"Uh, can I have an example?"
Wolf exhaled. "Fine. Me, for example. The reason I was nervous about seeing you. You're going to infer from it that I...like you, or some garbage like that. But I don't. I was nervous about seeing you because – “
I watched his throat bob with a hard swallow. It wouldn't take a textbook to realize he was uneasy, reluctant to say the next few words. I searched my memories for something, anything that could make someone as put-together as Wolf squirm. And then it hit me.
"Because of the pool thing," I said. "I tried to - I almost - touched you."
Wolf flexed his jaw, then nodded shortly.
"I didn't mean to," I blurted. "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me, I just -"
"It's fine."
"It's not fine!" I stood up. "Look, I read a lot, okay? The textbooks say phobias like yours aren't to be messed with lightly."
The sun carved his face in doubt. "How did you know I have a phobia?"
My stomach dropped out. "It's obvious. You never touch anyone. You flinch away if someone gets too close. You always spin your rings when you’re thinking, and when someone gets close you spin them fast. The only time I've seen you touch someone was that night when you fought Fitz, but you said you were buzzed. Your inhibitions were lowered. And that was the only time."
Wolf stopped spinning a ring on his finger, like he caught himself in the act.
"How many people have you told?" He demanded, eyes just beginning to stoke with emerald brimstone.
"None, I promise. I don't think anybody's caught on. They just think you're a jerk."
"Better a jerk than a freak," He muttered.
"You're not a freak."
Wolf laughed, the sound reverberating. "We're social animals, scholarshipper. Babies without touch grow up stunted. Touch is vital. To be afraid of something so simple and integral and easy for everyone else -" He clenched his gloves in his hand. "Is freakish. Stupid. Immature."
The last three words didn't sound like his own. They sounded hollow, like a recording of a memory.
"It sounds like you're just reciting those last three words. Like, you've heard someone say them to you a lot, and you're just repeating them."
Wolf's eyes flashed dangerously. I wasn't going to press him about it. I couldn't press him about it - it was his past to bear, even if I wanted to know badly what it was, how he got such scars.
"It's okay," I said slowly. "I'm trying to save my Dad, and you're repeating words from someone in your past. It happens. Shit happens. We're both fucked up and shit happens."
"Maybe you're inferring wrong," He snarled.
"No. Not with your reaction, I'm not. I'm right, aren't I?"
The grandfather clock ticked between our silence again. Wolf didn't say anything, his quiet all the confirmation I needed.
"You said my name," He spoke finally.
"What?"
"On your lawn. You said my name. So now we've both said each other’s'."
I thought back to it. He was right. I did. It’d been easy, like it should’ve always been.
"Maybe you’re getting less prideful," I offered.
"And maybe you're growing up," He retorted.
"God, I hope not. I like not paying taxes."
He leaned back into the couch. "Fitz won't stop moaning about how he'll have to pay taxes on his trust fund."
"Do me a favor and tell him to cry me a huge-ass river," I shot. Wolf chuckled, the sound like pleasant thunder. Seamus came in just then, his face flushed.
"It's ready, Miss Bee! Do come back and change into it. I must see how it looks."
I gave a 'here I go' thumbs up to Wolf, and trundled into the sewing room. A beautiful, sensible pale blue dress sat on a mannequin, with simple sleeves and an elegant, scooped neckline. Tiny poppies bloomed on the fabric, bright orange and deep black. The skirt was wide and fluffy, cinched at the waist so gentle waves formed naturally. Seamus excitedly showed me how to put it on, and then closed the door behind him to give me some privacy. I marveled at the soft fabric. This was so much prettier and more delicate than anything I'd ever owned. I almost felt out of place putting it on, but it was perfectly tailored - it hugged the spots I liked and was loose around the spots I didn't like. I twirled, feeling like some kind of movie star. I forgot I liked wearing nice things like this. The girl in the full-length mirror across from me looked totally different from the one I stared at the other night.
She looked happier.
I walked out and showed Seamus, and he clapped so fast and loud it sounded like three people applauding.
"Come! We must show the boys."
"The boys?" I choked, but Seamus dragged me by the hand and out into the living room before I could protest. I froze, a deer in the headlights, as Fitz and Burn looked at me. Fitz, his face still a little swollen and bruised, whistled and hooted. Burn nodded, once, a sure sign of approval. But Wolf had gone still on the couch, his eyes wide.
"Wolf!" Fitz groaned. "Don't just sit there and leave our girl hanging - say something!"
Fitz leaned in to slap him on the back, but Wolf saw it coming, regained himself, and stood up quickly to avoid it.
"You -" He started, swallowing. "It -"
"It's okay!" I scrabbled, some part of me deeply and weirdly afraid at what he was going to say next. "It's okay, isn't it? I'm going to change out of it. I'll be right back."
I dashed back into the sewing room, Seamus lamenting when I asked for a pair of pants. He passed me a simple black pair, and I changed. He insisted I take the dress with me.
“I can’t take it until I pay you for it,” I said. “How much is it?”
Seamus busied himself putting the dress in a box.
“Seriously, Mr. Seamus. How much is it?”
“Oh, don’t worry about it, dear –“
“How much!”
“Six hundred,” He said abruptly. I felt my face grow cold. “But don’t worry about that! Consider it a gift, Miss Bee. I had such a pleasant time, and so few opportunities to make a dress for a nice young lady like yourself - I can hardly charge you for it.”