Rain spat through the window, but Ander had stayed dry.
He looked paler than ever, as if the storm had washed the pigment from his skin. He seemed to glow as he stood against the window, towering over her. His measuring eyes made her bedroom smaller.
He closed the window, slid the bolt into place, and closed the shutters as if he lived there. He took off his jacket and draped it over her rocking chair. The definition of his chest was clear through his T-shirt. She wanted to touch him.
“You’re not wet,” she said.
Ander combed his fingers through his hair. “I tried to call you.” His tone sounded like arms reaching out.
“I lost my phone.”
“I know.” He nodded and she understood that somehow he really did know what had happened today. He took a long stride toward Eureka, so quickly she couldn’t see what was coming—and then she was in his arms. Her breath stuck in her throat. A hug was the last thing she’d expected. Even more surprising: it felt wonderful.
Ander’s hold on her had the kind of depth she’d felt with only a few people before. Diana, Dad, Brooks, Cat—Eureka could count them. It was a depth that suggested profound affection, a depth that bordered on love. She expected to want to pull away, but she leaned closer.
His open hands came to rest against her back. His shoulders spanned hers like a protective shield, which made her think of the thunderstone. He tilted his head to cradle hers against his chest. Through his T-shirt, she could hear his heart throbbing. She loved the sound it made.
She closed her eyes and knew that Ander’s eyes were closed, too. Their closed eyes cast a heavy silence on the room. Eureka suddenly felt she was in the safest place on earth and she knew she had been wrong about him.
She remembered what Cat always said about it feeling “easy” with some guys. Eureka had never understood that—her time with most boys had been halting, nervous, embarrassing—until now. Holding on to Ander was so easy that not holding on to him felt unthinkable.
The only thing awkward was her arms, pinned to her sides by his embrace. During their next inhalation, she drew them up and threaded them around Ander’s waist with a grace and a naturalness that surprised her. There.
He drew her in tighter, making every hug Eureka had ever witnessed in the hallways at Evangeline, every hug between Dad and Rhoda, seem a sad imitation.
“I’m so relieved you’re alive,” he said.
His earnestness made Eureka shudder. She remembered the first time he’d touched her, his fingertip dotting the damp corner of her eye. No more tears, he’d said.
Ander lifted her chin so that she was looking up at him. He gazed at the corners of her eyes, as if surprised to find them dry. He looked unbearably conflicted. “I brought you something.”
He reached behind him, pulling out a plastic-sheathed object that had been tucked inside the waist of his jeans. Eureka recognized it instantly. Her fingers latched onto The Book of Love in its sturdy waterproof pouch.
“How did you get this?”
“A little bird showed me where to find it,” he said with a complete lack of humor.
“Polaris,” Eureka said. “How did you—”
“It isn’t easy to explain.”
“I know.”
“Your translator’s insight was impressive. She had the sense to bury your book and her notebook under a willow tree by the bayou the night before she was—” Ander paused, his eyes downcast. “I’m sorry.”
“You know what happened to her?” Eureka whispered.
“Enough to be vengeful,” he muttered. His tone convinced Eureka that the gray people on the road had been the killers. “Take the books. Clearly, she wanted them returned to you.”