Page 42 of Oh, Flutz!

“Milk, please.”

I turn to my partner. “Katya?”

She thinks for a second. “Do you have tea?”

“I’ll check. Green or black?”

“Black.”

“Milk, sugar?”

She lifts an eyebrow. “Black.”

“Why did I even ask?” I joke, and she pretends not to find me funny.

It took a lot of digging through the cabinets, but I finally found a stray packet of Earl Grey. When I come back, the guy’s already given away the rose.

“What? When did that happen?” I protest, standing in the doorway to the living room balancing two plates on my arms while holding two mugs (my waiter skills once again coming in clutch).

“You were gone forever.”

“Okay, I’m never being helpful again.” I lean over to give Alex her milk. “Why’d he pick her, anyway? She’s got the personality of a cardboard box.”

“They’veallgot the personality of a cardboard box.”

“This really is a very bizarre show,” Katya observes, and I snort.

“That’s an understatement.”

“Why do you even watch this trash?”

“Because it’s trash,” I say, “Duh. Here, careful.” I hand her the plate and the steaming mug.

“Thanks,” she says, pale hands snaking out from under the blanket to take it. I turn to sit back down across from her, kicking up my feet on the coffee table.

She’s smiling into her tea. Just a wisp of an absentminded, almost sad smile, but a smile, nonetheless. She tucks a strand of red hair behind her ear, curling up like a cat and cupping the mug like it’s a sacred object. This is the most relaxed I’ve ever seen her. She looks different. She looks…

Right then, she tenses up slightly, her gaze flicking up to mine, grey eyes flashing like metal.

Alex wipes at her milk mustache. “So how was your day, you guys?”

I clear my throat. “Well, Lee’s trying to get us to ‘bond,’” I say, air quotes and all, “which is why we’re here, and now I have to give sunshine over here a tour.”

“She did not specifically ask you to give me a tour, you volunteered for that all by yourself,” Katya points out, and I scoff indignantly.

“You asked for it when you said there’s nothing to do here. I’m proving you wrong.”

Alexandra scoops up the last bite of cake from her plate with her fork. “I mean, is she wrong? Thereisnothing to do here.”

“You’re not helping.”

“Well, how’s this for help? It’s a little late in the year, but Charlie’s working the toboggan; apparently it’s still open.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “Since when is Charlie Beck still hanging around?”

Alexandra huffs. “Don’t start. We’re just friends.”

I raise my glass of milk to my mouth, mumbling into it, “go around kissing many friends, do you,” which earns me a violent kick to the ankle.

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