Nick shakes his head, eyebrows drawn tight as soon as we step away from the building and toward the tree-lined gravel road and trail that leads back to campus.

“What?”

“Every time I come here, people look at me like I know what the hell I’m doing.”

I cross my arms as we walk, and a memory comes to me. “My mom used to say, ‘Fake it till you make it.’ Maybe that’s what you’ve got to do. Fake it till you make it.”

He chuckles, and the warmth of it fills my chest. “Thanks, partner.”

“Oh, I’m not your partner.” I jerk a thumb over my shoulder, back toward the Lodge. “I think Vaughn wants that gig.”

“Ugh, that dude.” He rolls his eyes. “He keeps asking me to spar. It’s all very… bro-y? Is that a word?” I giggle, imagining Vaughn the asshole chasing Nick down with sparring swords, begging him to practice. “I really don’t want him as my Squire.” Nick’s eyes widen hopefully. “Any more thoughts about—”

I hold my hands up. “As we all saw last night, I don’t have a clue how to hold a sword or a bow and arrow or… anything. I’d be horrible.”

“We’d train you.” Nick grins. “I’ve seen you move. You’d be incredible.”

“Oh, really?” I cross my arms, narrowing my eyes.

“Yeah, really.” His laugh is a soft rumble in the quiet morning air. “Maybe I like watching you move.”

I open my mouth, but no actual words emerge, so I just shake my head and turn away.

He stops in the road, catches my wrist, and tugs until I have to angle toward him. “Don’t do that,” he chides.

“Do what?” Shadows play across his face as he draws me nearer. Like last night in his room, he presses his thumb into my palm, and just that bit of pressure ignites my insides, sets my heart racing.

“That thing you just did. That thing you do,” he says, his eyes filled with humor—and a shadow of hurt. “Tell yourself I’m just teasing. It’s okay to be nervous, but please don’t dismiss the idea that I like you, B.”

I make a strangled sort of indignant sound. “I’m not nervous. I’m just…”

He tilts his head. “Just what?”

I blink in shock, because he’s really, really expecting an answer, isn’t he? “I’m… a lot of things.”

He hums in amused agreement, his lips tight in a suppressed smile. “You are. I agree.”

“And… and… I’m not used to feeling this way.”

“What way?”