Page 53 of Seven Rules for Breaking Hearts

Declan’s gaze lingered on me for a split second before he withdrew his hand and went back to picking over his food. “She blinked first, so I win.”

Jo’s eyes darted back and forth between us, narrowing as they went.

“So, I never asked,” I said, hoping to change the subject as I cracked into another crab leg. They were the thick, spiky kind I normally would have used a nutcracker for, but none was provided, so I had to get creative with my fork. “What cake did you guys decide on?”

Jo pinned me under a suspicious glare. “The regular chocolate, with a buttercream frosting.” Somehow, she managed to make it sound like an accusation.

Peter must have picked up on her tone, but not on her reason for it, because he pulled a frown. “Do you think it’s a bad choice?”

“No, I think it’s great,” Jo said. Then, a little too cheerily: “How did you like the cake, Declan?”

I tried my best to send Jo a telepathic message that I was going to kill her later, apparently to no avail. Autumn sipped at her lemonade, eyes jumping back and forth between us like she was watching a tennis match.

“I liked the one I had later. After we left.” Declan tried to hold back a grin as I redirected my murder-glare at him, but his dimple gave him away. I poised my tennis shoe over his foot, a threat.

“You guys got more cake after you left?” Peter asked, sounding about as put out as a kid who wasn’t invited to his friend’s birthday party. I expected it was a foreign feeling for him. Peter Figueroa was never left out of anything.

“Oh, yeah.” Declan nodded, a little too enthusiastic. “Great cake, too. Possibly the best I’ve ever had.”

A fluttering sensation shot through me, though it was mingling with paranoia that everyone was about two seconds away from figuring out what we were talking about. Liv was hunched over a plate of massacred crab legs, a napkin tucked into her shirt and hands slick with butter, but her chewing had slowed. Even Lucas had sat up a little straighter in his chair.

But Declan had started this little game, and I was going to finish it. “Declan enjoyed it,” I said coolly, “but I’ve had better.”

His eyebrows shot up, but he didn’t look particularly offended. “Really? Because it seemed to me like you’re the one who wanted more cake. Which you could have, by the way, if you weren’t so stubborn.”

“I could always find cake somewhere else.” I pressed the toe of my tennis shoe into his foot, hard. He responded with a sharp intake of breath, but it wasn’t enough to shut him up.

“Yes, but would you like it as much as this particular cake?” he inquired politely. “I mean, from everything you’ve said, it kind of sounds like you’re bored with other cake. And you did just mention something about coming over to my place for some more cake.”

Realization was dawning on Jo’s face as she looked back and forth between the two of us. There were only so many things Declan and I could have done to warrant the awkwardness of this whole exchange. And more important, there were only so many things cake could be a euphemism for. I imagined the crab, dropped in a pot of seemingly harmless water, only to be slowly boiled alive before it even realized what was happening. That’s what was happening to me. I was the crab, and this cake euphemism was the boiling water.

“I didn’t realize you’d tried this particular cake already,” Jo said slowly.

I shot her a look, doing my best to silently beg her to put a pin in it. I could explain everything later, preferably in private, and preferably after I’d had the chance to gather my thoughts.

“Why are we still talking about cake?” Peter demanded.

“Yes,” I agreed, “why are we still talking about cake?”

Declan cracked one of the crab legs and extracted a succulent bit of meat, dipping it in butter. “I would think, logically, if you wanted a slice of cake, you would be willing to let me at least take you out for dinner first. Dinner before dessert and all that.” He popped the meat into his mouth and chewed, looking horribly self-satisfied.

“Okay, what the hell is cake, because I know you’re not talking about wedding cake,” Liv interjected. “Is this like Netflix and Chill? Hulu and Cake?”

“Oh, come on,” Declan said. “We’re at least HBO Max.”

This wasn’t fair. The water was officially boiling. Say goodbye, crab-Margo.

“Now I want cake,” Peter said, snatching the dessert menu from where it was tucked behind the napkin holder. “Do they have any here?”

“I’m officially sworn off cake,” I said, looking daggers at Declan. “I think I’ll go on a diet.”

“Won’t you at least have some at the wedding?” Peter asked.

Declan pretended to pout. “Yes, won’t you?”

Giving up on crushing his toes, I swung my foot backward into his shin. With a sharp intake of breath, he finally buckled, reaching beneath the table to rub his leg. “Ow, shit, Margo, that hurt.”

“Good. About time I pay you back somehow.”