“What?” I pretended I’d assumed something different entirely. “Surprised I know how to make coffee? I watched you do it enough.”
That seemed to snap him out of the stupor. “Not at all.” He shuffled toward the coffeepot, rubbing his cheek. His skin was smooth now, newly shaven, and it made him appear younger. “The light caught your hair. It looked red, like flame.”
That was a weird thing for him to say, and not necessarily good or bad. Why couldn’t he just speak in ways I’d understand?
I shut the door and leaned against it while he poured coffee for both of us, adding generous spoonfuls of honey. Then he handed a mug to me as if we did this every morning.
But in reality, all our mornings—until we began the walk to Heart—had been him feeding me and helping me wash.
I’d told him about my infatuation with Dossam. With him.
I gulped down coffee, hoping if he noticed my cheeks were red, he’d assume it was my drink. All the times he helped me clean up, take care of embarrassing things—and there I’d been hoping he would kiss my forehead last night.
I thudded onto the nearest chair. Sam followed, only the length of the table between us. He kept his face down, but I could half see him watching me through dark strands of hair. When he noticed that I wasn’t fooled, he turned his gaze out the window so light poured across his skin.
I wanted to ask where he’d gone last night. Instead, my words came out, “You look pensive,” like my mouth was saving me at the last second. If he’d been sneaking, I wasn’t supposed to know.
His scowl deepened. “How can you tell?”
“You get a wrinkle. Right here.” I dragged my forefinger between my eyes. “If you keep at it, your face will stick that way.” I pressed my hands over my mouth, a traitor after all. “Guess wrinkles don’t matter to you.”
He sipped his coffee.
“And now you’re thinking too hard about how to respond to my stupidity. Have to be polite, don’t you?”
“You’re really aggressive this morning. Coffee makes you mean.” He leaned back in his chair, wood creaking as his weight shifted. “Or did I do something offensive?”
“No, I’m just annoyed.” I stood and crossed my arms. “I said something stupid, and you didn’t even react. You don’t care. You’re too calm, even when you should be mad or happy.”
Sam lifted an eyebrow. “Too calm?”
“Yes!” I stalked around the kitchen, looking everywhere but at him; he’d only make it worse. “When something happens, you sit back and ponder it. You don’t act.”
“Eventually I do.” His tone shifted, lightened like he enjoyed taunting me. “So you don’t think you’re just impulsive?”
I halted, glared. “Impulsive?”
“You know the word, don’t you?”
“Yes.” He really thought I was stupid, didn’t he?
“It’s just,” he went on as if I hadn’t spoken, “you’re so young and sometimes I forget what you do and don’t know.”
My chest hurt, like he’d hit me square against the heart.
I spun and marched toward the back door. Sam lurched to his feet and caught my wrist, my waist, and even though his grip was gentle, I didn’t have the energy to wrestle away.
“See? Impulsive.” He smiled and didn’t loosen his hold. “But I didn’t mean to push so hard.”
I bit my lip, trying to catch up. Always trying to catch up. “So you didn’t mean that?”
“Oh, I absolutely did. But not,” he added as I drew back, “the part about you knowing words. I only meant the impulsive part.”
“I’m a passionate person, that’s all.”
His mouth turned up in a sly smile.
“If I only get one life, I don’t want to waste it by hesitating.” I stepped away from him, and his hands slid off my hips. “After all, Sam, when was the last time you gave in to your passions?”
“Every time I play music or write a new melody.”
“What about the last time you did something that scared you?” I shook my head. “I mean, not rescuing drowning girls or saving them from sylph. Something else. Something actually scary.”
He wore the thinking line again, long enough to make me wonder about all the secrets he wouldn’t tell me. The secrets were his real fears, and whatever he said next would be to humor me.
“Last night,” he whispered. “When you saw everything in the parlor and I played for you.”
As if someone like him got nervous about playing music for a nosoul. “You already knew how I felt about music. What about something you didn’t know you were perfect at, or how it would be received?” I stepped close to him, so close my neck hurt from keeping his gaze, and so close I could feel heat from his body. “When was the last time you were impulsive, Sam?”