Year One (Chronicles of The One #1)(8)

Oddly, she thought she felt something stir inside her and, surprised by it, opened her eyes, released a breath.

The wick shot light.

She gaped at it while he grinned.

“Look at you!” he said, with pride.

“I— But I didn’t even…” She had managed to bring a few candles to flame, after a couple minutes of fierce concentration. “I wasn’t even ready to start, and … You did it.”

Amused, and secretly a little relieved, she poked a finger into his chest. “Trying to boost my confidence?”

“I didn’t.” He laid his free hand on her bare knee. “I wouldn’t do that, and I’ll never lie to you. That was all you, Lana.”

“But I … You really didn’t? And you didn’t, I don’t know, give me some sort of boost?”

“All you. Try it again.” He blew out the candle, and this time put it in her hands.

Nervous now, she closed her eyes—more to calm herself than anything. But when she thought of the candle, of lighting it, she felt that rising inside her. When she opened her eyes and simply thought of the flame, the flame appeared.

“Oh, oh God.” Her eyes, a bright summer blue, reflected the candlelight. “I really did it.”

“What did you feel?”

“It was … like something lifting inside me. Lifting up, spreading out, I don’t know exactly. But, Max, it felt natural. Not a big flash and boom. Just like, well, breathing. And still, you know, a little spooky. Let’s keep it between just us, okay?”

She looked at him through the light.

She saw the pride and the interest on that handsome, poetic face, with the edgy cheekbones under the scruff, as he’d worked through the day without shaving.

She saw both in his eyes, pure gray in candlelight.

“Don’t write about it or anything. At least not until we’re sure it’s not a fluke, a just-this-one-time thing.”

“A door opened inside you, Lana. I saw it in your eyes, just as I saw the potential for it in your eyes the first time we met. Even before I loved you, I saw it. But if you want it to stay between us, it does.”

“Good.” She rose, stepped over to place her candle with his. A symbol, she thought, of their unity. She turned, candlelight swaying behind her. “I love you, Max. That’s my light.”

He stood, lithe as a cat, gathered her close. “I can’t imagine what my life would be without you in it. Want more wine?”

She tipped her head back. “Is that a euphemism?”

He smiled, kissed her. “I’m thinking wine, and we order in because I’m starving. Then we’ll see about euphemisms.”

“I’m in for all of that. I can cook.”

“You certainly can, but you did that all day. You’ve got the night off. We talked about going out—”

“I’d rather stay in. With you.” Much rather, she realized.

“Great. What are you in the mood for?”

“Surprise me,” she said, turning to pick up the black pants and T-shirt she’d worn under her chef’s coat—sous chef to be exact—he’d stripped off her when she’d come home from the restaurant.

“Two double shifts this week, so I’ll be happy to stay home, eat something—anything—somebody else cooked.”

“Done.” He pulled on the jeans and dark sweater he’d worn to work—writing in his office in the loft. “I’ll open the wine, and surprise you with the rest.”

“I’ll be right out,” she promised, going to the closet.

When she’d moved in with Max, she’d tried to limit her space to half the closet, but … She loved clothes, adored fashion—and since she spent so much of her time in a white tunic and black pants, indulged herself outside of work.

Casual, she thought, could still be pretty, even a little romantic for an evening at home. She chose a navy dress with swirls of red that would float a bit just below her knees. And she could come up with her own surprise—some sexy underwear—for when they got to the euphemism part of the night.

She dressed, then studied her face in the mirror. Candlelight flattered, but … She laid her hands on her face and did a light glamour—something she’d had the talent for since puberty.

She often wondered if whatever spark she had depended more on vanity than real power.

That was fine with Lana. It didn’t shame her a bit to be or feel more pretty than powerful. Especially since whatever she had of each attracted a man like Max.

She started out, remembered the candles.

“Don’t leave them unattended,” she murmured, and turned back to put them out.

She stopped, considered. If she could light them, could she unlight them?

“It’s just the reverse, right?” Saying it, thinking it, she pointed at one, intended to walk over and try.

The flame died.

“Oh well … Wow.” She started to call Max, then realized he’d probably get wound up in it all, and they’d end up practicing and studying instead of having their quiet dinner at home.

Instead, she simply moved from candle to candle in her mind until the room fell dark. She couldn’t explain what she felt, or how that door Max spoke of had so suddenly opened.