Page 64 of Between Love and War
Michael lifts one shoulder in a small shrug. “Maybe you did. Or maybe you’re still figuring it out. That’s allowed too.”
I study him then, really look at him. And I take his words into heart.
“Who knew, the arrogant athlete has substance…” I trail off.
Michael grins. “Stick around. I might surprise you.”
And I nod and smile like a rational person, while inside, I’m already drafting an apology to Future Kate for letting this situation spiral out of hand.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Michael
I’ve lost track of how long I’ve been here. Time behaves strangely in Kate’s room.
Lunch was… questionable. She managed half a slice of plain bread, folded in half like she was rationing. I, meanwhile, fell down a rabbit hole of ‘Stomach Flu Recovery Tips.’
Turns out she already had most of the essentials—electrolyte drinks, crackers, ginger tea. The only thing missing was the mysterious broth currently steaming in my hands.
Getting here was a process, though. First, I dug through her fridge and found nothing remotely resembling broth. Then I scavenged the pantry and found a lone packet of miso paste, two carrots, and something that may or may not have been vegetable stock powder. I boiled water, sliced the carrots thinner than paper (don’t ask how long that took), and added the miso andstock. Then I stared at it for a solid thirty seconds, wondering if I’d accidentally made soup-flavored water.
For good measure, I threw in ginger slices because the internet said ginger helps nausea, and a splash of soy sauce because it looked… beige.
By the time it stopped smelling weird, I’d been in her kitchen for exactly an hour, which is about fifty-nine minutes longer than I’ve ever willingly spent in anyone’s kitchen (including my own).
I set the mug on her bedside table.
“Don’t ask what’s in it,” I tell her. “Just know I googled, cross-referenced, and taste-tested so you don’t have to.”
Her eyes peek over the blanket, glassy but curious. “You taste-tested?” she croaks.
“Twice,” I say.
She snorts weakly, then pulls the blanket back just enough to take the mug from me. Her fingers brush mine, and I catch the tiniest smile before she takes a sip.
“You actually… made this?” she asks, like she’s trying to figure out if I’m messing with her.
“Don’t look so shocked,” I say. “I’m capable of boiling water without setting anything on fire.”
I wait for the wince, the joke, the polite ‘thanks’, but she just swallows, sets the mug back down, and murmurs, “It’s good. And… thanks.”
And then I just… stay there.
We cycle through board games as time goes by. We settle for chess, which is the only thing that didn’t bring out the absolute worst in us.
“You should really start getting ready for Little League,” Kate says as she moves a chess piece.
I sigh and drop my head back against the wall. “I know, I know. It’s just… different without you there.” I blink suddenly,unsure if I said it the wrong way and that I might be insinuating that Ilikeher there.
Kate raises an eyebrow, her hands still on the board. “The other teachers don’t bite, you know.”
“Sure,” I say, “but the principal looks like she might. And the rest of them keep staring at me like I’m a foreign object. When you’re there, I don’t notice it as much.”
I realize how that sounds, so I pivot. Hard. “Because your clumsiness is distracting.”
Kate looks at me with an unimpressed expression. “You know what? I hope Mrs. Ramosdoesbite you.”
I chuckle, and then move my chess piece. I think I’m winning. Ithink. “Where did you learn to play chess? You’re surprisingly good.”
