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Mack rubbed her thumbs against the soft terrycloth to stop her from touching Charlie, who had her arms wrapped around herself. Shewantedto touch her and take away her anxiety. But she didn’t trust herself to stop at a hug.

A chill ran up her spine, and she tried to mask the shiver.

“Hey, do you want me to throw your clothes in the dryer?” Charlie asked. “You can wear my robe, and I’ll throw on my pjs.”

“Nah, you don’t have to do that.”

The eye and lip choreography running through Charlie’s face was a master class in human facial expression, and Mack committed the nuances to memory. Charlie’s bit lip and hopeful eyes seemed to convey she was worried if Mack didn’t take the robe, she’d leave. Mack wanted to dig for the origin of this fear.

“Actually, a robe sounds great.”

Muffled footsteps pattered against the floor as Charlie hurried from the room and returned a moment later with a neon green robe with miniature unicorns because,of course.

“I have the identical one at home,” Mack joked.

“No, you don’t.” A sheepish smile brushed across Charlie’s lips when she handed the robe over. “Bathroom’s down the hall to the right if you want to change.”

Mack nodded and moved down the hall. The sheer amount of stuff in Charlie’s bathroom was like Mack stepped into Ulta. Various shades of eyeshadow, mason jars of lipsticks, different pencils, and weird random tools speckled the counter.How does someone even know how to use all these things?Mack had unsteady hands, no vision of what looked good, and zero energy to do anything but wear her year-long, doesn’t-matter-the-weather jeans-and-T-shirt combo. But Charlie always looked beautiful. And the way her red lipstick highlighted her plump, cupid-bow-shaped lips was not lost on Mack.

Oof.The robe was hideous. But seriously comfy. She scooped her clothes off the floor and inched towards the door when she brought the collar under her nose and sniffed. The soapy sage smell transported her to the Solstice Parade when she and Charlie hugged, and she closed her eyes to savor the moment.

What am I doing?

It’d only been a little over two weeks, but in that time Mack had said more words to Charlie than she had to most people in a year. She lost herself in the rhythm of Charlie’s words when she spoke. Was hypnotized by her smile and deeply feminine movements. Mack wasn’t wondering if something was on her face, if she sounded smart enough, or if she was speaking too slowly.

Charlie was a salty-sweet concoction of authenticity and joy. Mack wanted to get drunk off her laughter. Fist her hair. Suck on her lips.

Charlie was incredible. Kind. Smart. Driven.

And a perfect muse.

Mack had finished nearly twenty-five thousand words in about two weeks by observing Charlie.

Maybe Mack should tell her? Charlie contained layers that Mack had only started peeling. She wanted to know more. But was it for the book? Was it for her? Charlie was beautiful, for sure. The curves, the fullness, everything about her was soft, round, and feminine. Mack was probably a teenager the last time her belly cramped from laughing at a story. And Mack was a never-year-old the last time she thought of someone every night.

But diving in with Charlie would destroy everything she worked for. Until recently, writing was the only thing in her life she ever felt good about. The place where she was accepted, evenadmiredat times. Considered an expert in her field, a master storyteller, although that was still hard to acknowledge. The only place where her brain relaxed and her soul fed.

Shecould notscrew this up.

The warm glow of the strung lights, now accompanied by the crackling of the fireplace, invited Mack to the living room. Charlie stood over the fire with flannel pajama pants and a white tank top, looking unusually fragile outside her typical floor-length dresses. And Mack bit back the need to touch her.

Charlie twisted her index finger around the fabric of her shirt, a smile inching across her face. “I think you were born to wear unicorns.”

Mack flipped the collar up. “I think this color works really well with my skin tone.”

“Definitely.” Charlie grabbed Mack’s clothes from her arms and tossed them in the dryer. A rolling clap boomed outside and Charlie shrunk into the wall. The menacing clouds hovered, the sky a grim, murky blanket, making it seem much later than 6:00 p.m.

Mack wanted to rip Charlie’s panic away and torch it in the fire. But she also wanted to know if Charlie’s porcelain skin was as soft as it looked.

Dammit.Why couldn’t it be both ways? But Mack already knew why. Sex would ruin the spell. Mack had never even once successfully met someone for lunch after sex. The idea of chatting over gyros the day after having part of their body in her mouth felt awkward as hell.You have a magic tongue. Can you pass the mustard?

No thanks.

Mack forced her hands to stay in her pocket. The seal needed to remain closed.

“Do you want some tea?” Charlie asked.

“Sure.”