“Who?” I ask.
His smile stretches. “Never mind. It’s almost time for breakfast, Mirabelle. I’ll help.”
That snaps me out of the haze. It’s almost breakfast time? Pulling my hand free of his, I check my phone and gasp. He’s right. Any longer, and I’d be late.
Moving past him for the stairs, I push back my hair, let my cold fingers graze my warm neck, and find something like stability before I dare to look back at Mr. Anders. “You can pick the fruit you’d like this morning and wash it.”
Tucking his fingers in his pockets, he returns his face to normal. “’Kay.”
’Kay…
Breakfast.
That’s all I need to worry about right now.
Chapter 13
?
Hope and rivals. Wait. No. “Rival” implies equal standing. Hope and idiots.
Damion
There’s a very, very, veryslightchance that Mirabelle doesn’t hate me. Or find me completely repulsive. Which is incredibly encouraging.
Does she like me?
No. Probably not.
But does she blush every time I get close to her?
Absolutely.
And for right now, I’m counting that as excellent progress.
“I hate this,” she says, sitting beside me while I drive us to the store.
Over the past few days, she’s been getting a little better—potentially due to my incessant prodding—about letting the words in her head out.
I’m so proud of her.
“This is going to make the rumors so much worse,” she whispers down at her lap. “Also, your ‘disguise’—” She scowls when she throws me air quotes. “—is stupid.”
I cut a look at her when we roll up to a stoplight.
She, immediately, tenses.
“Hoodies are extremely effective disguises. And so are sunglasses.” I adjust my sunglasses.
Distress fills her face. “You look like a drug dealer. Do you not have any clue howsmall townswork? If anyone sees you, like this, hanging around me, you’re going to get tased.” Sinkingin on herself, she buries her face in her hands. “Also, for personal reasons, if you don’t take the sunglasses off in the store, I’ll just… I’ll have a breakdown. For personal reasons.”
“You’re pretty popular, aren’t you?”
She peeks at me as the light turns green, so I have to drag my attention back to the road before she can answer. “I don’t think I’m popular. I think, probably, I just stand out.”
“Because of how you dress?”
“Mm, yeah. Probably how I behave, too.”
