“Power’s on,” he pointed out.
She immediately came to the right conclusion. “So at least part of the electric grid’s up and running. That’s good.”
“Yeah. Wearegoing to be okay,” he told her.
She nodded her towel-covered head. “Please don’t leave me here alone.”
Thomas couldn’t promise her that. So instead he said, “That’s only our Plan B, remember.”
“Plan A is wait for someone to show up,” she reminded him. “Plan A is pure luck and timing.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Plan As often are.”
Chapter Fourteen
Still Tuesday
Evil Genius.
It was the first nickname that Thomas had bestowed upon Tasha in a long time, but after her first surge of surprise and delight, she’d done a nosedive into feeling incredibly, desperately sad.
They’d once been so close.
She used to talk to him about nearly everything, and he’d shared at least some of his secrets with her, too—telling her about the way his world had exploded when his mom died giving birth to a brother who also hadn’t survived. He’d told her about his years of hurt and anger, and how it had driven a wedge between him and his older sister, and caused him to make quite a few bad choices before he’d found his way.
He’d even told her a little about his dad—Grandma King’s only son—who’d died in prison, awaiting appeal after being found guilty of a crime that he absolutely wouldn’t even have been charged with if he were a white man. Thomas had told her that was why his grandma had become a lawyer. She couldn’t bring his father back, but she could do her part to create a more just world.
Tasha had loved them both so much—Thomas and his grandmother.
But Grandma King had a stroke and left them way too soon, and then Tasha turned eighteen and detonated her relationship with Thomas by stupidly climbing into his bed.
For years, she’d only looked at the outcome of her folly from the perspective of whatshe’dlost. But now it was hard not to see what she’d done to Thomas. One by one, he’d lost all of the important people in his life, through no fault of their own.
Except for Tasha, who wascompletelyto blame. She’d taken what they’d had—that special, innocent childhood bond—and deemed it not good enough. She’d pushed for more—too hard, too far, too fast—without stopping to consider whatThomasmight want or need. She’d thought only of herself. And she’d completely ruined what they’d had.
And because she was Alan’s niece, she’d jeopardized Thomas’s friendship with him and Mia, too. And maybe she hadn’t just jeopardized it. For all she knew, because of her, Thomas had put distance between himself and her aunt and uncle. For all she knew, Thomas had full-on stopped seeking advice from the man who’d been his mentor in the Navy. For all she knew, she’d fully screwedthatup for him, too.
So now here they were. Trapped alone together in a relatively small space, for God knows how long. And everything Tash had taken from both of them was right there, in her face.
The teasing nicknames.Wild Thing, Martian Girl, Princess.The ability to know what he was thinking simply from meeting a gaze that was now understandably guarded. The easy way they’d once laughed together.
“You okay?”
Tash looked up to find Thomas standing in the kitchen doorway, sweatshirt on but sleeves pushed up to his elbows. She was wearing a towel like a hat, but he was clearly plenty warm. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
“Glaring at that package of oatmeal with your bestHello my name is Inigo Montoyaface isfine?”
“You killed my father, oatmeal. Prepare to die.” Tash adapted the famous quote fromThe Princess Bride, another movie they’d watched together a few hundred times—back before she’d ruined everything. “No, I’m just clueless about food rationing. I honestly don’t know where to begin.”
“Sure you do, because you’re doing it right,” he said, coming into the kitchen and gesturing at the meager supply she’d pulled down from the cabinet. “Step one, inventory what we’ve got.”
They’d already eaten two jars of peanuts, the entire box of cornflakes, the cold almond milk, and the OJ between last night and this morning, so all that was left was coffee, tea, two boxes of almond milk, the oatmeal, the spices, and a large unopened bottle of olive oil.
Tasha had also grabbed one each of the peanut and olive jars from the storage room, counted them up, and written on a piece of paperPeanuts 19, Olives 24,like the score from some weird sporting/cooking event.The olives were winning on paper, but the peanut jars were nearly twice as big.
However, if they teamed up, they’d vastly overpower the other food.
Bottom line: peanuts and olives were going to get really old, really fast.
