Page 42 of Class Clown

Nico was standing in the kitchenette stirring something in a mug when I entered. His hair was wet, but he was wearing fresh clothing and I could smell his shampoo and soap, and I was relieved to see he’d been able to clean up. He deserved it.

“Oh,” he said when he saw me.

I paused halfway to my bunk area. “Oh?”

“Yeah, um . . .” He pointed to a stack on the small kitchen table. “I was bringing you some dry clothes. And, uh . . .” He held up the mug he’d been stirring. “Hot tea.” Speechless, I simply stared at him until he set the mug down. “You don’t like tea?”

I frowned. “I love tea. Especially with burnt toast.”

“Burnt toast?”

“Yeah. I don’t even scrape off the black bits.”

“Okay.” He held the mug back up and I stepped forward to take it from him. “I didn’t know people ate it burnt on purpose.”

Our fingers brushed and I shivered again. “You’re missing out.”

“Is Gina okay?” he asked.

I nodded, sipping at the tea and closing my eyes as the heat flowed right into my very grateful stomach. It was delicious. Minty and citrusy, with some lemon. I’d never had this blend, but I wanted more every day of my life.

“This is amazing,” I said, sipping some more. “Does this mean you went through my drawers?” I teased lightly.

I watched his jaw work as he seemed to battle between being a little embarrassed, and yielding to practicality. In the end, he simply nodded, owning it. I pictured him choosing clothes for me and didn’t hate it.

“Do you have a middle name?” I asked.

He blinked, confused. It happened a lot. But my thought train didn’t run on normal rails.

“James.”

“Is Nico short for something?”

“Dominic.”

“So, Dominic James Crawford?” I asked, sipping again. He nodded. “I like it. It has a nice ring to it.”

“Thanks.”

“Did your dad call you by your full name when you were in trouble?”

“I . . . not really.”

I smiled. “That’s a nice way of telling me you didn’t make trouble as a kid. I don’t know how you got yourself mixed up with my brother.”

He smiled, and I finished the tea, handing it back to him with a smile of my own. He took the mug and the cabin felt smaller all of a sudden. Sounds disappeared and I stared into his eyes, wanting to know what his thoughts had been when he was packing me dry clothes and making metea. He watched me back, silent as ever, until the cold in my bones began to warm and my chest and fingertips tingled.

I took a step back and grabbed the clothing from the table.

“Thanks,” I said, as I hustled into the bathroom.

“Next time I’ll burn you some toast,” he replied in a voice that barely carried far enough for me to hear it.

But I did.

Chapter 12

Ruby’s Truth: Purple legs will fade, but feelings might be forever.

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