Peter laughed hysterically. “Intimidated? By Tink? You would do better to be intimidated by a flower. She’s harmless. Fairies are by nature flighty and silly creatures.”
Wendy crossed the room, telling herself that it wasn’t just to be nearer to Peter.
“She didn’t seem harmless on the bridge.”
His eyes watched her every step, taking in every inch of her. “She’s been in love with me for as long as I can remember. I have done everything in my power to convince her otherwise, but once a fairy falls in love, it’s for life. I try not to encourage it, but to be honest, it’s exhausting.” Peter stretched his arms over his head with a yawn. “Don’t worry about Tink’s jealousy. She would be jealous of Hook himself if I paid him too much attention. Are you afraid?”
Wendy shyly circled her fingers around her wrist. “Not afraid. I just don’t want to upset anyone. And . . .” Wendy paused, the words heavy on her tongue.
“What is it?”
“Did she mean it? That you didn’t like me?”
She immediately hated herself for asking but still raised her eyes to meet his own. Peter inched closer to her and took a tendril of Wendy’s brown hair in his hand.
“Oh, Wendy Darling. Such a sweet, good girl. How was I so lucky to stumble across your window? Of all the stars in the sky, one must have led me straight to you.”
Wendy stepped backward, unsure of what to do, untrusting of herself in the moment.
“Thank you, Peter, that’s very kind.”
A lock of red hair fell in front of his eyes. “One of these days, I will find a way through your wall of politeness and discover the girl within.”
“Peter Pan!” Wendy blushed at the notion. “That was very familiar of you!” She stared at him; his eyes were unflinching and hungry as he gazed upon her. “While I would wish to stay and talk all night, you should probably take me back to my hut. I’m rather sleepy, and Michael is probably waiting for me.”
“Ah, yes.” Peter rubbed his chin with an aggravated sigh. “Michael. What an adorable little boy.”
Wendy smiled. “Not always. Precocious and annoying and yes, adorable. Sometimes. And speaking of the boys, John seems to be fitting in quite well.”
“Ah, yes, I’ve asked Oxley to take him under his wing. Abbott’s not keen, but then again, Abbott doesn’t really like anyone or anything.”
“He does seem a bit wary.”
“Ever since he was a little boy, he has had a jaded heart. Can you blame him?”
Peter laced his hand through Wendy’s, and then they were both floating inches off the ground. “He’s not like you, Wendy. You have a generous heart. I can see it. You will be good for Pan Island.”
“But we won’t be staying here forever, Peter. We have to go . . . home.” As soon as she said the words, she realized how vague they sounded. Home—where was that?
He eyed her carefully, his green eyes swirling with navy. “Yes. Home. You can go home anytime you like. But I must know, do you like it here? With me?”
Wendy nodded her head, noting how Peter’s hair moved ever so slightly even though there was no breeze. It was as if he were a part of the island himself, a creature of nature that moved with the whims of the environment around him. His very being seemed to hum with Neverland. With his eyes bearing down on her with so much intensity, Wendy suddenly felt very shy and unsure of herself in the moment.
“I should probably turn in for the night.”
“Yes,” Peter said, obviously not meaning it at all. “First, hold onto me.”
Wendy wrapped her arm delicately around his waist, and then they were soaring up out of the hut and through the massive branches of the tree that made Pan Island. Golden-hued lanterns shimmered below their feet, and Wendy could vaguely make out the shape of the Lost Boys going to and from various huts, some finding their hammocks, others playing with swords through the tree branches. There was a boy swinging on a rope upside down below them, giggling to himself as he wound vines through his toes. Wendy smiled. There was no bedtime on Pan Island.
“Come,” Peter whispered as they soared through the night air. “I want to show you something. It will be quick, I promise.”
They soared upward, passing huts and tree branches, past Wendy’s hut and Peter’s, up and up until they reached the thatched roof where they had landed after their flight from . . . from . . . she couldn’t remember. That place she was from. Peter’s moon flag still fluttered in the air, and beside it, a Lost Boy stood as still as stone, his eyes on the main island, his face never moving—not even as Wendy and Peter flew over him. Then, without warning, he spun around and faced the opposite way.