Page 32 of You Said I Was Your Favorite

“Really? I was just talking to someone who wanted to know when your tomatoes would end up on the salad bar.”

“Who was it?”

Should I tell him it was a Lancaster? He might run to the kitchen right now and make sure the tomatoes make their appearance first thing tomorrow just to please Edie.

Arch though? More like he’d throw tomatoes at him, aiming at his handsome face.

Or he might want to please Kathy. I think he likes her. She works in the kitchen, just like Mom did and she seems nice enough. She’s around my father’s age and she’s divorced. Though I don’t know her that well, my father acts like he’s more than a little enamored with her.

Which is…odd. I can’t lie. It’s weird to think of my father with someone else that’s not my mother.

“Edie Lancaster,” I finally admit.

“You friends with the sister now?” His brows shoot up and I can see the concern swirling in his gaze.

“We talked for a little bit. It was no big deal.” I shrug, trying to play it off. I didn’t see her at all today. I’m sure it was a one-off moment. Like I’m an animal in a cage at the zoo and she wanted to check me out to see what all the fuss was about.

Guess she wasn’t impressed.

“Well, Kathy likes the fresh veggies and we’ve got more than we could ever eat so I’m going to give her a bunch. I’ll be back.” He starts to walk away and I watch him go.

“Will you be back by dinner?” I call out to him.

He turns, shading his eyes from the sun with his hand. “Go ahead and eat at the dining hall tonight, or make yourself something at home. I have some work to catch up on.”

Disappointment fills me but I wave at him before he turns and heads toward the center of campus. I’d sort of wished we could eat together tonight. I was craving some of his cooking or at the very least, would’ve cooked something for both of us myself, but I guess he’s working.

More like he’s spending extra time with Kathy.

Once I’ve finished trimming the rose bushes, I go to my backpack, eager to grab my book and sit in the sun at the café table Dad set up a few years ago just for me. I like to read there, especially in the late afternoon, though it’s still kind of hot.

As I rifle through my backpack though, dread settles in my stomach, slowly spreading until it coats my insides.

I can’t find my book.

Determined, I dig through my stuff again. The papers and the notebooks and the pens and the book I’m supposed to read for English that I’m already putting off. But it’s not here.

And then I remember.

I left it in my math class after Mrs. Nelson distracted me with her commentary about said book.

A groan leaves me and I hang my head, hoping it’ll still be there when I check tomorrow. No one uses those storage compartments at our desks anyway. We’re always getting moved around to different desks when we’re in class and we all either use our backpacks or our lockers. I’ll check in the morning, before school starts. Hopefully the classroom will be open.

I just don’t want to lose my book. They’re not cheap and I only allow myself to buy paperbacks of my favorite authors. Dad always makes sure to give me gift cards for my birthday and Christmas, but money is tight. I worked part-time during the summer at the coffeeshop downtown and while I didn’t get a lot of hours, I do my best to save as much money as possible. Not only do I not want to replace the book by buying another one, I also wasn’t finished with it yet. That’s the most frustrating part of it all.

What am I going to read tonight?

Taking out one of my notebooks instead, I grab a couple of pens and start doodling. I’m no artist but I do enjoy drawing sometimes. I find myself sketching a face. A boy. With longish hair and intense blue eyes, a scowl on his handsome face.

Ugh, I’m drawing Arch Lancaster. I don’t even like him and I’m sitting here mooning over him like he’s my secret crush. All because he pays attention to me—and it’s mostly bad attention too.

I must be starved for human interaction, I swear.

As if I conjured him up from my brain, I glance to my right to see him approaching the closest building. The one that’s used by the Lancaster family instead of the dorms. They don’t sleep with the little people. They have their own suites to stay in.

Remaining very quiet, I watch him stride down the sidewalk, his head held high, his hair blowing away from his face with the breeze. I stare at that handsome face, really taking him in, marveling at how freaking attractive he is.

Straight out of a romance novel.

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