“Electric shock.” He grins at me, and my brain glitches for a second as he searches in the bag. “I’ll come with you. He got that wine Izzy asked for too. She owes me a twenty.”
“Oh, thank you.” I take the bottle he’s produced. It’s the same brand and everything. “She swiped the one she used for the sangria from Dad’s cupboard.”
Noah follows me across the hall, where I stash the wine in one of the cupboards, reminding myself to ask Izzy where she found the original. My mouth is getting dry with nerves, so I zero in on what I hope is my glass and take a swig. Better. I have a second, smaller sip and then open the fridge, moving things around so Noah can put his bottles into the vegetable drawer at the bottom.
“Got a bottle opener?” Noah asks, keeping a beer out for himself.
“Erm, there should be one here somewhere…” I fumble through the cutlery drawer, finally unearthing an ancient corkscrew. “I think the top of that will work?”
“Perfect.” Noah pries off the cap and a soft hiss escapes as the bubbles race to the top. He takes a swig as he looks around the kitchen, and I finish my drink because I don’t know what else to do. “So this is your dad’s new place?”
“Yeah. It’s kind of small compared to the house we used to live in here,” I say, topping up my glass from the jug on the table. “Clearly hasn’t been decorated since the seventies, though.”
“Are you basing that on the brown tile over the oven or the flocked wallpaper in the hall?” Noah asks.
“Both.” I laugh. “I think Kim will decorate when they get back. She did my room up, and that’s pretty nice.” I pause, trying to reroute the conversation. I did not mean to bring up my bedroom, and I don’t need Noah to think I’ve done it for a reason. “Erm, so yeah. Hopefully it’ll be less brown next time I’m here.”
Noah pulls out one of the kitchen chairs and sits down, gesturing for me to join him. The other side of the table is full of Izzy’s crap, so my only choice is to sit next to him, which immediately makes me two degrees warmer. I put my glass on the table and surreptitiously fan my beaming face as I sit down.
“Do you think you’ll be back much?” he asks.
“Yeah, I guess so. Dad’s position is permanent, and I’m hoping to come to Blackwood for school, so it’ll be nice to get used to the place again before that.”
“I’m starting a business studies degree here next month.” He grins at me as I raise my eyebrows in surprise. “What? You thought I was gearing up to be a penniless artist?”
“Something like that.” I chuckle. “So is photography just a hobby? Are you planning to be some business mogul?”
“No.” He smiles, playing with the label on his bottle. “I’d like to be an event photographer, set up my own studio, maybe. I don’t really know yet. I just thought it would be safe to get a business degree in case photography doesn’t work out. What about you? You still want to rewrite all the classics to make them more exciting?”
“What?” I gawp at him. “You remember that? How?”
“You were the most precocious child ever. You were always telling us about whatever book you were reading and how you could do it better.” I cringe. His memory is a bit too good. “So do you?”
“No.” I play with the thick stem of my wineglass. “I wish I still had that confidence. I am applying for journalism, though, so I guess I want to tell real-life stories now.”
“That’s cool. I thought you might be into art, because you’re writing about the painting.”
“Oh, yeah.” I smile stiffly. Now is probably not the time to bring up my fondness for true crime. People can be really weird about it. “No, it just has an interesting, erm, history. It’s been stretching my research skills.”
“Sounds like fun?” he questions, and grins when I nod. “Good. It could be like the old days. You, me and Iz all hanging out again.”
“I think Izzy has her sights set way outside of Blackwood. She’s applying to some art and fashion courses in London.” I narrow my eyes at him. “You know, you were pretty mean to us when we were kids.”
“I was not!” He chokes on his beer and starts to laugh as itsprays out across the table. “Oh, god, sorry.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Okay, maybe I was a bit annoying.”
“A bit? I remember you telling us such a scary story about the campus ghost that I cried every night for a week.”
“I did?” He holds the bottle in front of his mouth to hide another smile. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” I pinch a slice of apple out of my glass and bite into it. “I got over it.”
“It was a good story.” His eyes twinkle, and I can’t help but smile back.
“What’s a good story?” I look up, realizing I’d forgotten there were other people here.
Noah’s friend Jen leans against the doorframe, a white crop top and low-rise jeans showing off the golden chain encircling her stomach. It matches the delicate gold script nameplate at her throat. I swallow the rest of my apple and immediately want to curl up in a ball.
“Hey, Jen. Oh, just the campus ghost.” Noah grins, and she throws her head back in a throaty laugh that I couldn’t pull off in a million years.
