Avalon
“Please tell me there is a valid reason you’re shouting my name before noon. Or at all.”
Clarke’s pointed stare was locked on me, not once flicking toward her sister. At this point, I was convinced pranks ran in the King bloodline—this had to be intentional.
Melody’s continued laughter confirmed it.
Swallowing hard, I tried to conjure a half-decent lie. Nothing came.
Really, brain? Nothing?
“Uhm…” I started, voice trailing off as every possible explanation evaporated. Being tongue-tied around Clarke was nothing new—I was slightly terrified of her. Some nights I pictured her standing over me with her baby-pink guitar, ready to bash me over the head.
“Okay,” Clarke drawled, rolling her eyes before finally turning to her sister. “Have you fed and brushed all the horses in the Deity House?”
It was Melody’s turn to roll her eyes. I snorted. I wondered how many times Clarke had been in her place, rolling her eyes at her brother or father.
“Yes. Why don’t you have more faith in me? It’s getting insulting at this point.” Melody huffed and moved toward the barn cats, leaving me alone with her sister.
Clarke. Fuck—I really did do that a lot.
“Lovely morning, isn’t it?” I said, breaking the silence.
Clarke’s eyes snapped to mine, the corners tightening. Her lips pressed together like she was biting the inside of them.
“What are you doing?”
I shrugged, running a hand through my hair. Her gaze followed the movement, tracking my fingers, her lips parting just slightly.
And then—just as quickly—the moment vanished.
“With Melly,” she clarified. “What are you doing?”
I blinked. “Feeding the animals? I’m sorry—what are you asking?”
She let out an exasperated huff and crossed her arms. “Okay, but why? Why are you doing chores with my little sister when you should be… be doing—”
“What? What would you have me do, Clarke?” I held my hands out, palms up. “What am I supposed to be doing?”
“Anything else!” she burst out, pressing her hands to her forehead. “You don’t need to be cozying up to my baby sister—”
“As opposed to what? Cozying up to you?” I shot back, a burst of confidence sparking through me. “Clarke, you won’t even talk to me.”
She straightened, crossing her arms again, pulling herself up to her full height. Even with my new boots, I was still several inches shorter. Damn Kennedy genes—why couldn’t I have inherited my mother’s height instead of her stubbornness?
“I do speak to you.”
A snort escaped me. “That’s just it—you speak at me. You order me around. But you don’t talk to me. You haven’t given me any chance to make things up to you. So, if cozying up to your baby sister is what it takes for you to see how serious I am about making amends, then that’s what I’ll do.”
Clarke’s mouth parted, but I didn’t give her the chance to respond. If she wasn’t going to give me the opportunity to fix things, she couldn’t blame me for finding another way.
“Excuse me—there are still chores that need to be finished.” I brushed past her, our arms barely missing each other. As I walked by, the wind shifted, carrying her perfume toward me.
Apples. Clarke always smelled like apples—cider, pie, something warm and sweet. I’d noticed it when she showed me my space in the Big Barn, and again when we went into town.
The scent tugged at memories I’d been trying to bury—knocking on her hotel door, kissing her skin, waking up smelling like her. That damn apple scent followed me everywhere. I couldn’t escape it. I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
But I kept that to myself, just like every other thought I had about Clarke King.
I heard her sigh, then her footsteps retreating toward the Big House. I hesitated, watching her walk away. The early Texas sun lit her hair like a halo. Her white dress skimmed her legs, ending at her boots. All she needed were wings—she would be the perfect southern angel.
“You totally like her,” Melody said behind me, snapping me out of my daze.
“I totally don’t.” I grabbed an egg basket and headed toward the chicken coop. Melody followed, her steps light and quick.
“You definitely do,” she said matter-of-factly. “And I know she likes you too, so I don’t know why you two can’t just be together—”
Wait. Hold the fuck up. I froze, placing a hand on Melody’s shoulder. “What do you mean Clarke likes me?”
Her eyes widened, all faux innocence. “Oops.” She pressed her fingers to her mouth. “I probably shouldn’t have said that.”
“Probably not,” I said, “but you did. So now you have to explain.” I opened the henhouse door, bracing myself for whatever nonsense she was about to say.
“Well, after the music convention,” Melody began, grabbing a blue egg from a nest, “Clarke locked herself in her studio for days.”
I nodded. Clarke had told me she spent most of that time writing music. I already knew that. How did that confirm anything?
“Yeah, she told me she was working on music,” I said. “I was hoping I could hear some of it—see if any of it would work for the album.”
Melody shook her head. “I don’t think any of it would work for the album.”
I laughed lightly, reaching for the last egg hidden under a russet hen. “Why not? I’m sure it’s great. Your sister is very talented.”
“It’s not that,” Melody said, straightening. “I know how talented she is. It’s just…”
Her mouth twisted in a way that looked painfully familiar—Clarke’s nervous tell.
“They were all about you.”