Page 36 of Romancing in Rot

It’s a possibility. A trigger. A ghost with a gun.

All my responsibility if I misjudged it.

Clair’s fingers tighten around the hatchet.

Lyla looks toward Earl. “Let’s map a strategy, shall we?”

Everyone starts moving toward his truck, pulled by purpose and the thin comfort of having something to plan.

Edith glances between Clair and me, then calls from near the fire, “Poppy, come help me with dinner.”

Poppy looks up at Clair.

Clair nods. “Go ahead.”

Poppy hesitates, taking in the gore on Clair’s clothes, then squeezes her once more before running to Edith.

Edith winks at me over Poppy’s head.

Leaving Clair with me.

Subtle as a shovel to the face.

The woods are colder now. The light fading between the trees turns the trunks dark and thin. Camp noise shifts behind us. Voices. Metal. Joanie saying something that makes Trish cackle like an evil witch.

Clair steps closer and holds out my hatchet.

My fingers brush hers.

Her breath catches.

Mine doesn’t, because I have spent most of my life learning how to swallow reactions before anyone can see them.

But my whole body notices.

Her gaze lifts to mine, then drops fast, like she regrets getting caught looking.

There.

That.

Not rejection.

Not fear exactly.

A flinch in another shape.

She wants, then punishes herself for wanting. Reaches, then folds back in. Like attraction is one more place she can fail.

If I step toward her right now, she might let me.

That’s the problem.

I take the hatchet from her and step back before the air between us can turn into something neither of us is ready to handle.

Her eyes flicker with doubt.

No.