Eye of the Beholder (Stone Springs Book 1) by Gracie Ruth Mitchell

Author:Gracie Ruth Mitchell [Mitchell, Gracie Ruth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-09-23T05:00:00+00:00

18

Mina

It is safe to say that I will never, ever go anywhere Halloween-related ever again.

Ever.

When we finally get home that night, I am exhausted in a way I did not know was possible. It’s a mixture of several different kinds of exhaustion. I’m feeling a little guilty because of my thoughts about Virginia. Jesus would be nice to her; I am not being nice.

She shut me in a hidden room.

At. An. Asylum.

What is wrong with her? Is she nuts? There’s a line you don’t cross, like killing puppies and kittens. Trapping people in hidden rooms with blood-stained beds is on the wrong side of that line.

She said she was just playing around and that she thought we’d be able to get right out again. And I actually believe her about that part, that she thought we’d be able to come right back out. Because that’s what we thought, too. But apparently when they went to go find someone to help with the door, she delayed, making sure they took as long as possible.

And yes, realistically I know that she’s probably just very insecure. She clearly wants every man of her acquaintance, and here I am, suddenly spending time with Cohen. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he was right about what he said in the hidden room; maybe she measures her worth by her relationships with men.

Either way, she is not getting any Christmas presents from me.

Aside from my silent fuming at Virginia, I’m also fuming at myself. And at Cohen, to be honest. All that fuming is tiring. Thus the exhaustion when I get home, scrub my face clean of all the skeleton makeup, and pull on my pajamas.

What were we thinking? Holding hands? We don’t hold hands. We don’t hug. We don’t do those things. But he said that stuff about his dad, and it felt so natural to take his hand in mine. It felt comfortable, not weird—like we’ve been doing it forever. And even when we weren’t talking about his dad anymore, I didn’t want to let go.

It was nice of him to call me beautiful. I didn’t mind the hug, either. And I really didn’t mind his kiss to the top of my head. That I didn’t mind bothers me almost as much as the hand holding.

Of course, I’m never going to bring that stuff up again. My guess is that he won’t either. So maybe we can just pretend it didn’t happen? Does that ever really work?

I’m willing to try it if he is. And if he isn’t, I’ll try it anyway.

I begin to pull my blinds down and let my gaze drift to Cohen’s window. It’s open, but his room is dark. He must have forgotten to close it.

Or so I think until I glance at the gap between our houses and see that his car is still running. I check my watch. We got back fifteen minutes ago. Why is he still in his car?

I war with myself briefly. On one hand, my bed looks lovely and inviting, and I’m already in my pajamas.

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