My arm brushes his bicep, which is shockingly cold. “What happened to the fire?” I ask, glancing over at where the blackened logs sit.
“I got up at some point and put it out. We’ve had our share of fire mishaps.”
This is true. Still, the feel of his frigid arm brings another thought to mind. “You never found your hoodie?”
“No, I’m sorry,” he says. “And not just because it was a gift fromyou. I’m sorry because having lost it makes me look like a murderer.”
A laugh escapes my lips, but I ram my shoulder into his arm. “You can’t joke about this.”
“It’s either joke or despair,” he says glumly.
“Did you check the lost and found?”
An amused smile lights his face. “Do I look like I’m in third grade?”
“Not even a little,” I say without thinking, and the back of my neck heats.
He laughs softly, slipping out from under the blanket. “I will check the lost and found this week, okay? You want coffee?”
“Sure. I’ll come help.” I start to fold the blanket and fluff up the throw pillow, my thoughts on the missing hoodie. On whether or not someone could’ve taken it and made it look like Bram was with Kennedy before she died. I think of Lydia, who, according to Desiree, wanted the cheer captaincy more than anything. Lydia, who, without Kennedy around, now not only has that captaincy but is president of the student council.
A few minutes later, the coffee is brewing, and Bram and I are scrambling eggs on the stovetop.
Henry wanders in wearing pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, his hair messy. It’s a good look on him as he nears us to say hi with a sleepy smile. “I see Mom hired the kitchen staff back.”
“Except no one on staff bothered to do the shopping,” I say, pouring him a cup of coffee. “So we can only make eggs and toast.”
“Sounds perfect,” Henry says, taking his coffee over to thekitchen nook. “Though the market remains a challenge, seeing as how we’re banned from town and Uber Eats won’t deliver up here.”
“I’ll go,” Bram says. “I don’t care what that idiot Mr. Swanson says.”
“Bram,” Henry says in mock surprise, as though he’s only now noticed his brother’s presence. “You’re up early.”
“This toast would be so much tastier with apple butter,” Bram says. “Why don’t you head over to the orchard and pick some apples?” he suggests, his eyes devilish.
Henry gives him a bored look. The apple orchard is all the way at the tail end of the property, a twenty-minute walk.
“Apple butter actually sounds really nice,” I say.
Henry’s eyes widen. “You’re kidding, right?”
I offer my sweetest smile. “And if you get enough, I could make muffins later.” I know I’m pushing it, but if I could get him out of the house for forty minutes—without his phone—I might be able to put the Kennedy-and-Henry theory to rest for good.
Henry looks to Bram now, who says with a shrug, “Hey, your girl wants apples.”
My face ignites, and Henry goes just as red as he brings his mug to his lips.
“I can go,” Bram offers, “if the walk is too much for you.” He makes to pass Henry the spatula, and I consider throwing my coffee into his smug face.
“I’m happy to walk.” Henry flashes his brother a caustic smile as he waves off the spatula and slides out of the nook. “Apple butter it is.” He looks around as if missing something. When he pats hispajama pants, I double-check that they have no pockets. Zero pockets means zero phone.
I race to the cupboard where the family hangs the grocery bags. “Here,” I say, yanking one down and pushing it at him. “To carry the apples in.”
“Thanks,” he mumbles, unable to make eye contact with me. Which is perfect, because I can’t have him asking me to join him on this walk.
He wanders out, and I breathe a sigh of relief. But I quickly turn on Bram. “What the hell was that?”
“What was what?” he asks, scooping some eggs onto a plate, only the hint of a smirk on his lips.
