Page 22 of The Thought of You

She yelps as I rush to grab the broom, careful not to crush her cherished Skittles.

As I start to sweep, my phone vibrates in my pocket. “Did you not have enough tonight? You inhaled most of the other bag like it was your last meal. Have you even eaten dinner?”

She twists her lips. “I had a cookie.”

“That’s not food.”

“There were pear slices on it. It counts.”

I open my mouth, concern itching its way up and down my throat like nails on a chalkboard. Addie needs to eat a real, balanced meal, and my protective instincts kick in, sifting through my brain for ways to make it happen.

But my phone vibrates with another call.

On a sigh, I rest the broom against the edge of the table and march outside, phone to my ear, on the other end of which is a frantic Lottie. My heart sinks as she talks through uneven breaths.

“I forgot my keys at my house, and I need them to lock the studio.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose as my pulse steadies once again. From the panic in her voice, I would’ve thought she’d broken her arm or something else equally alarming had happened. Her keys are the last thing she should be so panicked over. “Why are they not with your car keys?”

“I didn’t drive here today. Mom dropped me off on her way to Whitney’s, and I didn’t think to take the keys with me. I figured I didn’t need them since I wasn’t taking my car. That makes sense, right? Shit,” she hisses as her breaths release in faster puffs, echoing through the speaker.

“Hey, hey,” I say calmly, switching gears for her benefit. “It’s fine. I’m not too far away. I’ll be there with my spare key in a few minutes. Just need to finish?—”

“You’re a lifesaver! Thank God.” She releases a heavy sigh loaded with obvious relief, and I can’t help the smile tugging on my lips.

Crisis averted.

My little sister always holds her emotions right at the surface. She’s reacted in similar fashion to misplacing her lucky sweater as she did after accidentally backing her car into Mom’s at a family dinner last year.

And while this isn’t the emergency I initially worried it was, I do need to get to her ASAP before her blood pressure rises any higher.

“I need to run by the square, but I’ll be back,” I announce to the group. Seems Caroline’s taken off already, and Austin has assumed my position behind the broom.

He shrugs with indifference, but I’m not so lucky with Addie. She laughs, but what’s supposed to be a humorous sound is one of sarcasm, instead. “How typical of you to try to get out of the dirty work. You swoop in for the fun and cookies, and then you bail before your job is complete.”

“You think this was fun? I mean, I enjoyed the free cookies, but I would’ve rather paid triple the normal price just to not be here.”

“Other than the fact that this is our job, homecoming is full of traditions. It’s up to us to uphold them and teach these kids the value of such things. How would you feel if they grow up and remember nothing special about their high school experience? Do you want that on your conscience?”

Something in my chest stirs over the passionate way she delivers this speech, and a grin pulls at the corners of my lips.

I find myself staring. Not just staring, really. I’m… admiring.

I’m admiring Addie Lockhart for all her intense but cooky and respectable ways.

“What?” She blinks.

I feel Austin’s eyes on me too, and my fucking face heats and tingles like I’m… Wait, am I blushing?

“You have cookie crumbs on your chin,” I quickly say.

From where I stand, I can’t actually confirm if she does, but while she’s distracted, I use it as a chance to escape.

I don’t turn away fast enough, though, as I have the misfortune of glimpsing the way she touches her delicate fingers to her slightly pointed chin. Her nails are painted black, with one finger sparkling gold. She didn’t miss a single detail in her festive outfit.

Why do I find that so… cute?

Without a word, I dart out of the old bread factory and jump into my car like my ass is on fire. I drive toward the square, jerking my steering wheel with more force than necessary and heavily leaning into my door with each turn. I drive as if I’m angry at the asphalt.

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