Page 37 of Switching Skates
I sit up and look her in the eyes, needing to calm her worry. “Trust me, I’m not here to make anyone uncomfortable. I just need a place to stay for the night. I’ll keep to myself, and I’ll sleep on the couch. Come on, Maeve. It’s just me.”
Me! Daphne! I’m in here!
She watches me carefully, deciding whether or not she’s going to believe me. “One night. Then you have to go. I don’t want you ruining Daph’s and my safe space, okay?”
A laugh slips past my lips. In a way, does this body count if it’s being occupied by a girl? Oh, that is way too confusing to start to dissect.
“I’m serious, Mason.” She glares at me.
“I pinkie promise.” I hold my pinkie up, and my heart sinks. Shit, I don’t know if they ever do this or if that’s just her and me. “I mean, I promise, whatever.”
Curious. Bewildered. Confused. All words to describe her face right now as she looks at me. I was worried about Mason pulling this off, and here I am, messing up on the first test.
“How about I cook dinner tonight? As a thank-you for letting me crash. I promise I’ll be on my best behavior.” I salute her, and she smiles softly.
“That would be great actually.” Her voice softens, only loud enough for me to hear. “I love Daphne, but she cooks the same meals every week, and while they’re good, I just crave something new. So, yes, please.”
My metaphorical jaw is on the floor. “And did you tell her that information? You’d be amazed how far a little communication could go.”
She scoffs, stands up, and starts heading toward the stairs. “Coming from you, Mr. Break Her Heart Because He Couldn’t Open His Damn Mouth.”
“Hey!” I scold her, and she bursts out laughing.
The second she’s out of sight, I take the biggest exhale. Thank God that’s over. But now I have to figure out what to make for dinner because, apparently, whatIhad planned is not going to get past her.
Look, it’s not my fault. When I find food that I like and it tastes good and doesn’t hurt me, I eat it. Constantly. Repeatedly. Until I’m sick of it and I find a new recipe. I don’t know if that’s a celiac thing or just a Daphne thing. Maybe a bit of both.
“Mason, that was delicious. Thank youuuu,” Maeve sings as she rubs her stomach, walking toward the stairs to get ready for her FaceTime date with Jackson.
“You’re welcome.” I glance humorously over to Mason. “Would you say it’s the best meal I’ve ever made you?”
She gives me a thumbs-up. “Pretty close. It was really good!”
I point my finger at Mason and silently laugh at him.
He rolls his eyes and strolls into the kitchen. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. It was all right.”
“Oh, thank you for such a gushing review.” I scoff. “I was actually pretty impressed with myself, thank you very much. That was the first time I’ve ever made homemade Alfredo.”
I follow him into the kitchen with the rest of the dishes and start packing up leftovers as he mumbles, “Not bad for your first attempt.”
“Wow, that was almost a compliment.” I smirk, looking down at him.
Mason turns to me and asks genuinely, “Now will you please get out of the kitchen so I can do the dishes?”
“I can help,” I offer. “It is my house after all.”
He clicks his tongue. “Tsk. Nope, not tonight. Is your name Daphne Summers?”
“Yes.”
“Not right now it’s not. Your name is Mason Holt, remember?” He turns back to the sink, opens the empty dishwasher, and pushes his sleeves up.
I’m way too stubborn for this. Especially when we still aren’t on good terms. Speaking terms, yes, given the situation. But only because of that.
He doesn’t get to do some nice gestures to earn my kindness. It’s not going to work.
“I’m doing it, and you can’t tell me otherwise. Now get out of my kitchen.” I lift my hand to flick my hair back and remember that there is none there to move off my shoulder.
