Page 60 of The Revenge Game
Justin’s shoulders stiffen. “Uh…not really. I mean, I used to do some cooking and baking when I was a kid with my mom…” He fidgets with his fork. “But my stepfather… After he came to live with us, he had very definite ideas of what a man should do, and cooking or baking wasn’t one of them.”
It’s not the first time Justin has mentioned his stepfather in a negative manner. And judging by the way his jaw has tightened, there’s obviously more to the story.
But I don’t want to ask him any more questions about his childhood because that would mean navigating a minefield of memories he doesn’t know we share, where one wrong step could blow my carefully constructed present to pieces.
“How did you get so good at cooking then?” I ask instead.
“I watch lots ofYouTubevideos.”
“I’m pretty sure there’s nothing on this planet thatYouTubecan’t teach you.”
“Except maybe explaining to Cassie why she can’t have fourth breakfast. Trust me, I’ve searched.”
I laugh.
After we’ve eaten, we do the dishes together, continuing our ongoing debate about whether his three-stage rinsing protocol counts as performance art or mild obsession.
Then, I show him the latest changes I’ve made to the auction website. There’s a live fundraising thermometer, complete with animated fireworks that trigger at certain milestones and virtual pawprints that appear with each new bid, tracking the shelter’s progress toward the fundraising goal.
His eyes light up like I’ve just shown him magic instead of code.
“This is amazing,” Justin says. “Seriously…like, you’re just amazing.”
His stunning eyes catch on mine, and there’s nothing but sincerity and admiration there.
“Uh…thanks.”
I have to wrench my gaze from his.
Yeah, the guilt phase of my plan doesn’t seem to be going quite as I expected.
Unless the aim was to make myself feel guilty. Then it’s going tremendously.
Chapter Seventeen
Andrew
As we get deeper into October, Justin and I continue to visit landmarks together.
I find myself bookmarking articles about British history I think he’d find interesting, collecting weird historical tidbits like how Queen Victoria once banned ice cream because it was too sensual or how London Bridge was sold to an American who thought he was buying Tower Bridge. I store each away like a treasure to make him laugh during our adventures.
And after we both end up leaving for work at the same time one morning, it suddenly becomes a regular thing to commute together.
Our mornings now have a pattern. Justin sweet-talks Amos into accepting his breakfast while Kryptonite accepts my tentative pats before we head to the tube, where Justin’s perfected this move where he creates a small pocket of space around us, his shoulder pressed warm against mine as we sway with the motion of the train.
Then, one crisp morning, we discover a tiny shop called Cocoa & Co. tucked into an alley near the station, which serves the most incredible Belgian hot chocolate that should make all other hot chocolates bow their heads in shame. It becomesa regular stop for us, and Justin starts joking about my hot chocolate dependency.
We continue to exchange funny cat conspiracy theories, like the idea that cats actually developed opposable thumbs eons ago but hide them because they think it’s amusing for us to always open doors for them. Then it morphs into who can outdo each other with cat memes. Justin sends me a GIF of a cat staring at a wall for hours with the captionMonitoring Interdimensional Portals. I respond with clips of cats sitting in boxes labeledFeline Meditation Chamber: Do Not Disturb Unless Treats Are Involved.
It’s fair to say I’m nailing this friendship part of my plan.
Although I’m trying not to think about my plan much at the moment. Instead, I’ve been focusing on helping Justin with all the last-minute tasks leading up to the Second Chances fundraiser.
And finally, the night is here, and Justin and I are in the backseat of an Uber being whisked toward the auction.
Justin’s wearing a tuxedo that fits him perfectly, emphasizing his broad shoulders and narrow waist. His hair is styled just enough to look effortlessly tousled, and the black of his jacket makes his eyes appear even more intense than usual.
My mouth has been pretty much dry since he appeared at my door.
