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No wonder I drank myself silly.
My phone buzzes in my hand, and I grimace at the message from Cass asking, no,tellingme to join them. I don't really want to. I'm not sure I'm in the mood to be around drunk people, especially the baseball guys.
But I'm definitely not in the mood to be alone.
With a groan, I mutter a 'fuck it' and scoop my keys up off the kitchen table, texting Cass back with one hand and pulling the front door open with the other. I don't realize there's someone standing on the other side until I almost knock them down.
A surprised shriek echoing in my ears, I reach out to stabilise whoever the hell I almost flattened, getting a handful of soft skin as I yank them forward. When the scent of vanilla tickles my nose, my face falls in a frown.
“Luna?”
45
LUNA
I don't knowwhy I'm here.
Dithering at his front door, hopping nervously from one foot to the other, a lukewarm casserole dish, the only thing keeping me warm. I left my jacket at the Jacobs' place, and despite the freezing temperature, I was too chickenshit to go back and get it. I'll get it next week.
Or any other Friday night until my death, probably.
Silver lining; the food at their place is always good. So good that my mouth waters every time we sit at the obnoxiously large dining room table and Mrs Jacobs brings out dish after dish of heavenly food. She must notice how quickly, and gratefully, I scoff it all down because she always loads me up with leftovers. Hence the chicken casserole in my hands and the half of an apple pie stuffed in a Tupperware container weighing down my tote.
Food. That's why I'm here. You're supposed to bring grieving people food, right? That's a thing.
A sympathy casserole and pie.
That's why I'm here.
That's what I'm telling myself as I’m hyping myself up to knock when the door suddenly opens. A shriek escapes me as I’m almost barrelled over, a rough hand latching onto my hip preventing what would’ve been a very messy fall.
“Luna?”
Oh, fuck my life.
Pasting on my smile, I force my gaze to meet Jackson’s. “Hi.” At his questioning frown, I hold up the dish. “I brought you food.“
Slowly, his gaze drops from my face to my slightly pathetic offering. “You brought me food?”
I nod.
“You cooked?”
A flush creeps up my cheeks. “Well, no. Someone else made it. I'm just, uh, delivering it.”
Confusion creases his face but he takes the dish regardless. The keys in his hand jingle as he does, drawing my attention to them. “Oh shit, were you on your way out?”
“Kinda, yeah.”
“Shit.” I take a step back. “Sorry. I'll just go.”
“Hey, wait.” Before I can get too far, Jackson loops a hand around my wrist. “Don't. I didn't really wanna go out anyways.”
I hate the sprig of hope that blossoms in my chest. “Yeah?”
Smiling gently, he nods. “Yeah.”
“Okay.”
