I don’t do words. Never been good at them. Dyslexic, I had to fight them, fight language, every step of the way.

But I can do art. Tangible, beautiful things I can move and shape. Poems without words. Stories without lines.

My hands work on their own, pulling beads and coiled wire from one of my art boxes, my mind on my conversation with my mom and my studies.

Give up on architecture and take up art? I want to live off this, from this art I’m making, these necklaces and bracelets and rings. Am I being foolish? Naïve? Am I retreating from the world even more when I promised to conquer it?

Stick a flag in it, too, a voice at the back of my mind chirps, and I giggle. Amber the Conqueror. Yeah, that’s me alright. It shouldn’t be so funny.

In fact, it’s not.

Kayla shoots me a look, one brow raised. “Do share your thoughts,” she mutters.

“Better not,” I say and put my supplies back into their box.

I don’t really know my thoughts. Don’t know my path, or what I’m doing here. Maybe this was a mistake. I could still go back to Chicago, work hard to catch up on my classes for Fall semester.

I think again about the guy across the street who was staring at me. The guy I thought was Nick, back from my school days.

So you’d just leave again? Not fight this, like you promised yourself? You’d let yourself imagine bullies on every street corner and in every city you go?

“Earth to Amber.” Kayla waves a hand in front of my face. “I said, you’re going to the wedding, right?”

She’s looking at me expectantly, and I have no clue what she’s talking about.

“What wedding?”

“Asher and Audrey’s wedding. Didn’t you see the invitation stuck to your bedroom door?”

I’d seen an envelope stuck to my door when I moved in, but have no clue what I did with it. Probably tore it off and threw it away. “Shit. Shit, shit.”

“Hey, don’t get so excited. You’ll burst something.”

More frigging parties. Damn.

“Give me your hand,” Kayla commands.

I blink at her. Talk about randomness. “What?”

“Hand.” She scoots closer to me on the couch and grabs my left hand. “You seem lost. Let me have a look.”

I stare at her blond-streaked head, which is bent over my upturned hand. Why does it feel as if I’ve just landed in an alternate universe?

“Um, Kayla…”

“A bit of palmistry never hath any harm or foul caused.”

“Is that so?”

“That is so. Now look at your heart line. Look at how short it is. For shame, girl.”

I pull my hand back, but she tsks and grips it more tightly. “We aren’t done yet. Look how the heart line touches the life line. See this?”

I bend to have a look, curious in spite of myself. “What does it mean?”

“That your heart is fragile. Easily broken.”

I freeze, and Kayla takes my silence and stillness as permission to continue this charade.

“The heart line is also broken here and there. There’s some emotional trauma here. And this little bubble on the line here? That’s depression.”

“Crap.” I jerk my hand away and lurch to my feet. “This is the most stupid thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Is it?” Kayla peers at me under her bleached fringe. “Then why are you shaking?”

“I’m not—” I look away from her, trying to recover my composure. “Don’t let people get under your skin,” I can almost hear the school psychologist’s voice in my memory. “It’s okay to show some vulnerability. Not everyone will betray you. In fact most people won’t.”

Yeah, right.

“You’re not what?” she asks, and the need to get away increases.

“Not shaking.”

How can I conquer when I can’t even roll over a small bump like this and keep talking? The tension rises. The air in my chest compresses. My legs shake with the need to run.

Then the doorbell rings, and I spin around, my heart pounding.

Christ.

Clearing the haze of panic from my thoughts, I stalk to the door and check through the peephole.

Clear blue-green eyes stare back at me, set in a handsome tanned face.

Jesse.

“Who is it?” Kayla asks, coming up behind me.

“Nobody,” I reply.

The bell rings again. Those stunning eyes shift up, then down, uncertain, and that long, soft mouth tightens. That flash of insecurity flips a switch inside my chest, and without warning, I grab the handle and pull the door open.

For a fleeting moment, it’s almost like opening the door to myself.

Then Jesse looks up and his face transforms. The uncertainty falls away like dried mud and a smirk lifts the corners of his generous mouth.

Whoa. I stumble back, hot and cold running through my body, and only have the time to think what a bad idea this was, before he walks inside.

***

“Howdy, stranger,” Kayla drawls from somewhere behind me, easy and relaxed-sounding, and I wonder how she does it.

“Hey there,” Jesse says, hands shoved deep in his jeans pockets, eyes sparkling. “How’re things?”

Standing there, talking as if they see each other every day. Yeah, I’ve often wondered how others do it. It’s just one of those things I can’t wrap my head around.

Seeing as they are fine talking to each other, I’m probably not going to be missed, so I turn to go to my room, to finally get that much-needed moment and space.

“Embers.” His deep voice catches me like a fish on a hook.

I stop, a shiver dancing down my spine. “Told you, that’s not my name.”

“But you like it.”

I turn around to glare at him. “No, I don’t.”

“Um, guys.” Kayla lifts her hands and sighs. “Sorry to interrupt the fun, but I have to go. I’m meeting with some friends and I’m late.”

I watch her skip past Jesse to get her purse and light coat, and groan inwardly.

“Traitor,” I hiss between my teeth. She didn’t seem to be in such a hurry to go two minutes ago.

Jesse’s brows climb up, then he shrugs and fixes his gaze on me. “Then I guess it’s just you and me, Embers.”

Everything in my body tightens pleasurably. Okay, how can this be? I don’t like drawing attention, but I do like having his attention on me.

“By the way, she’s right, you know,” Kayla the traitor says as she steps through the still open door to go. “That’s not a name.”

“Oh, come on.” He bends his head forward and chuckles. “You gotta admit it sounds nice.”

“It’s cute,” she says, compounding her treason, and leaves me alone. With Jesse James. Or Lee. Or whatever his name is.

I turn on him, hands on my hips. “What do you want?”

“That sounds like a trick question.” He winks.

“Does it? You barged in here, and you think asking you what you want is a trick question?”

“Hey now. I didn’t barge in here. You opened the door.” He lifts his hands much like Kayla did. I think I scare people.

Good. Better them than me.

“You’re an ass.”

He grins. “And a fine one, too.”

Oh dear God. “You’re a dick.”

He nods solemnly, but his eyes dip to my cleavage and darken to forest green. “A big, big dick.”

Crap, I walked right into this one, didn’t I? Of course, I’ve always had trouble recognizing plays on words and jokes, though nowadays I’ve more or less gotten the hang of it.

I should be upset. He’s teasing me, and teasing, in my book, is a prelude to hurting me.

But the smile lingering on his full lips takes the sting away, and what’s more, it’s hot. Way too hot. Heat rushes to my face, flames licking my cheeks, and a pulse starts between my legs.

This is so not happening. “Stop being such a jerk.”

“You say that affectionately.” He’s somehow moved closer to me while I was busy self-combusting, and his scent engulfs me, something hot, spicy and heady like mulled wine. “Like that pet name you gave me.”

What? I stare at the dark brows over his intense eyes, the faint stubble on that square jaw, that mouth and… Oh God. I’ve lost the thread. Again.