I stared up at him, resisting the urge to check if my mascara was smudged.
“Or don’t,” he added. “If you faint, that’s one less person I’m competing against.” He crossed his arms, smirking.
Like hell. “Did you... just make me breakfast?”
“Leftovers.”
I considered pushing the plate away. Considered going upstairs. Maybe reclaiming some dignity, like Elaine perched over the barstool, delicately nibbling her food. Maybe even putting on pants.
But this was reality, and I’d inhaled half the plate before I met John’s smug look again. He was making a fool of me in front of everyone and knew it. But the buttery peppers and hearty eggs were too good to resist.
“Exactly what I needed,” I said, rinsing my plate and tugging the duvet tighter. “Halfway back to Healthy Town.”
“A true miracle,” John muttered.
“Good,” said Charlene, oblivious to the subtext. She sat at the kitchen table and opened her laptop. “See you guys back here in ten?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I said.
I tackled the disaster that was my sleep-face. After brushing my hair into a low ponytail, dabbing on concealer, mascara, and red lipstick, I felt marginally more human. I pulled on the firstthings from my bag—oversized denim overalls, a leopard print T-shirt, cozy socks—and hurried back downstairs.
“We were just starting,” Jeremy said, clicking his pen with his usual cheer.
The group had formed a circle. I slid into the seat next to May, who’d picked up her knitting and gave me a wink. Elaine perched at the edge of her chair, notebook ready, her platinum curls cascading over her back like a silken waterfall.
Charlene launched into a monologue about the importance of modernizing Elliot’s work. Most of the series had been written in the 70s and showed its age—casual sexism, underrepresentation and all that. “We want to preserve the integrity of this epic journey,” she said, “but the publisher’s also looking for?—”
John shifted beside her, crossing his legs and leaning back. His black trousers pulled tight over his knee, a fine-knit sweater clung to his shoulders before falling loosely toward a silver-buckled belt. He didn’t hold a pen—just ran his thumb slowly along his bottom lip. A touch more stubble had sprouted, and flecks of silver glinted along his jawline. His eyes flicked to me.
I was just about to look away when one brow arched—as if asking a question—before his gaze dipped down. Down to... my boobs? My legs?
The brow rose higher.
A strange buzz spread through my gut, like my whole body had been put on vibrate.
I mouthed, “What?” My pulse jumped. Was I allergic to eggs now?
Suddenly, the background noise dimmed.
“Nora? Nora?”
I gasped and snapped my gaze back to Charlene, my head whirling like I’d just been yanked from underwater. “Yes?”
“Your phone.”
It took entirely too long for her words to make sense.
My phone was ringing in my pocket. That’s where the vibrations had come from.
Oh, thank God.
“Sorry,” I muttered, turning it off without glancing at the screen. Whoever it was, they weren’t worth adding another mark to my screw-up list.
Charlene opened a folder, a small frown forming on her forehead. “Where were we...?”
The buzzing picked up again.
I swore. “Let me just...” Then I noticed the caller ID.
