Page 56 of Not Dating Material

“Right. Well.” She turns back to cutting the leek.

“The thing is, I’m curious about how it all started. But it feels weird to ask them.”

“And it doesn’t feel weird to ask someone you’ve literally just met.”

I nudge her with my elbow. “You’re practically family.”

“And you’re a sweet-talking little shit, aren’t you?”

“If it gets me what I want.”

She laughs, and it’s rough, gravelly, and warms me to her instantly. “Don’t think too hard about it. It’s a story they tell when they’re comfortable with you.”

“Okay.”

“Or if they’re rip-roaring drunk.”

I snigger. “You’re not what I expected.”

“Right back at you. So, how long are you planning on staying?”

“No plan, actually. A while. I like it here though.”

“Not hard to do.”

I smile, thinking of my roommates. “It’s definitely not.” So far, I feel more welcome and appreciated here than I have at home for the last few years.

By the time we’ve finished making the pie and topped it off with pastry, Agatha looks me directly in the eye. “I like you, Molly.”

“You too.”

“Good. Now, I’ll like you even more if you keep the others away from that pie until Seven gets home.” She winks at me. “It’s his favorite.”

And like that, I’m pretty sure I’ve just been played by Agatha and Xander.

“Nothing’s going on between us,” I assure her.

“Uh-huh. Better tell that to your smile, then, sweet pea.”

I slap my hand over my mouth.

She heads for the hallway. “Keep an eye on that pie. Twenty minutes. Seven will be home not long after that.” She pauses right before she disappears. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah. Sounds good.”

At this point, it’s not like I have any choice. My gaze strays back to the pie, and I laugh. At least I know where she stands on my interest in Seven.

Even though the wait isn’t long, I can’t stop myself from pacing, from checking the pie and making sure it’s still warm and hasn’t miraculously evaporated from the dish. And when I hear the front door open not long after Seven’s due home, I shoot out into the hall to intercept him before he heads upstairs.

“Hey, Mol—”

“Yeah. Hi. Come with me.” I grab his hand and all but drag him into the kitchen. “I made dinner. With Agatha’s help, but it still counts.”

He sniffs, concentration playing over his pierced brow. “Is that …”

“Pie! Yes. It’s pie. Your favorite. At least, that’s what she told me.” I clench my hands together behind my back, trying to drown the nerves going haywire in my gut.

He uncovers the dish and breathes deeply. “Hot damn, that’s good.”

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