‘Didn’t want to make things weird, I don’t really know those guys.’
‘You know Michael, he’s on your team. And Alice and Jenna are in your psych class.’
‘It was just the four of you?’
Mia grabs a paper napkin from the middle of the table and wipes the honey butter from her fingers but it doesn’t stop me from fantasizing about licking them clean.
‘And Oliver.’
I think we both know why I wasn’t at the picnic, even if Mia is pretending she doesn’t.
‘Taking notes or training to be a super spy?’ I ask, nodding to the pocket tape recorder on the table.
She wrinkles her nose into an adorable frown. ‘It’s a loaner. I was listening to a song.’
‘What song?’
‘You won’t know it, my, um, friend wrote it.’
From the way she’s being so evasive, I have to guess she’s talking about the douche in the leather jacket.
‘Is it good?’
No answer.
‘It’s … better than I could do,’ she says eventually. ‘Kind of not what I expected.’
One corner of my mouth turns up in a smirk and I know it’s petty, but I can’t help myself. He wrote her a shitty song. I made her world-class biscuits. I win this round. At least, I think I do. Fuck. Mia hasn’t only got me out here baking, she’s got me second-guessing myself. This is so much more serious than I’m ready to admit.
‘What are your plans for the rest of the night?’ I ask, leaning backwards to grab another biscuit from the baking tray, casually showing off my biceps at the same time. I am for sure in better shape than that ass clown. ‘Is there a big birthday extravaganza over at Members?’
‘Not quite.’ Her face suddenly turns downcast and she checks her watch. ‘I have a ton of work to do and I need to call my folks.’
‘That’s it? On your birthday? Mia, it’s only—’ I look up at the clock on the wall and realize I have been in this damn kitchen for hours. ‘It’s not even seven p.m.. You can’t call your birthday before midnight, not even on a school night.’
Her smile returns, a smaller shadow of its former self, but she’s resolute.
‘I don’t think Dr Quinn takes birthdays into account when he’s grading papers,’ she says, pushing her chair back from the table,‘I have to get a good grade on this paper andBleak Houseisn’t getting any shorter.’
‘Doesn’t sound like it’s gonna get any more fun, either.’
‘It’s not exactly known for its laughs.’
‘We could study together,’ I suggest. ‘You can tell me about your book. Sometimes talking about stuff helps me make sense out of it.’
An incredulous look lights her up. ‘You want to listen to me yammer on about a Dickens novel?’
Pressing my hands against my heart, I gasp, wounded. ‘You don’t have to sound so surprised. I love to read when I have the time. Maybe not Dickens, but if George R. R. Martin doesn’t dropWinds of Wintersoon, I’m gonna have to start writing fanfic. Again.’
‘Sorry to have misjudged you but I study better alone.’ She stands up and looks around the apocalyptic mess in the kitchen. ‘Thank you for this. It really means a lot.’
‘Sure thing. Let’s be real, it worked out for me too. We both have biscuits now.’
‘Not if I take them into my room and house every single one of them.’
‘Hey, it’s your birthday,’ I say as she wraps a single biscuit in a napkin. ‘If you get bored of your bleak book, I’ll be in my room, watching a movie. After I clean up this mess.’
‘Bleak House. And thanks, but—’
