"What are you looking at?"

The question, which came from Ian, was directed at me. Ian. Honestly, even a few years after I officially became Wanda and not Wanda-in-Mel's-body, his name sent a thrill through me. He was Ian. My Ian. Mine. Not Melanie's. Mine. Which he assured me almost every day. (And whispered it to me at night, too, right before we both fell asleep.)

Though my silver eyes snapped to his face as his voice sunk in, it was too late. He had decided to look for himself. Ian casually stretched, glancing over his right shoulder at the spot where my gaze was aimed. A disappointed expression crossed over his features briefly, before it became controlled.

All because I was looking at him. At Jared.

"Oh," he said quietly. Then he turned back around, making himself busy with stripping the cellophane wrapper off of his granola bar. A normally easy task, he was intent on making it stretch out into several moments. I supposed awkward moments were easier to face when one's hands were busy.

I smiled slightly, taking the bar from him and pulling the wrapper off with one easy motion. Though I was small and petite, wrappers were no match for me. "Yes," I told him. I studied his expression.

It wasn't disappointment, exactly… it was a cross between that and… anger? Hurt? Over the past few months I had gotten better at reading emotions, especially Ian's. Even those I had considered unreadable statues were becoming easier to decode. "You're jealous," I realized finally. "Why?"

Ian took the bar from me, biting into it roughly. He took his time chewing the piece of food, searching for a lie. "I'm not jealous," he said slowly. "I'm just… thoughtful."

Thoughtful. "Liar," I accused, stealing one of his favorite lines. "You are jealous. Of what? Why would you be jealous when I'm just looking at one of my friends?" Yes, that was all Jared was to me now. If I loved him at any point of my existence, that part was gone now. Well, no. Of course I loved him. He was my friend. But I did not love him the way Melanie did. Or the way I loved Ian, the impossible man sitting adjacent to me.

"He wasn't always your friend," Ian reminded me lightly.

My suspicions were right. Though I had explained this time and time again to Ian, I was sure he was still a little beat up over the fact that I had, at one point, loved Jared. Jared. Sighing, I put down my granola bar. "You're right. I'm forgetting the portion where we were secret lovers behind your back."

He glanced at me, scowling. "That isn't funny, Wanda."

I smiled. "How many times do I have to tell you? When I was… with Melanie, the only reason I felt anything at all towards him was because of her. When you love someone that strongly – like Mel loves Jared or I you – your feelings… her feelings… overflowed into me. I felt it because she – and her body, for that period in time – felt it. I feel nothing when I look at Jared."

"Really?" he asked in a deadpan, before laughing and reaching for my hand. "I felt a little irritation at him. Especially when he kissed you that time that… when you couldn't find Melanie."

"Oh," I said, remembering. It was a fuzzy memory, but it was there. My face pulled into a slight smile. "Truthfully, if it makes you feel better at all, I wasn't staring at him."

"Yeah?"

"I was staring at them," I assured him, nodding my head behind him. He turned again, this time not bothering to cover up his blatant stare. And a smile cracked over his lips as he saw Melanie join Jared. "I was thinking about them. They're very good at soccer."

He smiled, squeezing my hand as he gathered the remnants of the granola bar and the wrappers in his free palm. "Yes," he said. "They're good at soccer. For once, I'm actually glad that you're a horrible liar. It puts my worrying at ease."

I sighed as he stood, his arm going around my waist. "You shouldn't be worrying in the first place. I'm completely yours. And only yours. I will only ever be yours."

He pulled me close, smiling against my hair. "Good. Because I will only ever want you, Wanda."