Beige isn’t exactly a flattering color, but I swear she can wear a fucking trash bag and she’d look hot. Actually, I’veseenher ina trash bag at the Rain Dance, and I can confirm she was a stone-cold fox.
I’m grinning as I come to sit beside her.
“What’s so funny?”
“Your face when I asked you what size clothes you wore.”
“Super sus,” she says through a smile. “But at least I got some free shit out of it.” She points at me, eyes narrowed. “Clothes you owed me anyway, since you trashed my entire wardrobe.”
“That wasn’t my fau…” I trail off when she widens her eyes in warning. “Smores?”
I can’t stand marshmallows, but I know she loves them. Never knew candy could be so interactive until I watched her destroying a marshmallow for the first time. Watching her work her way through a bag of them was an education in torture.
For once, I’m glad the staff forgot about my preferences, because it means Haven has an entire bag of marshmallows to keep her happy.
She drags the picnic basket closer, but instead of grabbing the candy, takes out the thermal flask I’d put inside and shakes it so hard I’m expecting it to explode.
“What’s this?”
“Hot chocolate.”
“Forget the fucking marshmallows,” she mutters, immediately rooting around in the basket for cups.
Which I forgot to pack.
“Where are the?—”
“We’ll have to share.” I take the flask from her, unscrewing the lid and using it as a cup to pour out a measure of the steaming hot cocoa. “Here.”
She sniffs it warily, takes a tiny sip, and nods. “At least it’s better than your cooking.”
“Excuse me,” I mutter, grabbing the lid from her. “It’smuchfucking better than my cooking.”
“I mean, are you trying to claim insurance on the house or something? It’s like you were actively trying to start a fire back there.”
“Maintenance on this place is eye-watering. Would have been a blessing.”
“Disguised as arson?” she asks politely as I refill the lid for her.
“Keep going, and there’ll be news of a dead body in the papers this week.”
The side of her mouth perks up, but it’s not a true smile. And I know Haven has a dark sense of humor, so it’s not that she thinks my joke is crass.
That other shit is still bugging her.
What more does she fucking want from me? To spread out the coals and shuffle over them on my knees as I plead for forgiveness?
Guess I just have to figure it out.
I know women are supposed to be all mysterious and whatever, but this is fucking bullshit.
She holds out the cup to me, but I wave her away with a flick of my hand. She shrugs and drains the last of the hot chocolate, then swaps out the flask for the bag of marshmallows.
I watch her as she spears two of them onto a long skewer and sticks it in the fire. Flames paint her face orange, making the tiny smudge of hot chocolate at the corner of her mouth that much darker. I try not to let it bug me, but my eyes keep going back to it.
To her.
Like they always have.
