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Easy. Milk.
I’m not angry; I’m just disappointed.
His smile is like a knife in the dark. 'Was it a house sparrow? Never trust a house sparrow. They’ll tell you anything to gain your trust and then they’ll rob you blind and steal your identity.’
‘Yeah, I often get mistaken for a house sparrow. Resemblance is uncanny.’
He chuckles, a rough, husky sound.
Why do my toesdothat?
I clear my throat. ‘Is that all you—?’
‘Can I come in?’ he asks. ‘I want to talk to you.’
I make a show of glancing at the sky. ‘Give me twenty minutes. It’s forecast heavy rain tonight.’
‘Is this so my shirt sticks to my skin, exposing all my very hard, very corded muscles, and we talk and you get angry and I get angry and you try to storm back inside but I grab your hand and—‘
‘Oh my God.’You read romance novels. Of course you knowthatscene. ‘You’re insufferable.’
He starts to say something but I end the call and pad downstairs. When I open the front door, he has his elbow braced against the frame, but his smile is tight at the corners.
I don't wait for him to follow before I turn to go back upstairs.
I flick on my bedside lamp and draw my knees up as I lean my head against the headboard. Chase seems far too tall for my puny room. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and looks around, his gaze landing on my Hello Kitty straighteners propped up against my metal shoerack—where they’ve been cooling down for months now—the makeup scattered across the top of my dressing table, the underwear drying on the knob of my wardrobe, the cardigans flung onto my chair, the mood globe with a little tornado inside on my windowsill and the little glass ecosystem beside it, before finally settling on my shelves, the lights gilding the covers of my books and the Funko Pops positioned perfectly beside their allotted novels.
This little haven of mine, where all the things I love are contained, on display for him. Something I never even showed Archer. Archer would have snickered if he’d seen this, if he’d known I collect book dolls and book-related scented candles and bookmarks with quotes on them, but I don’t have such anxiety with Chase.
With him, my only concern is how messy my room is. Dust coats the windowsill and I haven’t hoovered my carpet in weeks and I think I left a half-eaten cookie on a plate beneath my bed. Maybe I can grab it while he isn’t looking and lob it through my window and hope it doesn’t land on the Stagg—
‘What did you think?’ he asks suddenly.
‘About what?’
‘AboutGreat Expectations.’ He plucks it from the shelf. He handles it with such care and delicacy all I can do is stare until he glances at me expectantly.
‘I loved it.’ The truth. ‘I read it in two days. I mean, the story is average, but it definitely destroyed my reading slump. I was thinking of tackling my TBR tomorrow, actually.’
He nods and sets it back on my shelf. I feel like he wants me to say more, but I have nothing moretosay.
‘I actually have something for you.’ I grab my handbag and unzip it. I pull the paperback out and hold it out to him, and he takes it with a frown.
‘This isGreat Expectations,’ he says. He starts to flick through it—
‘No.’ He quirks a brow. ‘Don’t read it yet.’
I see the wordsI’ve already read itflick across his expression, but he doesn’t pry. Maybe this was a stupid idea, a whimsical decision based off a fleeting, vibrant thought that seemed so amazing at the time. Maybe not everyone has the same heart as you; maybe the one person you’re drawn towards isn’t drawn to you, and maybe he won’t see the thought behind my gift.
My fingers itch to snatch back the book and tell him it doesn’t matter, and I cross my arms, my humiliation turning to anger.
‘Thank you,’ Chase says hoarsely. ‘Although, if it doesn’t have little penises on each chapter page, I’ll be very disappointed.’
Don’t laugh. You’re supposed to be mad at him, remember?
And then his expression sobers, and the bed dips as he sits on the end of it. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, but he forces his eyes to meet mine, and they’re bright and earnest as he says, quietly, ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. For lying to you, for not telling you sooner—‘
‘Did you know all along that it was me?’
