“And it’s been you and your pa ever since?”
I glance up at him, brows furrowed. “Why are you so interested in my life?”
He shrugs. “I’m a people watcher,” he replies. “In addition to being a people person.”
I roll my eyes. “Is that right?”
“Big time. People love me.”
“Well, I’m people,” I retort. “And I don’t love you.”
“You will.”
A burst of laughter escapes my lips. It’s so sudden that it takes me by surprise.
Cillian’s smile gets wider as he looks at me.
When he does, I finally understand what people mean when they use the term “piercing gaze.”
I’m skewered by those emerald eyes.
Except that with Cillian, it doesn’t feel invasive or unwelcome.
It feels like he’s been looking at me that way for all our lives.
“What?” I ask when he doesn’t avert his gaze.
“You should laugh more often,” he says quietly. “I can tell you don’t do it enough.”
“You can tell that, can you?” I fire back. “How?”
He opens his mouth, but I cut him off quickly.
“And don’t say it’s in the eyes!”
He laughs. “Damn it.”
“Well?” I press. “Don’t tell me some corny shit either. Like, ‘A magician doesn’t reveal his secrets,’ or any garbage like that.”
“Your resting face,” he tells me seriously. “It’s sad. Melancholy. I can tell you’re a daydreamer.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Daydreamers want to escape,” he says in a solemn rasp. “They’re trapped, so they allow their imaginations to take them to all the places they want to go but can’t.”
I feel the laugh inside me fizzle out slowly.
How is it possible that this stranger can know so much about me?
Why does it feel like he can see through my façade to the person I am underneath?
“What are you trying to figure out?” he asks.
There it is again.
Skewered.
I turn away from him uncomfortably and keep walking. Our conversation keeps pulling us to sudden stops and I realize we’re still only a few feet away from the hospital.