Page 35 of The Persistence of Thornes
Sedanevercalls me Dad. I’m Daddy. Thayer is Dad. She’s always used that distinction between us, so this hurts.
“Does she…” Halle starts, peeking outside. “Do you think she has a crush on my brothers?”
Groaning, I drop my head. “I believe she does.”
Halle approaches me at the island, bringing her sweetscent with her. Fuck, I worry Seda isn’t the only one crushing on a neighbor.
She taps her nails on the counter. “Is this her first crush?”
With a huff, I flip the quesadilla in the pan. “I think so.”
“And on my brothers?” She cringes. “I’m so sorry.”
In one quick move, I slide the finished dish onto a plate and hand it to her. “It was bound to happen eventually. That one’s for Seda.”
She takes it outside while I get started on a beef quesadilla.
When Halle returns, she leans against the counter beside me. “I still remember my first crush.”
“You do?” I ask, more curious than I probably should be.
“Yes.” She presses her lips together, her eyes dancing. “His name was Thomas. It was fifth grade, and at the time, he was the cutest boy I’d ever seen.”
“What happened?” It’s a stupid question. She was in elementary school. Even so, I’m eager for the answer.
She snorts. “Nothing. I was ten.”
“When did you have your first kiss?” The second the words are out, I wish I could suck them back in. But it’s too late for that, so I backpedal. “I-I was just curious,” I stutter. “Because Seda’s ten, and you know… I’m just going to shut up now.” I focus on my task, hoping my face isn’t as red as it feels.
Halle picks up the saltshaker and inspects it before putting it back down. “Sixteen. I was a late bloomer. Or maybe it’s more that I just didn’t have the time. It happenedbehind the school at the end of the day. In case you were curious about that too.” She tries to hide her smirk but fails. “What about you?”
“Twelve,” I admit. “It was at a soccer game.”
“You played?”
“No. I played football.”
“Ah.” She nods. “Of course you did.”
Chuckling, I get started on the next quesadilla. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She crosses her arms, the move highlighting her chest in a way I try to ignore. “You just have that look about you. Mr. Perfect. The popular guy.”
With a grin, I flip the tortilla. While that side cooks, I get started on another. “You think I was popular?”
She arches a challenging brow. “Were you?”
I nod simply. “Yes.”
Her laugh is loud and filled with amusement. “I knew it.”
“What about you?” I point the spatula at her, then focus on removing the quesadilla from the pan.
“What about me?” she splays her hands on the counter, her chipped yellow nail polish catching my attention.
“Were you popular?”
She lets out an unladylike snort and doesn’t bother trying to stop it. “Knowing what you do about me already, do you think there’s any chance I was popular?” When I don’t answer right away, she adds, “No, I most definitely was not.”
