Page 26 of Knotted Laces

She wiggles the bottle again, and I snap into motion, moving over and taking it, trying not to stare.

But I know I do anyway, searching for more freckles on the bridge of her nose, for the softer brown highlights in her curls that signify her spending time in the sun. I inhale, get that whiff of pure Athena—jasmine and vanilla andwoman.

Thankfully, she moves, snapping me out of my reverie, and I focus on the bag.

On what she’s pullingoutof the bag.

“It’s not one of your mom’s confectioneries,” she says, flattening the brown paper and setting it on top, “and I’ll admit that I had half of it for breakfast.” I must make a sound because her eyes dart to mine and she hurries to add, “I cut it in half with a knife because it’s so big. I didn’t gnaw it off like a hungry dog or something.”

My shock fades, replaced by amusement. “You mean like you do with Mom’s cinnamon rolls?”

The pink on her cheeks surprises me. It’s fucking adorable and far softer than any side of Ats that I normally see. This whole moment is—the showing up after the game, the beer, the treat she knows I’ll love…allof it is different than anything I’ve ever seen from her.

“Your mother’s cinnamon rolls must be laced with crack because I’m totally addicted.” She grins. “But Molly’s bakery is a close second.” She pushes the treat toward me. “It’s an apple cinnamon turnover.”

I push it back. “I don’t want to eat your food, Ats.”

“Well,” she says, her tone growing the tiniest bit sharp, “I don’t know how to do this?—”

“Do what?”

Her lips press flat.

I move a little closer. “Do what, cupcake?”

Her head shoots up, and I could kick myself as I see the icy shields practically snap back into place.

“Be nice?” I add quickly before she can bolt. “Or be the first line of defense so I don’t have a mental breakdown?” I force a smile. “Don’t worry. This shit sucks, but I’ll be over it in a couple of days.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “First,” she grits out. “I can be nice.”

I snort.

Her glare intensifies. “And I know you’re not going to have a mental breakdown,” she snaps. “But it’s like you said. This sucks and it’s nice to not be alone sometimes. If you don’t want me here—” She starts to push up out of the chair.

My hand shoots out before I even process it moving, gripping her wrist, halting her retreat.

“I’m sorry, cupcake,” I say quietly. “I’m…” I sigh. “Well, I’m in a shit mood. I shouldn’t pick at you.”

Her gaze flicks from my fingers on her arm up to mine. “I’d be in a shit mood too.” She presses her lips together then releases them softly and adds, “Especially when someone’s invaded your house.”

My mouth kicks up. “You say that as though I’m not used to being invaded.”

“That’s true,” she agrees quietly, slipping her wrist free. I can feel the imprint of her skin on my fingertips. “But still annoying.”

“Ats—”

“So, what were you planning on doing?” she asks quickly. “Heading up to bed?” The pink in her cheeks flares.

I study it, hope filling my insides nearly to bursting.

Is this…?

Does her being here mean…?

“I should go,” she blurts. “Let you rest.”

“I can never fall asleep after games,” I say before she can push up to her feet again.

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