Amara’s face twists with annoyance. “I don’t think turkeys get rabies. They’re birds.”
“Okay,” I raise my hands in defeat. “It sounded like what I imagined a turkey would sound like if it got rabies. Better?”
Her lips thin, but I watch as the left side of them fights to keep steady, a laugh three seconds from overcoming her.
“How many rabies-infested birds have you been around? Actually, scratch that. How manyturkeyshave you been around?”
“That,” I point at her with my fork. “Is top secret, and how dare you ask me?”
Her smile wins, taking over her entire face, dazzling me.
I can’t breathe.
“Well, I’m sorry to question you, Cooper. But I do have to start getting ready.”
I notice that her plate is empty for the first time, and I’m just happy she liked my food enough to finish it.
“Oh,” I say simply. “Well, I hope you have fun.”
She turns to climb out of the stool, but stops, clearly thinking about something. “Do you want to come with me?” she says suddenly, as if she doesn’t say it quickly enough, she wouldn’t say it at all.
I feel like someone dumped water on me. Like I’m waking from a dream, and I don’t know where I am.
“Is this a trick question?” I ask hesitantly.
She shakes her head. “No.”
“Are you—are you trying to befriends?”
She considers this for a moment. “No. But while we’re stuck in this mess, I want to take advantage of it.”
My face obviously gives away my feelings, because she frowns. “Cooper, you can’t possibly think that I would just forgive everything.”
I look around, feeling like I was punched in the gut. I knew this. I’m not sure why it hurts so much to hear it out loud. “I was just hoping, is all. I’d like to be friends with you again.”
“I can’t trust what you tell me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too.”
It becomes increasingly clear that Amara was asked to bring me along so they could film. Not out of the goodness of her heart, or because she wants to be friends.
“How are you doing?” Isla asks, wrapping her in a tight hug.
Her eyes dart to me as a cameraman walks around us, getting all the angles they possibly can.
“I’m doing amazing.”
She’s lying. I know that. And by the way Isla’s eyes flicker to mine, her eyebrows twitching inward, I can tell she knows too.
“Anyway,” Amara says before anyone can ask her anything else. “This is so beautiful!”
Isla has been working on a new series of paintings involving roses. The entire place is covered in large canvases featuring roses of all colors, in what seems like a million displays. In one, a water droplet hangs to the edge of a petal.In another, a hand reaches down to gently pick one from the bouquet. Next to nearly every piece is a giant vase of roses.
“Thank you! This one has been a long time coming. Really tested me, you know? I’m so used to doing landscapes now.”
There was a painting about a year ago now that featured Owen’s bare ass. I can’t unsee it, not that I’d want to.
