“Good morning to you too, Mara. Mila here?” I ask, looking around for her sister. It might be best to talk to both of them at once.
“Yeah, she’s in the back. Come on.” She gestures for me to follow. “Watch the front for a few,” she instructs one of her employees.
“But I haven’t ordered yet,” I protest.
“I haven’t decided if I’ll serve you today or not.” She gives me a pointed look. There’s a misconception that twins are the same in every way, but even though she and Mila are twins, they’re quite different. Mara is straightforward, whereas Mila is sweet but holds a mean grudge.
Following Mara to the kitchen, I smile when I see Mila pouring brownie batter into long pans. It reminds me of last night at Emma’s house with Atlas, and then what happened when we got home.
“Well, look who it is,” Mila chirps. For being two different people, there are times when they both act the same. Choosing not to point it out, I wave lamely in greeting.
“How’s it going?”
“You tell me,” Mila says, scraping the remaining batter from a large mixing bowl. Mara grabs a pan off the counter and slides it into a waiting oven. The entire kitchen smells like chocolate and vanilla—which reminds me that I haven’t eaten breakfast yet.
“I’ve been better.”
“You didn’t go to the game on Saturday? Sorry we couldn’t go with you. I know you didn’t want to go with Atlas.” Mara looks over at me.
“It’s fine. I did go to the game.” I pause, taking a breath. “And I went with Atlas.”
Twin sets of eyes dart in my direction. Mila looks shocked, while Mara grins widely. They share a glance, then look back at me.
“And?” Mila asks in exasperation, motioning with her hands for me to continue.
“And it was okay,” I offer.
“Bullshit,” Mara says. “I want details. There’s no way it was just‘okay.’”She uses air quotes to emphasize the last part, and I roll my eyes at her.
“Fine. We went in his car because mine had a flat, then a player gave me a puck with his name and number on it after the game, and Atlas got mad and took it. I actually don’t know what happened to it.” I pause when I realize I didn’t get the puck back from him.
“That’s not all that happened,” Mara says with a pointed look. “Continue.”
Sighing, I tell them everything. From the fight in the car, to Atlas barging his way in and kissing me senseless against the wall untilNoah came home. “It was so embarrassing. Noah didn’t see us kissing, but I feel bad because I think Matt knew.” I cross my arms and blow out a puff of air.
“Who cares if Matt knows?” Mila asks.
“Because he likes her, that’s why,” Mara reminds her. “Why didn’t you guys go to the game again? I thought that was the plan.”
“He got called into the clinic and was hoping to meet me there, but then he texted me saying he couldn’t make it at all. Rhett heard and told Atlas that he should go with me instead. As it turns out, he used to play, and he’s a fan.”
“That’s so hot. Of course he did.” Mara laughs.
“Okay, so why haven’t you answered anyone since Saturday then?” Mila still looks confused, but glares at Mara.
“Um, well. Because Noah was sick, and then I caught what he had. Sunday night, Atlas came over to bring soup and found me super out of it, so he took care of me.” Ignoring their shocked looks, I figure I might as well put it all out there. “He even watched some show with Noah, built my bookshelves that have been sitting in boxes for like two months, took Noah to and from school, and then took me to dinner to meet his mom yesterday. You guys weren’t here when I grabbed some brownies to take along, so yeah,” I finish quickly, taking in their wide-eyed expressions.
They don’t say anything at first, and it makes me fidget. They’d freak if they knew the rest of it. Mila is the first to break the silence.
“We’ll unpack all of that piece by piece, but you’re holding something back. What is it?” she asks with a quirk of her eyebrow.
How am I supposed to explain it all when I don’t even get it? It’s been a whirlwind of a few days.
“I’ll get you a drink AND baked treat if you spit it out,” Mara tells me, crossing her arms over her chest. “The offer will expire in thirty seconds.”
“Fine! He took me home after dinner at his mom’s house, then carried Noah out to the car like he weighed nothing. When he puthim to bed, he came down and tossed me on the kitchen counter and had me for dessert,” I word vomit. “Oh, and in between all that, he told me I was his, and that we were a thing now, and I don’t know what to think.”
Throwing my hands in the air, I groan. “I don’t know what’s happening.” Covering my face with my hands, I fight the urge to scream. It wouldn’t be good for business.
