Page 4 of Along Came Summer

I think Van Gogh, Picasso, Monet and Da Vinci would strongly disagree.

I need to get through these exams, and if I’m going to do that, I really need to stop thinking about a certain five-foot-four brunette with honey-hued eyes and revise.

Have I mentioned how much I loathe adulting already, and I'm only nineteen?

Come on, Levi, focus.

I shake my head and exhale audibly when the text on the book starts to merge… or my eyes are likely going square from staring at the book for the past six hours.

Fuck this.

I need a snack break.

It’s past midnight. My folks have been in bed since ten o’clock. Devin is probably on his PlayStation. His bedroom door is closed, but I see his light shining through the bottom as I walk past his door toward the stairs.

I should have eaten more at dinner. I don't know what I was thinking, only having one serving of Mum's lasagne. My stomach is ringing bells.

Mum always makes plenty when she cooks, knowing full well that Devin and I get hungry late at night and start scouring the fridge for food.

Much like I am right now.

Only I open the fridge and find no leftover lasagne. Only the empty space where the dish was. Devin the git likely beat me to it.

“Looking for this?”

My soul jumps out of my body and my heart up to my throat when I hear a voice behind me. Scowling, I spin around and see Mira sitting at the breakfast bar, the plate of leftover lasagne in front of her, holding a forkful up to her mouth.

“Fuck,” I utter, shaking my head while I will my heart to stop thundering against my ribs. “You just shaved ten fucking years off my life, Mira. Jesus. What are you doing here?” I scowl, pushing the fridge door shut and walking to the breakfast bar. “Have you moved in, and I’ve not been told or what?”

Mira smiles and pushes the piece of lasagne into her mouth and chews. “Uhm, no, Devin insisted we have a ‘How I Met Your Mother’ marathon.” She clarifies unflappably after swallowing the food in her mouth and licking her lips after. “Of course, he fell asleep three episodes in. I got hungry and couldn't stop thinking about your mum's lasagne. It was practically calling my name, so here I am.”

Nodding, I reach over and pluck the fork out of her hand as I sit on the stool opposite her. “Funny that. It’s been calling mine, too.” Mira gapes at me when I pull the plate toward me, cut off a large piece and shove it in my mouth. “You're eating it cold?” I ask, surprised, and she sits back in her chair and nods.

“Yeah, I actually prefer it cold.” I’m liking her response. Only because I like it cold as well. It just tastes better to me and there’s no risk of the sauce burning your mouth. “I think it tastes better when its cooled down and you don't need to worry about the sauce burning the roof of your mouth.”

Fucking Christ. I’m going to marry this girl.

Chuckling, I nod in response and cut off another piece. “I’m inclined to agree. Some things just taste better when they’re cold. Like pizza.”

“Like pizza.” We say together.

The fork in my hand halts in the air while we stare at each other for a moment. Mira smiles, breaking eye contact first and I swear I can see her cheeks reddening. “Cold pizza for breakfast? Yay or nay.”

“Mm, fuck yes.” I answer chewing on the forkful of lasagne I stuffed into my mouth. “Cold pizza for breakfast is right up there with cold Chow Mein noodles.”

Mira giggles and pulls the plate sitting between us closer to her, magics up another fork out of nowhere and digs in. “Thank God, I was starting to think there was something wrong with me. Devin, Ayla and Wyatt all think cold pizza and Chinese food is revolting.”

I roll my eyes playfully and shake my head, watching her closely while she struggles to cut off a piece of lasagne where the cheese has hardened on the side of the dish. “We're just cooler than them. Those prudes wouldn't know good food if it jumped off their plates and slapped them straight across the face.”

Mira chuckles amusedly and holds up her fork, “Yes, right! Kudos King, I couldn't have said it better myself.” Grinning we tap forks and finish off the rest of the lasagne while talking.

After we finish off the lasagne, Mira washes the glass dish and the forks. I'm standing by her drying the dishes she hands me when I notice the hesitant look on her pretty face. “What’s with the face?”

Mira shakes her head, keeping her eyes cast down while she washes the fork. “What face?”

“Your face.” I smile, cocking my head to the side so I can get a better look. “You look as though you've got something you want to say but you’re holding back.”

“What?” she scoffs shaking her head, still avoiding looking at me. “I don’t—I mean I’mnotholding anything back.”

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