Carter finally cracks up, unable to hold in his laughter. “Sorry, cuz,” he says. “I might’ve mentioned that your guy left.”
My first urge is to smack that toast right out of Carter’s hands. My second urge is to flee the kitchen—no. Drive away from this place to escape Dorien’s smug, amused look.
Whatever. I refuse to let him see me squirm.
I sip more coffee, keeping my expression neutral. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, which is the lamest possible response and we all know it.
Carter laughs more. Dorien just looks at me with that half-smile, like he can see every thought in my head.
As calm as ever, I walk to the fridge, open it, grab the can of whipped cream, then walk straight to Carter. I shake it, press the nozzle, and pile a spiral of white cream directly on top of his head.
He jumps away, dropping his buttered toast. “What the hell!” But he’s laughing, whipped cream sliding down his forehead.
Dorien only grins. “Can I get some of that?”
I squirt a generous mound into my palm, walk up to him, and smear it across his cheek. His skin is warm. His stubble catches the cream. And for one second I feel victorious.
Then his hand closes around my wrist.
He holds me there, my hand against his face, cream between my fingers and his skin. His eyes lock on mine. Slowly, deliberately, he brings my hand to his mouth and sucks the whipped cream off my thumb.
Every thought in my head vanishes and I’m just a woman wanting a man to do very naughty things to me. His lips are soft and his tongue is warm and I might actually die in this kitchen.
Carter howls with laughter.
I yank my hand away and flee to my room. I close the door, press my back against it, and my skin feels so hot I could heat the entire cabin.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
AERON
Mom is doing something in her office, so I’m trying to grab food from the kitchen and disappear before she returns. There are mini cupcakes with orange and purple frosting all over the counter (they look pretty good). She must’ve made them for trick-or-treaters. I know homemade treats aren’t something you can do nowadays, but since our community is all faculty housing, neighbors trust each other. The kids that live here love Mom’s baked goods. She is a great baker.
The microwave clock read 6:47 when I nuke my leftover pasta. Outside, the last rays of sun are thinning against the kitchen window. When the microwave beeps, I grab my bowl. Time for my escape.
I turn the corner toward the living room and almost collide into Mom.
She’s standing in front of a small mirror adjusting a bonnet. She’s wearing a long green dress with a lace collar, her curly hair pinned to her head. She’s holding a small leather-bound book as a prop. I don’t know who she’s supposed to be, but she looks straight out of that stupid show she and June watch. Bridge Town? Bright… no,Bridgerton.
“Oh, honey!” She turns from the mirror to give me a wide grin. “What do you think?” She does a little spin. The dress swishes against the hardwood.
“Looks good,” I say, already angling past her toward the stairs.
“Wait, wait.” She touches my arm to stop me. “I set up chairs on the porch for us. It’d be fun to hand out cupcakes together. The Ortiz kids always come by. Last year they were so cute dressed as the Avengers and?—”
I don’t catch the rest because I’m already fleeing down the hallway. “I’m good. Thanks.”
“Aeron. Wait.” Her voice is firm, so I stop and turn around. Her eyes widen a little, like she didn’t expect me to actually wait, and she looks like she doesn’t know what to say. Her eyes dart around my face. She clears her throat. “Okay, well.” She adjusts the bonnet again. “How about a scary movie? I found that old one you liked when you were little, the one with the?—”
“No thanks.” The irritation climbs my throat, tightening the words on the way out. Sure, on the surface it seems nice that she wants to hang out with me, but she only does this when June is away.
When June is around, the two of them fill every room with conversation and inside jokes I’ve never been inside of. I become background furniture. But as soon as the favorite daughter leaves town for one weekend, Mom is suddenly asking me to watch movies and spend time together, like she just remembered she has a second kid.
“Why didn’t you go with everyone to the cabin this weekend?” she asks.
I grip my bowl tighter, the ceramic burning my fingers. “Didn’t feel like it.”
The hallway light catches her eyes and for half a second she looks sad. Then counselor mode kicks in and she smooths overany worry with a small smile. “If you change your mind about the movie, come find me.”
