He arches an eyebrow. “What kind of a bestie would I be if I cock-blocked you on Valentine’s Day? You don’t need to babysit me, you know. I can entertain myself.”
“Bestie? You sound like a fifteen-year-old, not a thirty-year-old.” I chuckle. “Then again, you look fifteen, so…”
“No, I don’t!” Fitz says defensively.
“Oh no? When was the last time you had your ID checked?”
Fitz grumbles under his breath for a moment. “On my way home. I stopped off to buy some pink champagne.”
“For me? You shouldn’t have.”
“I didn’t. It’s for cupcakes.”
“Do I get to try some?”
“Of course.” He rests his cheek on his hand and smiles at me. “You can be silly too.”
“Sometimes,” I admit. “It’s your fault.”
“Myfault?”
“You’re rubbing off on me.”
Fitz’s eyes go wide, and his face goes bright red, almost but not quite eclipsing his freckles.
“Oh God, I didn’t…” I shake my head. “I didn’t mean.”
Fitz waves his fork at me. “No more being silly for you. I forbid it.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I’m the boss of you. Quake with fear.”
I laugh so hard that I do, in fact, quake, but not with fear.
“You’re mean to me,” Fitz decides. “No more cupcakes for you.”
I stop laughing abruptly. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, which would sound more convincing if there wasn’t still a tremor of a laugh in my voice.
“Uh-huh.”
“I am. You’re the best flatmate ever.”
“You just want cupcakes.”
I scratch my beard. “Yes.”
Fitz laughs and rolls his eyes. “At least you’re an honest meanie.”
“There you go, talking like a fifteen-year-old again.”
“I am. I’m Peter Pan. There goes my cover. I’ve been trying to fool you for years, but it’s true. I’m the boy who never grew up.”
“Does that mean you’re going to take me to Neverland?” I ask.
