“Ha-ha, no.” Well, not lately. “I thought I’d start working on the fairy garden for our room.”
“That sounds like an excuse to stop readingBeowulf.”
Ugh, she already knows me too well. I wave at the yarn to distract her. “So what are you making?”
“A baby blanket. I’ve got to finish it before Christmas.”
My eyes flick to the wall above her desk, where she’s tacked a few pictures. There’s one of a baby asleep in someone’s arms.
Sage follows my gaze and nods. “That’s Maddie. She’s three months old.”
“She’s cute. Is she your cousin?”
“My niece.”
“Aww! Is it fun being an aunt?”
“I guess.” Sage’s focus is glued to her knitting. “Mostly weird. My sister, Wren, just turned eighteen, so...”
“Oh. Right.” I try to search for something to say that won’t be rude or prying. Luckily, I’m saved from replying by a knock on the door. I putBeowulfover my acorns before opening the door to find Dev.
“How’s it going?” He walks in and immediately sees the book. “You haven’t finished reading that yet?”
“You and Sage need to stop ganging up on me. I’m trying.”
Sage eyes him over her knitting. “She’snottrying.”
Dev holds out a mug to her. “I was in the kitchen getting teaand thought you might like one. Irish breakfast. I remembered it’s your favorite.”
“Oh, thanks. I could use the caffeine.”
“Nothing for me?” Not that I really expected it. It’s clear Dev isn’t here for me.
“Sorry, didn’t know if you’d even be here. I thought UK Ken might have come to take you out again.”
I laugh. UK Ken—yeah, Will bears some resemblance to a Ken doll, if by that I mean perfectly sculpted.
“Not tonight. But he just invited me to go to Bath with him this Saturday. I still can’t believe how perfect he is.”
Dev pretends to puke.
“What’s your problem with Will?”
“Willoughby is fine. I just don’t get why you’re so obsessed with him.”
“Um, did you see him? He’s the most gorgeous guy I’ve ever met. And thataccent...”
He shakes his head. “And people say it’s men who only care about looks.”
“Sage, help me out!” I gesture at her. “I know you haven’t spent much time with him, but come on—he’s at least a fifteen on a ten-point scale, right?”
She puts her knitting down. “If the top score on the hotness scale is ten, then he can’t be a fifteen. That would be mathematically impossible.”
I groan.
“But... putting that detail aside... I’d say he’s at least a twelve.” She grins at me and Dev throws up his hands in disgust.
“See!” I exclaim. “There you have it—verified by the smartest person any of us know!”
