Page 114 of Wicked Promises

But… he has been. Unfailingly sweet and supportive and gentle.

What on earth is wrong with me?

“Is this the new us?” I blurt out. “You being nice?”

He smirks. “Is this not what you want?”

Is it? Not if it isn’t real.

He seems to realize the seriousness of my question, because he leans back and drops the piece of hair he was still twirling. “Margo. I think our situations in the past few weeks have called for niceness. Would you prefer…?”

“Caleb the jerk?” I look away.

His thumb brushes my cheek, catching a tear I didn’t even realize was falling.

“I just want stability, you know?” I whisper.

“I’m starting to think you never deserved anything I did to you,” he admits. “It was so black and white, and then you just… changed everything in a matter of months.”

I nod. “Your uncle?”

His jaw sets.

“It’s okay. We’ll undo whatever he did.”

I kiss him softly. Honestly, I meant it as a peck. But his hand cups the back of my head, trapping me there, and he deepens it. His tongue slides into my mouth.

I groan and fist his shirt in my grip.

“Margo, you have visitors!” Lenora calls from downstairs. “I’ll send them up.”

We break apart, and he grins at me.

It’s a little devious—a hint of the old him.

I shake my head, straightening my clothes. Caleb just leans back, doing nothing to fix his shirt or the way his hair sticks up in every which way. Did I do that?

My door flies open, and Hanna bursts inside. She takes a minute to gape at the room, then shoots into my arms.

“Ah, hi, Hanna,” I laugh, hugging her to me.

She squeezes tight enough to steal my breath away.

Claire follows, but she doesn’t come all the way into the room. Her attention goes to Caleb. “Sorry, are we interrupting something?”

I glance at him, but he says nothing.

“No,” I manage. “No, it’s great to see you.”

Hanna releases me. “Claire drove us! Our foster parents finally said she was good enough to drive me.”

Caleb squints. “Did they, now?”

“She drives fast,” Hanna tells him. “But she lets me sit in the front seat, and I like to stick my hand out the window.”

Maybe he’s remembering that I don’t know how to drive, because he says nothing. He barely even looks at Claire, and her stare is hot enough to melt plastic.

“So, to what do we owe this visit?” I ask her, slightly moving so I break her line of sight.