Page 75 of A Thousand Second Chances

“And what if they don’t like what they see?” he says, still not looking at me.

I lean in to whisper in his ear, “Thenfuck’em.”

That startles a laugh out of him, and I join in. We must be quite a sight to anyone else walking by, the two of us with our handfuls of bags leaning against each other and cackling like madmen. But it also feels perfect—just what we need in that moment to release the tension brought on by Devon’s assholery.

Just what I need inallmy moments.

It takes me longer than usual to shove the unwanted thought aside, and I’m still dwelling on how well Percy and I fit together when he freezes. Panic sears through me, but when I follow the line of his gaze, all I see is some brick storefront with an old-fashioned sign hanging out front.

Then, I read the store’s name, and my eyebrows shoot up. “A blacksmith? Really?”

Percy shoves my shoulder. “What? It sounded awesome, that’s all. We don’t have to go in if you don’t want to.”

He says the last with such feigned casualness that I resist the urge to laugh again. Shaking my head, I grab his hand and tug him toward the shop with a mock sigh. “Come on. It can’t be worse than the places Quinn dragged me to.”

And it really isn’t. Though I’d never admit it aloud to Percy, the blacksmith he’d singled out turns out to be pretty kickass. It’s part of a section of stores built as a kind of historical district and has an anvil and forges set out for demonstrations, along with racks of premade metal objects for sale. Percy, of course, is instantly drawn to where a man dressed like someone from the 1800s is explaining his process to a handful of interested tourists.

“It’s like something straight out of RuneWorld Online,” Percy murmurs.

His wide-eyed wonder is one of the most adorable things I’ve ever seen, and I resist the urge to kiss him before thinkingfuckitand pressing a quick kiss to his cheek anyway. He blushes, glancing around, but everyone else is too focused on the demonstration to notice us.

Disappointment ripples through me at his reaction. I strive to temper it with patience. As much as I wish he’d stop worrying so much about what others think and focus on whathewants, it’s not up to me to dictate his level of comfort. Even if his anxiety stokes my own insecurities and concerns for the future.

“You’re cute when you’re nerding out,” I tell him, ignoring the knot of worry wriggling in my gut.

He gives me a small smile, and his fingers graze over mine for a second before pulling away.Baby steps, I think, trying to relish the small victory as we watch the demonstration.

“Anyone interested in forging their own knife?” the blacksmith asks when he’s done.

I can feel Percy vibrating beside me, and when he doesn’t immediately volunteer, I shove him forward. “He’d like one.”

Percy gives me a death glare, but he quickly forgets his ire as the blacksmith claps him on the back and walks him through the process of forging a blade. After, Percy eagerly helps add a few finishing touches to an existing workpiece, pumping the bellows, holding the tongs, and even pounding a few good strikes with a hammer. I watch enraptured the entire time, though it’s Percy more than the metalwork that holds my interest. I could marvel at his happiness for hours.

“Nice work, master blacksmith,” I say, elbowing Percy when we leave the shop. “You’re the proud owner of the very first Wentworth dagger.”

He smiles, but it quickly dims, his face falling as he turns the crude knife over and over in his hands.

“What’s up?” I study the blade. “It looks pretty good to me—not too shabby for your first attempt.”

“It’s not that,” he sighs. “Steelfang is perfect.”

My brows raise. “Younamedyour dagger?”

He blushes slightly, the crimson standing out on his pale skin, andGod, that’s another sight I’ll never get sick of. “Who wouldn’t? And besides, that’s not the point.”

“All right…” I say, my grin fading. “Then, what is?”

He lets out another long sigh and eyes his knife. “It’s not going to last,” he explains morosely. “In a few hours, today will reset, and this dagger will cease to exist.” He raises his arms, the bags nestled there rustling. “Allthis crap will. Even Devon will forget about our confrontation and how I stood up to him.”

I’ve been doing my best not to dwell on that, but now that he’s brought it up, I must admit the thought bothers me, too. More than any other Saturday we’ve had so far, today’s one I long to preserve.

“Maybe this’ll be the day that sticks,” I say, but I know I’m not fooling either of us. Nothing we’ve done this cycle has set it apart from any other. There’s no logical reason for the time loop to choosethismoment to stop. More likely than not, we’ll wake up tomorrow to yet another Saturday.

“I don’t want it all to be erased,” Percy says, his voice small.

I want to comfort him, but I don’t know how. Not when I’m fighting the same despair. “Not all of it,” I say eventually. “At least,we’llremember.”

He nods, but I think it’s as small a comfort for him as it is for me. Because as much as I want to live for the moment, to pretend that this sense of freedom will persist and that the fragile thing Percy and I are building between us is real, that dagger offers stark proof it’s not.