And for now, I can work with that.
Chapter 42
Alli
I toss a pair of thick socks onto the growing pile on my bed, followed by my coziest sweater. My suitcase is half-packed, but I’m stalling, mentally debating whether I really need a second pair of boots. Packing has never been my strong suit.
I fold the sweater over my arm, but my thoughts wander to everything waiting for me back home: my mom’s endless questions, my dad’s overbearing advice, and Evelyn’s invisible powers for making me feel like I’m falling short.
A knock on the door breaks through my mini spiral.
I glance at my phone. No one had said they were coming by. After a second of hesitation, curiosity wins out. When I open the door, Jared is in front of me, hands shoved deep into his hoodie pocket, his eyes shadowed like he’s been sitting with his thoughts too long.
“Hey,” I say, my voice low as I lean against the doorframe.
“Hi.” His voice is duller than usual, tinged with something I can’t identify.
I consider making an excuse to brush him off.I’m busy, I’m packing, I’m leaving early tomorrow,but the tightness in his jaw stops me. Instead, I step aside.
“Come in.”
He hesitates, eyes scanning the room before crossing the threshold. “Am I interrupting?”
I gesture toward the mess of clothes scattered across my bed. “Nope. Just trying to fit everything into one bag.”
He smiles, but it’s like the expression barely sticks. “Going home for the holidays?”
I nod, watching him. “Yeah. You?”
“Not sure yet.” He shrugs, eyes wandering. “Maybe.”
My body moves on instinct, ready to comfort him, but my brain slams the mental brakes. Instead, I stay back and find myself digging my hands, just like his, into my pockets.
“Do you want something to drink?” I offer, needing something to fill the quiet.
“Anything’s fine,” he says, lowering himself onto the couch.
I move to the kitchen, whisking the matcha carefully. I’m hyper aware of Jared behind me, shifting on the couch, the faint creak of the cushion breaking the silence.
When I turn, he’s watching me, like he’s trying to figure me out like I’m a math problem.
“Matcha?” I ask, holding out the cup.
“You made me matcha?” He sounds surprised, and I laugh, stepping closer as I hand it to him.
“Yeah. You’re welcome.” Our fingers brush for a second longer than necessary. Jared doesn’t seem to notice, or maybe he does, and his focus stays on the cup rather than taking a sip.
“Thanks. When did you learn how to make matcha?”
I shrug, trying to act casual, but my pulse speeds up a little. “A while ago. I learned to make it for you.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” he says, his voice low. He meets my gaze then, and it feels like maybe he’s seeing me in a way he hasn’t before.
I give a small shrug. “I know I didn’t. I just… wanted to.”
I study him for a moment, trying to get a read on his expression. He’s not quite here, not fully with me. I take a step closer and debate whether to sit or not.
“Want to talk about what’s going on?” I finally ask.
