He grips the bottom of the banister with one hand, the tendons in his arm flexing. “Jason is my uncle,” he clarifies. He glances down my outfit once more and then suddenly looks up at me with heated, taunting eyes. The corners of his lips twitch. “Our uncle.” I bend my arms up and thrust my elbows into his chest, hard. He doesn’t budge but I manage to claw my way out of his arms anyway. I’m sprinting up the stairs and my heart is thundering in my chest because I can hear him racing on my tail. I push into my room and purposefully spin around so that I can look at him whilst I slam the door in his face but he drives his arm out, stopping it.

Once our dinner is ready we sit down at the table, café jazz playing softly from my laptop on the counter. You’ll be a senator or something,” I say, my breathing a little heavier now. My brain is picturing my inhaler with little pink love hearts around it. “You’re the kind of person our nation deserves.” I turn fully around so that I’m facing him head on and I give myself three seconds to appreciate why I feel so uncomfortable around him. Tan skin flushed with the sting of the rainstorm. Chocolate brown hair now a tousled, dripping mess. His hard-earned manual-labour muscles twitching with the need to break some logs with his bare hands. Did I mention that he’s more than a foot taller than me? Because he is. He points at himself and says, “Mitchell, but call me Mitch. Or Mitchell. Whatever’s your preference.”Although I did start silently haemorrhaging when Mitch told me where I would be sleeping, I am quietly buzzed about residing in the attic, as it will really facilitate my hermit agenda. My mom stopped getting periods when she hit an early menopause a few years ago so I don’t really have any second-hand experiences to go on. I’ve never had a period before. There’s a sad drop in my tummy knowing that I don’t have my favourite part of the evening to look forward to tonight, but there’s also a little flash of lightening in my chest knowing that this is now our thing.

During the day: If you have a flexible schedule, you may find it helpful to take breaks during the day to read a book. It’s fine,” I snap, even though by this point an at-home amputation is likely. His shoulders flex when he hears my voice and he moves like a shudder just ran down his spine. We both leave our shoes under the porch roof outside before heading in. Once we’re inside he says, “If you leave your hoodie in the kitchen I’ll put it in the dryer for you.” The best time to read a book depends on your personal schedule and preferences. Here are some suggestions:

He pulls me closer than before, closer than I have ever been to him, until our chests are almost touching. I can smell the cool rain radiating off his warm caramel skin. His hands are so big and sturdy that I want to be covered in them. Tate is standing over us looking incensed with his arms folded across his chest. I bask delightedly in his discomfort. “A few days ago,” I reply, with a nonchalant shrug. When Tate’s gaze moves from my hand to my eyes I do a sort of self-satisfied smile. His eyes narrow. My good mood exceeds the final bell and I’m still a little shimmery when I’m cleaning up the dishes after dinner with my mom. I look up and I wish that I hadn’t. He’s so close to me that I can almost taste the rain radiating off his warm skin. His jaw is so tense and his eyes are so hard that he’s practically vibrating.