This is taking way too long. He could have fallen into a ditch in his own garden for all I know. I call the number.
When he picks up, I say, “You don’t have to text. Calling is fine.”
“Thank God. When do you return? The Manor is too quiet and peaceful.”
The sound of his voice does a weird thing to the surface of my skin. “Tomorrow evening. After visiting hours at the hospital—”
“Would you like to have dinner?”
My stomach flips again. Freaking flapjacks in there. Dinner. “Sunday supper?”
“No, Saturday. Keep up, Ms. Frost. Dinner with me. Tomorrow night. Together.”
Oh.Oh.
All my brain can come up with is: “Are you cooking?”
A maniacal cackle slices through the background. Lazlo. “I haven’t thought that far ahead,” the Warlock mutters, shushing someone.
I bite my lip.
When’s the last time you did something for the first time?
“Invitation accepted. If only to experience what will be your audition video for the Food Network’s hottest new show,Recipes for When You Need to Say Sorry to Your Roommate.”
“You and I are notroommates, Ms. Frost.” He says the word with derision.
“Oh?” I cling to the familiar mockery to keep from thinking about my mom in the hospital behind me. “Then what are we?”
He scoffs. “I’m not sure. But it’s not roommates, sweetheart.”
My heart somersaults. Did he just—why am Ismiling?
There’s a pause that might be muffled swearing. “I apologize, Ms. Frost. That was…”
“Bold.”
“I didn’t mean—or intend to imply—”
I can hear it in his voice. He’s actuallyflustered. NowIfeel bold. And like messing with him a bit. “Say it again. Sir.”
The silence on the other end of the phone is pure gold. Why do I get such enjoyment from ruffling his careful composure? Whatever the reason, this is a new flavor of something I love the taste of. My rain cloud mood from a minute ago is evaporating.
“Consider your point about my cooking skills well received,” he finally replies, his voice low and simmering.
“Alternative show name:Magical Recipes for the Magic of Friendship.”
“Have your fun, Ms. Frost.”
“Oh!A Knight for One: Solo Recipes for the Reclusive at Heart.”
“Do you hang up this contraption, or do I?”
I stifle a gratified snicker and hang up before he can hear how pleased I am.
The feeling doesn’t last. My grin falls suddenly.
Across the street, so still he nearly quicksands right into the beige concrete of the sidewalk, is Oris Webb, sinking his teeth into a small yellow apple.
