom’s out. Won’t be home till late,” she said, stumbling over her words.
He inched a little closer, reaching for the note hanging slightly above her head. “That’s what it says, alright.” He took a step back and shrugged indifferently. “Looks like a sleepover.”
Like there wasn’t enough on her mind already? “Why do you need to stay here?” Not that the thought of him in the same house while she slept wasn’t kind of exciting, because it was.
“Well, you made it very clear you weren’t going to leave your mom. And I thought I was clear that I wasn’t leaving you.”
Giddiness had no place here. But she felt it. It wasn’t a promise of love forever. It was a vow to protect. Simple as that. It was nice getting caught up in the fantasy of being the regular girl she was yesterday, bound to a regular Quentin for love and not duty. A scary thought tore through the fantasy with its claws. Could she have any sort of love life now?
“Hey,” Quentin said, pulling her back with a finger tilting her face up to his. “You have a scared, distant look and the seneschal band is screaming you’re worried. Don’t be, I won’t let anything happen to you or your mom. I promise.”
Then he did what every girl wishes a guy like him would do—he stepped closer, wrapped his hands around her shoulders, and kissed her gently on the forehead. But he pulled back…too soon. She realized seconds later that even though he touched her, this time she didn’t feel his emotions. Not only did he take her breath away, he briefly muted her curse, which left her wondering the same thing she had a little earlier when they left her grandfather’s. How was it supposed to be between them? Technically, she’d only been Chosen for a day, but one didn’t need to be a rocket scientist to know the two of them getting involved in any way other than a Chosen-Guardian arrangement would be very, very bad juju. They needed to have boundaries. Forced, necessary boundaries. Even if she didn’t want them.
“Food,” Grace said, sidestepping him to check the refrigerator for something to make for dinner, then checking the cupboards instead since he didn’t move. “I can make homemade mac and cheese. Sound good?”
“Sounds great.”
Rooting through the cupboards for ingredients, pots, and cooking utensils, she turned and bumped into Quentin as he still stood stock-still in front of the refrigerator. “I’m sorry,” she muttered, as she felt her cheeks start their familiar burning. She thought for sure she was getting her cheek-warming issue under control, but was reminded of its unwelcome presence when she felt her face heat up. Again. She averted her eyes to the shapes in the tile flooring. “I need to get the cheese and milk.” Still, he didn’t move, just stood there and looked at her with a slight smile on his face. “What?” she snapped self-consciously.
“Nothing, I just like it when you blush,” he said, and continued to stare at her as she studied the wall behind him. “It’s cute,” he finished.
“Um, thanks?” What else could she say? Sometimes Quentin was so easy to talk to and then other times he would get her all flustered and tongue-tied. Boundaries. She definitely needed boundaries. Clearly, he didn’t.
“You can go watch TV while I make dinner, if you want. You don’t have to stand in here and keep me company.”
As he grabbed the refrigerator handle, he talked and reached. “I’m actually pretty good in the kitchen.” He walked to the counter and put the milk and cheese down. He leaned against the Formica, arms and ankles crossed, looking back to Grace. “Now what?”
“So,” she said, loosening up a little. “Guardian by day, cook by night?”
“No.” His face was intense and serious. “Guardian always. I just have other things that I’m pretty good at too.” He smiled and winked. Boundaries, she sang in her head. Quickly, Grace whipped around, grabbing the pot to fill it with water and put it on the stove.
“What can I do?” Quentin asked again.
“Uh…grate cheese?” she suggested.
He smiled, making little wrinkles form at the edges of his steel-colored eyes. “I am an expert cheese grater.”
She leaned against the cabinets, smiling back at him, and