My heart stops for a bat, but I play it off. “What every guy wants to hear from a girl.”
She laughs, and I try to calm myself down.
The smell of warm cake fills the room, thick and sweet and homey.
Tilly perches on the counter, swinging her legs, picking at the dried flour on her sleeve.
“Okay, that was actually fun,” she says, smiling to herself.
“Actuallyfun?” I repeat. “As opposed to what? My presence is always fun.”
“Debatable,” she teases, grinning.
I throw a dish towel at her, which she dodges badly and somehow sends herself half-sliding off the counter. I catch her waist before she falls.
“Graceful,” I say softly.
“Shut up,” she mumbles, laughing breathlessly.
Something lingers in the air.
We let the cake cool and crash on the couch, both covered in flour and whipped cream.
She brings a blanket from her room, the same stupid one with stars on it, and throws it over both of us.
“So,” I say, turning on the TV. “What disaster are we watching today?”
“We Were Liars,” she says without hesitation.
“No way,” I immediately say.
“Last time you cried so hard I thought I’d have to call for emotional backup.”
She gasps. “You were crying too!”
“I was not!”
“Uh, yeah, you were,” she says, poking me in the shoulder. “You sniffled.”
“I had allergies.”
“Sure. allergies to sad movies.” She smiles, smug as always. “Okay, fine. Then let’s watch Up.”
“Another cry-fest.”
“I need a cry-fest.” She grabs the blanket, pulling it over both of us.
“Tilly.”
She looks at me and rolls her eyes. “Relax, every girl likes to cry to fictional events once in a while. Ask Yana if you need proof.”
“Totally normal behavior,” I mutter, ignoring the painful pounding of my heart.
“Shut up.”
We watch quietly for a while.
Every time she laughs softly or sighs at the screen, I feel the energy between us.
