As far as I’m concerned, I won that quarrel.
And I let that victory lift my chin a touch higher as I spoon out a perfectly round and plump poached egg, then delicately lower its wobble to the slice of buttered sourdough.
I sprinkle a load of chilli powder all over it. The red rainfall is somewhat meditative, hypnotising—
Until the clatter of a tray drops, loud and sudden, right next to mine, and I flinch.
“Morning,” Landon says, then starts plating up a bunch of boiled eggs and some bacon strips. “Have you ever done keto before?”
That glitter still hums above, and the reflection dances on his cheekbone.
I make a face at him. “No.”
I don’t even know what keto is, but I don’t ask, because to ask would be to open up a conversation to him.
And I don’t want that.
Doesn’t stop him, though.
“Where have you been?” he asks, blue chewing gum rolling around his mouth. “Every time I go to find you, it’s like you vanished right out of the academy.”
I blink at him, speechless for a moment, torn between the reality that I need to stick to our deal—but also a bit surprised that he has been actively looking for me.
“In my dorm,” I say, a mumble, “usually.”
He bobs his head to the side, afair enoughgesture, and pushes the edge of his tray into mine.
He moves me along the buffet.
“How are we to be friends if you’re always hiding out?” Landon plops spoonfuls of marinated feta onto his tray. “You’re going to have to meet me halfway. What about the slopes today, you up for it?”
Before I can answer, another tray sets down.
I lean a glance around Landon’s back—and find Serena eyeing the options with a pursed mouth.
“How fresh are these?” she asks, her suspicious gaze running over the tray of Belgian waffles.
Landon gives a shrug.
The waffles do look a tad soggy, all that sweat gathered from under the heat lamps.
But I don’t give the answer.
I just slide my tray along the metal grate to my favourite breakfast foods.
There, I find my beloved porridge, the soft kind, oats pulverised into a powder, then soaked overnight with rich milks.
I fill a bowl, then sprinkle it with granola and berries.
I’m first to finish, and without a word, I steal my tray from the grate, then turn my back on them.
I stalk for the table at the far end of the mess hall, where the draught is stronger and colder with each squeaky step of my plimsoles on the hardwood floors.
I only make it halfway before Landon has caught up to me with his long legs, striding to my side—and he throws an arm over my shoulders.
The moment he does, curious gazes latch onto us from all over. Some surprised, students double-take, Piper holds a spoon near her parted mouth like she’s frozen in place.
It itches me, the urge to shrug out of his hold, to get as far away from Landon as I can.
