He made me feel . . . nervous. Maybe that wasn’t the right word. I didn’t feel tense or panicky, the things that usually come with nerves. He made me feel as if everything was so much closer to the surface, raw and more alive. When I was around him, my brain processed everything so fast, but everything felt still and calm in the cracks of him opening up to me. I felt bright and quick and stable and level all at once.

My heart raced when I glanced over and caught him looking back at me, his long fingers toying with the necklace around his neck. Maybe it was the effect of the vodka, but as I refilled my glass, I could feel Kael’s eyes on me, as if he was taking me in, head to toe. He wasn’t appraising me in that skeevy way some guys do when they are so obviously checking someone out. It wasn’t like that at all. When Kael looked at me, it was as if he saw me, the real me—who I was, not who I was trying to be. He held my gaze for a moment, then lowered his eyes. My chest fluttered. Forget butterflies—these were blackbirds. Big, glossy blackbirds flapping their wings, making my heart take flight. I took a deep breath to calm myself down. I felt him looking at me and tried to ignore the pang at the bottom of my stomach. I put the bottle back on the counter and mixed in apple juice. Someone had cleared out the cranberry.

“What’s that going to taste like?” He was standing right behind me now. Whether he had moved or I had, I couldn’t say. I saw his shadow in the metal sink and hoped like hell that he couldn’t hear the wild beating in my chest.

I turned slowly to face him. He was so close.

“Either great or not.” I shrugged.

He took a half-step back. My body didn’t calm.

“And you’re willing to take that risk?” he asked, smiling behind his drink. I wanted to tell him that he didn’t need to hide it—his smile, that was. That I really liked it when he was funny when he teased me. But I needed a few more shots to be at that level of bold.

“Yeah. I guess so.” I put my nose to the glass and took a sniff. It wasn’t so bad. I took a sip. It wasn’t horrible. But maybe I should microwave it to pretend it was a cider?

“Good?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said. I lifted the cup between us. “Wanna taste?”

“No, thanks.” He shook his head, holding up his beer.

“Do you always drink beer?” I asked him.

“Yeah, mostly. Not in a while, though,” he said, smiling but trying not to. “Because of being gone. Of being over there,” he clarified.