Page 56

Yet, she stilled as she placed it flat in her palm and stared down at it, tracing each circle of the double buttonhole design several times with a fingertip.

Had she felt that same strange zap I did when I first touched it?

Mo laughed, shaking her head and blowing her hair out of her eyes. “Jesus-motherfuck, this heat. Bleck,” she griped, adjusting my bag over a shoulder, opening the door, and moving inside. “I love my sunrays, but when I’m not poolside or on a beach while I bask in the sun. I’m not ashamed to admit it can make me a cranky bitch.”

I trudged into my apartment behind her, listening to the ebb and flow of her voice. “Not that I’m not grateful that you’re here, but weren’t you supposed to arrive tomorrow night?” Clenching my jaw, I resisted the urge to double check the monthly schedule in my journal.

“Listen here,” Mo stated, palming my shoulders and steering me toward the couch. She continued speaking as she moved around my living room like she owned the place, “When my Fabestie goes AWOL for days, I’m not going to sit around on my ass waiting to check on her at the prescribed time.” She huffed, stormed to my desk, unceremoniously shoving the chair to the side, and proceeded to plunge both arms up to the elbows in a gargantuan tote bag, I hadn’t the slightest clue when she brought inside, as she muttered to herself. “What kind of shitty person do you think I am?”

I didn’t answer what I knew was a rhetorical question, Mo talked to inanimate objects all the time too, and sunk farther into the couch cushions, a small smile creeping onto my face. Damn, I’m happy she’s here despite her unexpected timing.

“Gah, finally. There you are you little bitches,” Mo proclaimed, unearthing a fuzzy blanket, a small grey and black houndstooth pattered zipper pouch with ‘Tea Shit’ embroidered on the side in bright pink script, and several three wooden wick candles in sixteen oz glass jars from her shop. Not to mention the rainbow of rubber ducks spilling onto the floor.

A thought crashed into my mind and the brief stint of happiness dried up like an abused houseplant. “Shit.”

Mo froze halfway to the kitchen and whirled around, her ‘tea shit’ pouch narrowly slipping her grasp. “What’s up, Koko?”

“I have to go to work. I should’ve already been there,” I glanced at my watch, “over an hour ago.” My guts squirmed.

“Fuck-me-on-solstice, you look like shit, Fabestie.”

“Thanks,” I responded flatly.

She rolled her eyes and continued to the kitchen. “I mean it. You look like you haven’t slept in days,” Mo said, pulling out mugs, looseleaf tea, and a tea strainer.

That’s because I haven’t.

I sighed, rubbing my temples as I stood. “I really do. Whether you approve of my appearance or not, I’m going to open the library. I’m already on thin ice with the dean and I can’t afford to lose my job.”

“Where’s your kettle?”

“I don’t know if there is one.”

She tsked, jogging over to her bag of wonders, and pulled out a damn tea kettle.

I snatched it from her on the way by and held it over my head. Mo snort-laughed and grabbed it back from me. “You do realize you’re barely five foot tall, right?”

“Worth a shot,” I grumbled. “I’m serious though, make tea if you want and of course make yourself at home.” Raising a brow, my lips twitched. “Not that you aren’t already. But I can’t miss a shift. I’ll be back later.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Bring this with you and I’ll meet you there with a tea for you soon,” Monstera insisted, plastering a bright smile on her face and shoving a candle in my hand. “It’s your favorite scent, as requested.”

“Okay, Mo.” It wasn’t worth bickering with her.

An hour or so later, I shelved the last returned book from the shoot that fed into the office as Monstera walked through the library’s main entrance, a steaming mug in one hand and bulging tote bag in the other.

“You brought that monstrosity with you?” I grumbled. “Why didn’t you make a drink for yourself.”

She flipped her hand in a careless gesture. “I drank mine already, and you never know when you’ll need something.” Mo shrugged. “I like to be prepared.” I nodded, my cheek smooshing into my palm where it rested against it. “Oh, and,” she spelunked in her bag once more, lifting out a yellow duckie, sitting on a clear innertube and wearing classes and a tan bucket hat in my palm, “I found this little guy at the gas station and I couldn’t resist. I didn’t even make you search for it this time.”

“Don’t give me that look. It’s time. Spill the damn tea, woman.” She narrowed her eyes, handing me my duckie. “Or, I take the precious back.”

I smirked. “But you just made it, seems like an awful waste.”

“Smartass. Tell. Me. Everything,” she prodded, poking me in the ribs with each of her words. “Please.”

My lips flattened as I debated how much, realistically, I could tell her. So, I did.

Kind of.