Page 79 of Song of the Heart Scale
I was still not convinced.
“You know,” she said, gently nudging me with her shoulder as we passed a mural of two cartoon frogs riding a cloud, “you look way less murder-y these days.”
“Murder-y?”
“It’s a compliment. You had this... assassin vibe going on for a while. Now it's more like ‘powerful heiress with mysterious secrets.’”
“Iama powerful heiress with mysterious secrets.”
She smirked. “Exactly.”
It was odd. Being around Angie didn’t feel quite so... foreign anymore. I knew how to read the menu at a coffee shop now. I understood that TikTok was not, in fact, a device for measuring time. And I no longer screamed when the dryer buzzed.
Progress.
We turned the corner and spotted a gelato shop with a neon pink sign that read “Lick Me Twice.”
I stopped. “That is vulgar.”
“It’s dessert,” Angie replied with a grin. “And amazing. Come on.”
The instant we strode inside, the smell of sugar and cold fruit hit my nose in a blast of glory. I pressed my palms to the glass counter and marveled at the rows of colors.
“What is that one?”
“Lavender honey. And that’s pistachio. And over there is something called ‘Birthday Cake Confetti Chaos.’”
I narrowed my eyes. “I do not trust it. It looks... artificially joyful.”
“Then try this one,” she said, pointing to a rich swirl of espresso and cream.
A few minutes later, we sat on a curb beneath a mural of a woman with roses for hair, eating our gelato from tiny biodegradable cups. Mine was divine. I would never admit that to Angie, though.
“You have something,” she said, leaning closer.
“What?”
She reached forward, her thumb brushing just under my lip.
My breath caught. Just slightly. Just enough.
Her fingers lingered for the briefest of seconds before she pulled back, her expression unreadable.
“Ice cream,” she said.
I swallowed. “Oh.”
We looked away at the same time, both pretending to be fascinated by a pigeon dragging a stolen straw down the street.
“So,” Angie casually said, “thinking of painting again?”
“I might. Though I prefer oils. Your acrylics are barbaric.”
She chuckled. “And yet you slay every look with that eyeliner.”
“That is precision warfare.”
There was a strange energy there. Not the awkward tension of strangers, but something more curious. Something humming just beneath the surface. I caught her stealing a glance at me and this time when our eyes met, she didn’t immediately look away. She smiled.
