that I’d seen only one. I didn’t bring it up. Not yet.
As we made our way down the aisle of tall trees, tendrils of mist rose from the moss and curled around our boots. Even though the ground hadn’t changed texture yet, in other words it hadn’t sprouted thorny, tubular bodies, I sang softly. Remo’s knuckles brushed against mine, sending bursts of heat up my arms. When the mist thickened, turning as dense as cotton, his fingers slid through mine.
We’d held hands before but never like this. Never with our palms flush and our fingers twined. My concentration was so focused on all the points of contact between our bodies that I almost walked right past the candy shop. Thankfully, Remo’s awareness hadn’t faltered, and he tugged me inside.
My pulse was so jumpy it impaired all of my senses. Besides touch. Touch was the one sense working entirely too well. So well that the minute the turquoise door clapped shut, I pulled my hand out of Remo’s and spent the next few minutes it took to reach the first floor of the calimbor rubbing my tingling fingers and palm on the leg of my black suit.
While Remo vanished into the bathroom, I searched the small apartment for a second bedroom but found only an empty closet. Water gushed, sounding a lot like my pressurized pulse.
“There’s no soap, and the water is cold,” he said.
I gazed up from the bed, biting down on my lip. “Better than no water.”
He bobbed his head as he approached me. “Ladies first.”
I ducked past him and entered the bathroom, closing the door. I thought about peeling off my suit and washing it, but in the end, I only kicked off my boots, then stepped into the frigid water fully clothed. However uncomfortable, the fabric would eventually dry. I laid back, letting the mud soften and melt off my long tresses, and then I scrubbed my scalp.
The water turned a muddy yellow. I drained it, rinsed off under fresh water, then stepped out of the bath and ran Remo a new one. I grabbed one of the seashell-stitched towels and frictioned my body and hair, shivering from the cold. Wrapping it around me, I stepped out of the bathroom.
Remo frowned. “You bathed with your clothes on?”
“My suit was filthy, and removing it is a pain.” I stared longingly at my deadened Infinity.
“You’re going to catch cold.”
Catching cold. Such a foreign concept for people made of fire. “It’ll dry faster on my skin. Besides, imagine something happens, and we have to bolt for the train.”
He pursed his lips. I was about to tell him that it wasn’t because of him, but wasn’t it? If there’d been two bedrooms, I might’ve considered stripping.
Before I could say anything more, the bathroom door clicked closed behind him. Unlike me, Remo stayed a long time in the bath. I couldn’t imagine it was out of pleasure—how could one enjoy soaking in icy water?—but the privacy was surely welcome. Neither of us had had much of that in the last day . . . days? How long had we been gone? I was braiding my damp hair, wondering if the cloud cover would ever lift, when he finally came back out, a towel wrapped around his neck and his pants back on, even though his top wasn’t.
“Are the snakes back?” Water dribbled off his hair and streamed into all the nooks and crannies of his chest.
I turned back toward the vista. “Can’t see much of anything through this mist.”
After a solid minute of silence, he said, “I thought you’d be sound asleep already.”
Is that why he’d taken his time? To avoid the awkward moment of discussing sleeping arrangements? Had he been hoping I’d be conked out, and he could just slip under the sheets and reserve the awkwardness for the morning after?
He drew the curtains closed, all the while holding my gaze. “Get into bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
His gallantry blew my reservations away. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of keeping your hands to yourself.”
His expression changed slowly. “I am, but are you?”
I rolled my eyes. “It’ll be tough, but I’ll power through my lascivious fae urges.”
He shot me a disarming half-smile.
“Besides, I’m so wet, you’re not going to want to snuggle.”
The smile vanished, and his jaw pinkened. He turned and rubbed the towel over his wet hair. Who would’ve thought snuggling would make Remo Farrow blush?
The boy was such a strange mix of smugness and timidity. I