ChapterThirty
Matilda
There’sa loud banging on the front door. I glance at the kitchen clock and mutter aloud, “It’s not even nine o’clock.”
“Early bird, worm, and all that,” my dad croaks, pouring himself his first cup of coffee. He’s a little behind this Sunday morning since he chose to sleep in for once.
“I’ll get it.” I don’t know why, but I’m tired and sore from the night before. Oh, wait, I know why. Because a six-foot-five giant of a Frankenstein landed on me at that party. I haven’t checked myself, but I’m guessing there are bruises. I’m almost at the door when the banging starts again. Grabbing the knob, I wrench the door open. It’s Adrian.
“What?” I don’t bother with hello or any nicety because the guy is the cause of many of my frustrations.
“Matilda.” He’s smiling like an idiot. “These are from Alec.” He shoves a bouquet of daisies at me. “He’s sorry he’s such a tool. Please call him.”
Daisies. That’s a step up from carnations. I take the flowers from him and stare at the bouquet. “These, um, look dead.”
“They were on sale.”
“Sounds about right.” I shut the door in Adrian’s face and head back to the kitchen. I don’t bother setting this batch on the counter; they go right into the trash. Picking up my phone, I text Alec.
Thanks for the dead daisies.
And, yes, I’m well aware the flowers are all Adrian. Even though Alec was out of line last night, I’m sure he’d never intentionally give me dead flowers.
Send me a picture of the dead daisies, please.
I press the foot thing on the garbage can, raise my camera, and snap.
It takes seconds for Alec to respond.
I’m going to kill him.
And then, I laugh.
I shut the door in his face again. That should take care of it.
My phone rings, and I answer. “Yes?”
“You did? You slammed the door on him?”
I wouldn’t say slammed but… “Yeah. He’s a punk.”
That earns me one of Alec’s better laughs—the deep one, from his gut. I’m starting to really enjoy those sounds coming from him. Weirdly, I like the grumpy side too. When he stops, he agrees with me about my assessment of Adrian. “You’re right about him. He’s a punk.”
“No doubt.”
“I’m sorry he showed up with dead flowers, Matilda.” Wow, Alec sounds seriously remorseful.
“It’s sort of funny, if you think about it.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Well, moving forward, you can forget about flowers.”
“Are we?”
My brows furrow, but he can’t see me. “Are we what?”
“Moving forward?”
