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“What about you?” he asks as he trains his gaze on my mouth.
I nearly choke on my bite of cake at his question. I thought we were talking about him. “What about me?” I ask sharply.
“Are you from here?”
This is a pretty innocent question, and he has answered my questions. “I grew up in this area, yeah,” I answer him quickly. “Are your parents still in the area?” I ask hastily, trying to divert his attention away from me and back to him.
“You met my dad, and yes, his house is next door to mine. My mom died about three years ago.”
“Sorry,” I reply automatically, but it comes out weird, lacking the pity the condolence should have. Declan seems to have noticed it too.
“What about your parents?” he asks.
“What about them?” I deflect quickly.
Declan’s stare narrows for a second, but he is undeterred by my harsh response. “Dotheystill live around here?”
“I don’t know,” I answer as dispassionately as I had offered my condolences.
Quiet stretches between us for several seconds, but it feels like years. It highlights some awkwardness, at least for me, surrounding this experience. Declan looks completely cool and unfazed.
“Why are you doing this?” I finally ask, the silence becoming too much, causing me to panic.
Declan just tilts his head in question. I bet he does that a lot, I muse. Just makes a move and people do whatever. It works; I get his unspoken query. “Why are you letting me ask you these questions?”
“You said you don’t know me,” he replies, using the same answer from earlier, as if this answers everything.
“So?” My tone is salty, and Declan looks at me with a look I would best call pompous amusement.
“So,”he mockingly matches my tone. “If you ask me questions, you will get to know me.”
“And if you answer mine, am I supposed to answer yours?” I accuse, suddenly feeling wound up.
“Have I offended you somehow?” he asks in his monotonous voice, his gaze hardening.
Had he? I’m not sure now. What had he even asked me? Had I overreacted? I try to rein my emotions in, calm myself down, and replay what just happened.
“Vivian?” Declan asks, his look softening.
I swallow. “I, uh, I don’t like talking about myself,” I tell him. I realize that he hit a nerve with the innocent question about my parents, and it panicked me, sending me into self-defense mode.
“Then how can I get to know you?”
My breath caught. “Y-you want to get to know me?” I ask, looking down at my hands. “Why?”
A small, quick laugh gets my attention and I realize it is from Declan. His face has remained stone-still, but I can now see humor in his eyes.
“I am drawn to you, Vivian,” he admits, and once again the rumble of his deep voice gives me goose bumps on my arms and has me squeezing my thighs together. “I can’t stop thinking about you. I want to know everything I can about you.”
I stare at him in stunned silence for a few seconds, analyzing what he has just said to me before I speak again. “I’m not that interesting.”
Declan studies me. “Says you, but you know all there is to know about you. And I’d like to know some things about you.”
“So why are you letting me ask you questions if you want to know about me?” I say hotly, going back on the defensive.
“Because I want you to get to know me too.”
“But you said you wanted to get to know me,” I remind him, “so why are you letting me ask you so many questions?”