Page 72 of The Thought of You

But the night is young.

“I am sorry about flaking, though.” I frown. “I might’ve been helping my family, but I shouldn’t have abandoned you. You had a lot more to do than I ever realized, and I was unfair to you.”

Addie blinks at me over her fresh plate as I sip my surprisingly tasty drink. Yet another thing she’s right about. “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have assumed the worst in you.”

We stare at each other like we’re unsure about this new territory we’re entering. I know I’m confused over what to do next. She and I just apologized to each other—and meant it.

And the sky outside is still clear. No Hell freezing over or pigs flying.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat?” Addie shifts in her seat, breaking the silence and our staring contest. “I hate eating alone,” she says softly.

“Weren’t you planning on doing just that before I crashed your evening?”

She rolls her eyes. “I hate being the only one at the table who’s eating.”

“Fine.” I lift a finger toward our server, who happens to buzz by. “Can I please put in an order for mozzarella sticks with strawberry jam?” I ask her.

She nods, and with her departure, Addie squirms across from me. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“Because you hate eating alone. You kind of made me order food.”

“It’s not—you are so—why did you even sit down?”

“I like annoying you.”

She narrows her eyes, and I fight a grin. “Sorry to disappoint you, but my annoyance quota has already been met for the day by my mother and her unruly acquaintances.”

“Sounds like the beginning of a really good story, but before you continue, I have one request.” I drop my eyes to her untouched plate. “Eat.”

“I’m waiting for your food. It’s the polite thing to do.”

“As I’m sure you’ve noticed, Lockhart, I don’t care too much about politeness.”

Her eyes darken, and the mystery swirling in them beg me to solve it. What is she thinking? Does she like the thought of me being impolite in private? I sure fucking hope so.

“You may continue,” I say, my voice suddenly hoarse.

Between bites, she relays the story of her mother’s whirlwind intrusion. She stabs a triangle-shaped waffle and jabs a piece of fried chicken onto the end, then shoves the whole thing into her mouth.

Impressive.

I stare at her lips as she talks, her free hand waving to the side with every new detail of some guy named Kin and what Addie refers to as his “asinine anti-negativity dance.”

“I’m glad I left.” She nods and pierces another piece of chicken with her fork with the intensity of what she’d likely enjoy doing to Kin’s sage. “I much prefer the cozy room at the Riverview Inn and Suites. They have free Wi-Fi.”

“That’s hardly an amenity anymore. I’m sure Forsyth Park has free Wi-Fi now.”

Her head bounces from side to side as she chews, and I take it as an agreement.

“They just took over your house, though?” I lift a brow.

“It’s what Rain does—barrels into town like a storm and leaves all the evidence behind.” Grimacing, she reaches around her half-eaten plate for her water and sips.

Our server arrives with my mozzarella sticks and a pitcher of water, which she uses to top off our glasses.

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