I slowly nod. Sure. That’s what we’re good at: pretending things didn’t happen.

When I was seven years old, I spent nearly every weekend at Charity’s house. On one of these nights, while sleeping beside my bestie in our matching My Little Pony sleeping bags under the glow of her night-light, I woke up shaking from a nightmare, convinced there were monsters out to get me.

I tiptoed out of Charity’s bedroom and headed for the bathroom—for some reason I thought bathrooms were monster-free zones—and on my way down the dark hallway, I heard a voice.

“What are you doing?” Levi whispered.

He scared the crap out of me, and I totally jumped and started crying and blabbing about my scary dream and how there were monsters everywhere and how I was going to die.

He looked at me like I was crazy as tears and boogers ran down my face.

“Don’t cry, Pixie. Hey…” He stepped out of his room and hesitantly pulled me into an awkward boy hug. “If I see any monsters, I’ll punch them until they turn into mush, okay?”

My tears and boogers started to subside as I shook in his skinny arms. If Levi would mush monsters for me, I knew I was safe.

“Want to see something cool?” he asked, no doubt trying to distract me.

I nodded.

He led me to an upstairs window overlooking their backyard, opened it, and climbed out onto the porch roof below, motioning for me to follow. I did, and we sat side by side on the roof and stared up at the night sky.

“This is what I do when I have a bad dream,” he said. “There aren’t any monsters out here.” He sounded very matter-of-fact, in his Superman pajamas and messy hair.

As I took in the twinkling stars and quiet shadows of the night, I realized he was right. There weren’t any monsters outside. Or at least none when I was sitting beside Levi.

That was the first time Levi Andrews was my hero.

And yesterday, when he thought I was hurt and he looked scared out of his mind, it was like he was that eight-year-old boy again. Protecting me. Looking at me like I was worth saving. And it made me want to cry for everything that we’d lost. Everything I’d ruined the night I let Charity drive drunk.

I swallow, trying to push the memory back into the cold corner of my mind where most of my childhood is locked up, and step out of my bedroom.

Levi’s in the shower, hogging all the hot water again, and I’m both mad and relieved. Yesterday’s scare broke the silence between us, and with it came an unspoken truce. And I’ll take a cold shower over a cold shoulder any day.

When he finally emerges from the steamy bathroom, I put on my best “I’m pissed” look and stare him down in the hallway. He’s wearing only a towel, of course, and I’m momentarily distracted.

“Waiting outside the door, Pix?” He slants his eyes with a cocky smile. “Have you been missing me?”

I raise a bored eyebrow. “Only with my shotgun.”

Okay, it’s a cheesy line, but come on. It’s early. And he’s only wearing a towel. I can’t be expected to whip out witty comments when I’m sleepy and aroused.

I try to step around him and enter the bathroom, but he blocks my path. With his bare chest just inches from my face, the textured skin of his nipple catches my eye and white-hot desire darts through me. It’s all I can do not to lick him.

This is what I’ve been reduced to. Nipple-licking fantasies.

“If you want to see me naked that bad, all you have to do is ask.” He winks.

“Move, asshole.” I push against his chest with my hand, damp heat wrapping around my wrist, and move him out of the bathroom and into the hallway.

When he speaks, his chest vibrates and the current runs up my arm. “Ah, Pix. You know you love me.”

I remove my hand from his chest. “I know I loathe you.”

“Promises, promises,” he says with a crooked smile as I start to shut the bathroom door.

But for a moment—for a super-tiny second, right before I close the door on his face—our eyes meet in a vulnerable gaze.

No facades. No snarky remarks. Just him and me, seeing each other. Knowing the hard things we wish we didn’t and wanting to undo things we can’t. It’s raw and it’s honest and it makes me want to cry.

But he blinks.

And I blink.

And then it’s gone.

The bathroom door latches shut, and I’m left alone in the spearmint bathroom with my scar and an endless supply of cold water.

Note to self: Do not look in Pixie’s eyes. From now on, stare at her mouth or her nose or… just anywhere else. But not her eyes. Her eyes see inside me and know the things I’m too afraid to say out loud.

On my way to Ellen’s office I pass Haley, who quickly looks away.

She feels bad about saying the name Charity yesterday, and how stupid is that? People shouldn’t be so afraid of Pixie and me that they can’t even speak Charity’s name around us. That’s bullshit. Pixie and I are fine.

I rub the back of my neck because that’s a lie straight from hell.

I turn a corner and pace down the back hallway.

Most people who lose someone close to them support each other through the tragedy.

Not Pix and I.

After Charity died, Pixie and I just stopped talking.

In fact, the first time I saw Pixie after Charity’s funeral was just a few weeks ago, when she started working at the inn. And her presence took me by complete surprise.

I walked out of my bedroom and there she was, in her yellow dress, looking lost and found at the same time.

Little Pixie, whom I had spent my whole life loving and one night destroying, was standing outside my bedroom with pink toenails, a blue suitcase, and a look on her face that made me feel like I was home.

And God, I wanted to be home.

But guilt’s a hungry bastard, so any thoughts I had about hugging her and begging her to forgive me for hurting Charity—for hurting her—were swallowed alive by the shame in my soul.

We stood in the hall, staring at each other in confusion for a minute before a very strained conversation took place.

“Uh… what are you…?” I had no words.

She licked her lips. “I just started working here. In the kitchen. For my aunt. School’s out, and I couldn’t stand the idea of staying with my mom.”

“Oh.” I nodded, staring at her mouth. “Ellen must have forgotten to mention that to me.”

She shifted her weight. “What, uh… what are you doing here?”

“I work here.”

“Oh.”

I paused. “And I live here.”

Her eyes widened briefly, then turned expressionless. “Really.” She inhaled. “Ellen didn’t tell me that.”

Awkward silence.

I cleared my throat. “So if you’re working in the kitchen, what brings you up here, to the east wing?”

She bit her lip. “Uh, my room’s up here?”

“Your room?”

“Yeah, I uh… I live here now. Too.” She pointed to the bedroom door next to mine, and I nodded, thrilled and terrified. Mostly terrified.

“So I guess we’ll be sharing a bathroom.”

Her eyes moved between me and the bathroom, then slid to our bedroom doors. “I guess so.”

We locked gazes, and suddenly that stupid pigeon of sexual tension was in the air, swooping all around us.

Once again, I cleared my throat. “I’ll be seeing you, then.” Then I left down the stairs, trying to outrun the heat from her body and her pretty green eyes.