Page 19

"I heard you shout. It woke me."

He blushes, and God, I want to kiss him. His face is always so soft and beautiful. My fingers twitch with the urge to reach out and touch him.

"I'm sorry. I was frustrated."

I tilt my head. Willoughby has been quite disgruntled with me over the past twenty-four hours, but otherwise, the man is kindness incarnate. He helps neighbors and rescues injured animals and sings to plants, and everyone on the island is his friend. I don't think I've ever seen him this upset with anyone but me.

That thought starts to drag me down, but I push it away.

"Why?"

He gestures at the pumpkin, the one and only that survived the great garden destruction.

I try to understand what caused his outburst, I really do. But honestly, it's round, it's orange, and it’s apparently unchanged.

"Ah," I hedge.

He glances up at me and rolls his eyes, though I catch the faint trace of a smirk.

"You have no idea what the problem is, do you?" he asks.

I breathe in through my nose, let it out slowly, and shake my head. "I'm sorry."

His eyes blink rapidly at the apology.

God, am I such an ass that simply apologizing is shocking?

Yes. Yes, I am.

Thankfully, Will chuckles, and my heart tightens in my chest. I want to make him smile and laugh all the time. I don't want to be the reason for his sadness anymore. I'll do whatever I can to keep him from frowning for the rest of our lives. A ridiculous goal, but I'm going to try my best.

He gestures toward the top right of the pumpkin, and I move closer to get a better look. My chest brushes his arm, and that single touch is electric enough that I have to concentrate on keeping my breathing even.

"Just to the left under the stem," he says.

I crouch, and he settles beside me, so near that I can feel the heat of his body in the cool autumn air. He smells lightly of cinnamon this morning.

Just below the stem, a small patch of the pumpkin's outer skin has been scraped away. It's no bigger than my thumbnail.

"Well, it's unfortunate, but it's still a very nice pumpkin. I don't think anyone's going to notice something that small," I reason, but the determined look on Will's round face tells me he won't be soothed easily.

"The first issue is this." He turns around and pulls down the collar of his sweater.

A bruise in the exact shape of the scrape on the pumpkin has formed on his back, just below where his neck meets his shoulder. I trace my fingers around the blemish, careful not to touch the tender skin itself. A shiver works up Will's spine.

I wish my fingers could explore more of him.

"What happened here?" I ask instead, reluctantly pulling my hands back.

He turns back to face me. "I don't know, but it wasn't there last night. I woke up assuming I was bitten by a mystery bug, and then I found the same mark on the pumpkin."

I consider the evidence, the implication dawning on me, but it could be a simple coincidence.

"Turn around."

Worry rises in Will's eyes, and my stomach swoops. His round, calloused fingers brush my skin as he catches the edge of my sleep shirt and pulls it low, revealing the same spot.

"You have one too."