Nolan fills Alex in on the way back to Val’s, the three of us, and Wally, bouncing around uncomfortably in the small cab. Nolan and I don’t say another word to each other about magic or anything else.

We don’t need to speak to feel something has changed. We can’t go back to being the same two people we were in the boathouse a few hours ago, before I answered his unspoken cry for help, before he conquered whatever fear forbade him from entering the water in order to help me. Before he confessed that he, too, has a before and an after and that it has something to do with Orman and someone he couldn’t save.

It feels rather like we just took out a giant troll in the bathroom, or fought our way to Mordor, shoulder to shoulder. It’s true: there are some things you can’t go through together without ending up friends.

chapter ten

Nolan wants Alex to drive his truck around the trees and through the sodden miniature meadow that encircles the bookstore. He wants us to bypass the parking lot entirely and pull straight up to the door.

“She can’t walk that far, Alex,” he says across me. “Her ankle is probably twisted or broken or—”

“I am not messing up the ground when the festival is only three days away,” Alex says as he puts the truck into park. His voice is quieter than Nolan’s, nearly drowned out by the rain that coats the windows.

Nolan has no such problem. He’s practically yelling. His eyes are not as wild as they were beside the lake, but they are still a tinge feral.

“Ask me how much I care about your festival right now. She’s hurt. It’s my fault. We’re pulling up to the door.”

Alex opens his mouth to respond, but my movement stops him.

I turn my body toward Nolan and—as slowly as we crept to the lighthouse—raise my hand to his cheek. I blush a little, knowing Alex is watching our every move, not knowing why this feels so inexplicably natural.

Even though it is still damp from the rain, Nolan’s cheek is warm in my hand. I watch his face closely as my fingertips, my palm, my wrist, rest against his head. His eyes soften, the untamed energy sapping from his body as he slackens his face into my hand.

“I’m okay to walk,” I tell him, my voice steady. “Really.”

There is a time to talk about what happened at the lighthouse, but it is not now.

“I don’t want … I don’t want you to be hurt anymore,” Nolan says, and—not to be outdone—he brings both of his hands up to cradle my face. “You’ve been hurt enough.”