In his room the fire’s low and he builds it up again. He doesn’t look at me now we’re finally alone. I sit in one of the wingback chairs and watch him hunch down on the hearth, feeding scraps of thin parchment to the flames.
There are a million things I want to ask him, a million things I want to know. Who he is and where he’s from and what he does for fun, if he likes me, if he’s been with guys before, if he thinks we have a chance together. But none of the questions sound right in my mind so I keep quiet. The low crackle of flames and the faint wind against the shutters fill the silence around us. When he stands, I slip my arms around his waist and pull him down into my lap.
“Nicholas,” he says with a laugh.
I love the sound. “What?” I ask, grinning. I hold him tight until he relaxes
