“Then you started telling my stories less,” Peter continued. He spoke faster, his words tumbling from his lips. “I could see that you were growing up, that you were going to move into your own room, become a teenager, and forget about me. When John and Michael were—” Peter let out a frustrated noise and started again. “When I found the three of you in the woods, you begged me to bring you along to Neverland, and I wanted to. I didn’t want you to grow up and forget about me, too. It—” He gave her an uncertain look. “It hurt to think about.”

Wendy could hardly understand him. She felt dizzy. “What are you saying?” She felt out of breath.

“You were the oldest kid ever to come to Neverland, Wendy,” Peter told her. His fingers finally pressed to the inside of her wrist, heavy and warm. “It’s meant for children. I think that’s why I started losing my magic and Neverland began falling apart. It’s my fault all of this happened…” His face was twisted.

“But you didn’t know that would happen,” Wendy said. Her body was acutely aware of him—where his hand was on hers, the way his body was angled toward her, how she was close enough to feel his body heat. The acorn pressed against the center of her chest. It felt hot.

“I went against the rules,” Peter told her. “My job is to look after lost kids. I’m not supposed to interact with the others. I could watch, I could listen in when you told stories, but I wasn’t supposed to approach.” He paused and wetted his lips. “And then everything went wrong,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t want you to hate me.” He spoke slowly, deliberately.

Wendy’s brows furrowed. She didn’t understand what he meant, but she couldn’t think through the heady fog. Wendy didn’t remember leaning in, or Peter moving closer. Their shoulders pressed against each other. Peter’s startling blue eyes were wide. His cheeks flushed. His fingers brushed against hers. Wendy’s heart fluttered in her chest.

At first, she thought she was trembling, but it was Peter.

“You’re shaking,” Wendy said.

Peter’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, giving a barely perceptible nod of his head.

“I thought you weren’t afraid of anything?” Wendy heard herself say. She was lightheaded and breathless.

“I’m terrified,” he said quietly. His starry eyes held hers and she couldn’t look away. She didn’t want to.

“Of what?” Wendy asked.

Peter’s words brushed against her lips. “Losing you.”

Wendy leaned in closer and placed a hand in the center of his chest. She could feel his heartbeat thudding against her fingertips. His palm pressed against her cheek. Her head swam as she drowned in the smell of humid jungles and salty oceans.