Sophie hesitantly peeks at Beau, and he stares at her for a beat, before only giving her a subtle nod.
“Fine,” Sophie spits, turning her back and lifting the bottom hem of her shirt for Beau.
I spot the shimmering paint through the sea of styrofoam and do my best not to laugh triumphantly.
Refocusing on Beau and Sophie, like everyone else has seemed to do, I watch as he just stares at her lower back, not saying a word.
But there's something in his eyes. It's soft, affectionate even. What the hell?
After about a minute, Sophie breaks the silence. “Well?” She’s clearly irritated.
Beau clears his throat. “Neosporin.” That’s all he says.
One word.
Sophie cheeks flame fire engine red, and she pulls her shirt down immediately. “Shocking.” is her reply as she marches out of the kitchen and into the dining room. I follow her, package hiked up on my hip.
“Take me out back and shoot me, Ivy. I can’t do this anymore,” she hisses, not even turning back, well aware I'm on her heels.
“It was like watching a car crash. I couldn’t look away,” I whisper back.
She turns on her heel so quick, I run into her chest, stumbling backwards along with a few pieces of packing peanuts. She grabs my upper arms, steadying me and muttering her apologies.
“Look on the brightside, you have a date tonight,” I remind her with a broad smile.
“Yeah. You’re right,” she responds, chewing on the corner of her lip.
“Not to change the subject in your time of need, but I need a favor,” I tell her.
“Shoot.”
I give Sophie the rundown of my plan, and she shakes her head at my antics.
“This has gone way too far. You know that right?” she asks through a laugh as she looks inside the box.
“Oh, I’m painfully aware,” I reply honestly.
“Yes. Go. I’ll bring her out there in twenty minutes,” she responds, returning to the kitchen with me, and immediately distracting Delilah for me.
I grab Wesley by the hand, tugging him toward the back door that leads onto the deck.
“Am I about to find out why you’ve been weird?” he asks from behind.
“Yep.”
————
“Ivy, Honey. What is that?” Wesley asks, hands on his hips, staring at the red, shimmery, scaled egg in my hand.
“A dragon egg,” I say, deadpan.
“It’s huge,” he scoffs.
“That’s what she said.”
Wesley sighs. “Walked right into that one,” he says quietly.
“Dragons are big. Hence, the giant egg,” I reply to him seriously now, shaking the dense, plastic egg in my hand.
