“Nothing?” Aric arches a brow at me and smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes—which arestillrimmed in dark circles from him staying up too late and not prioritizing rest. “I think you’re fibbing,” he continues as he slides closer to me, one of his hands finding mine atop the table. He gives my fingers a brief squeeze, then steps back. “So, I guess we should get our frosting mixed up while those cool, right?”
I nod once—and notice again that my glasses don’t slide down. “Right.”
We mix up a batch of vanilla frosting, and I laugh when Aric whisks a bit too hard and sends flecks of vanilla all over me.
“Oops, sorry.” He puts the bowl and whisk down and grabs a cloth from the table. Then he makes my heart skip when he leans in and starts carefully wiping the splattered frosting from my cheeks, ignoring the way some of the other students glance our way and whisper.
With one hand on my cheek and the other holding the cloth, Aric clears his throat and says, “Hey, I meant to tell you...”
I flick my eyes up to meet his, but he’s not looking at me, focused instead on the cloth and spattered frosting.
“I think I’m good on tutoring now.”
I blink. Then blink again.
What?
Aric finishes wiping my cheek, then steps back. He smiles at me again, but still, it doesn’t look real. Rather, it looks like he’s trying to convince me that everything’s okay, but he’s not a very good actor.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Well, I’ve been reviewing a lot on my own, and it’s starting to click. You’ve helped me so much—I don’t want to keep you chained to study sessions with me when you’ve got the ball to plan and your own finals coming up.”
His tone is cheerful, but it’s too bright, and it doesn’t match the expression on his face—the dark bags under his eyes, the forced smile, the obvious exhaustion.
“Aric,” I say softly, and now I’m the one who reaches out a hand. I twine my fingers with his and give them a light squeeze. “You know I’m happy to help. I enjoy our study sessions. They’re not a bother.”
The laugh he huffs out is noticeably lacking in humor, and it makes me bristle. “I figured you’d say that.” He squeezes my fingers back, then pulls away, whispering, “You’re too good to me, Brains.”
I disagree. Fully. But Professor Sage is coming around, checking on honey cakes and frosting bowls, and Aric turns his attention back toward his whisk, leaving me standing next to him feeling alone, even though he’s close enough that I could reach out and touch him.
“Oh, these look lovely,” Professor Sage says as she steps up to our table. “Remember to let them cool first before adding the frosting.” She reaches out to touch one of the honey cakes, and as soon as her fingertip pokes the cake, it lets out a puff of sweet-smelling steam, then collapses in on itself, completely ruined. “Oh my. Perhaps that leavening spell needs a bit of work, hmm?” She casts us each a look, and I feel my cheeks going red.
Aric did the leavening spell today, but I was so distracted admiring him in his apron that I didn’t even considerwhether he’d said it right. Which, I guess, he didn’t.
His shoulders slump a bit, and he pauses with the whisk. “Yeah, of course,” he says quickly, his tone still forcefully bright. “I’ll work on that, Professor.”
“Best do,” she says. “Remember”—she lifts her voice now to address the class—“for our finals, you’ll each have to demonstrate proficiency with the spells we’ve learned this semester, and you’ll need to be able to prepare a full meal on your own, which I’ve invited the headmistress and a few other professors to judge.” She turns back to our table and taps Aric on the shoulder. “If you need a refresher on anything we’ve covered this year, please don’t hesitate to come to my office hours, Mr. Vandermere. They’re available for a reason.”
“Thank you, Professor. I’ll do that.”
My lips press into a firm line.
Ican help him with that. But now he... doesn’t want me to? Doesn’t want to study together even though he clearly still needs the help?
Once our professor walks away to critique another batch of honey cakes, Aric sighs and whispers, low enough for only my ears, “Sorry, Poppy. Guess I fucked it up.”
“It’s okay,” I say, but for some reason, my throat is starting to feel tight, and Aric still isn’t looking at me, like he doesn’t want to meet my eyes. In an effort to try to getsomethingfrom him, I say, “I went dress shopping last weekend. For the ball.”
“How’d it go?” He keeps whisking, and my stomach is growing tight now.
“Good. I... I got a dress. It’s purple. You said you wanted to know what color it was.”
“That’s great.” He finally puts the mixing bowl down, and his hazel eyes find mine. They’re tired, distracted, like he’s maybe not even thinking about being here in class with me right now. His lips pull up on one side, and he says, “I can’t wait to see you in it.”
And though I smile, inside, I feel like I might be sick.
Because I’m not so sure I believe him. I’m not so sure of anything anymore.
