Page 12 of Kortlek

Yuck.

“Since I’m being ignored in my own home,’’ I speak, though neither of them actually acknowledges me, “is anyone hungry? A snack perhaps?”

Blair’s ears slightly perk, and her hand stops mid-writing a sentence. Slowly, her eyes dart toward me, and she offers a small smile. “Yes, please. That would be lovely.’’

“Anything in particular you’d like?”

She shakes her head. “I’m fine with anything,’’ she yawns, checking the clock. They’ve been here for the past four hours.

Yes, I’ve been on the floor in utter and complete silence for the past four hours. It’s almost midnight, and given their commitment to this, they show no sign of leaving anytime soon. Not that I mind Arlo and Blair — I don’t.

I mind that fucking giant in the corner who isn’t even acknowledging my presence.

“Alright,’’ I sigh.

I’m on my feet soon enough, putting the small pillow back on the couch and cracking my back slightly. The stiffness in my shoulder from holding one position for too long makes me wince and groan, but I brush it off as I slide into my slippers, tying my hair into a low bun, heading toward the kitchen.

I’m not sure what to make them.

It’s late to have a full meal — and those aren’t my words, they’re Arlo and Blair’s. They’re all about healthy habits, which I definitely am not. Nor do I have any desire to try it out. If I’m craving pizza in the middle of the night, I’m rewarding myself with a pizza in the middle of the night, and there’s nothing wrong with that.

I grab two oranges, peel them, and toss the peel into the garbage can before placing it neatly on a cute little plate I got a while ago. It’s white, with gold marble details and a wooden handle. It’s one of my favorites to serve snacks in because it’s both pretty and big enough to fit multiple things.

Once oranges have been arranged to my liking, I slice up some apples and kiwi and wash a handful of strawberries. Luckily for Arlo and me, neither of us inherited Dad’s allergy to strawberries. That man is missing out.

I rummage through my snack-filled drawer and pull out some chips and crackers, pouring them into two bowls and preparing to take them to the living room. A small smile forms on my face as I’m satisfied with the way everything looks, and I turn around, then immediately open my mouth to scream.

The scream gets stuck in my throat as a hand is firmly pressed against my mouth, the other hand at the nape of my neck, pulling me into the palm that’s on the front. My heart beats furiously, and it takes me a couple of seconds to realize it’s Cove.

My eyes narrow as he slowly releases the hand from my mouth, though the other one remains at my nape.

“What the actual fuck?”

He chuckles, lowly. “For an assassin, your reflexes are terrible.’’

“When did you get behind me?”

“The moment you opened the crackers.’’

I take a deep breath, steadying my racing heart and clearing my throat. My eyes are focused on his hazel ones as he blinks, seemingly taking in my appearance. His lips are parted, ever so slightly, and I loathe the butterflies that seem to erupt in my stomach.

He’s too close.

And his hand is still holding me by the nape.

Judging by the way he’s staring at me, he has no intention of letting go anytime soon. His hand is warm, and it makes the smallest hairs on my neck stand up, goosebumps pricking my skin. Neither of us speaks; we just stare at each other, lost in the small moment that we didn’t anticipate would happen.

“Why,’’ I clear my throat, realizing it sounds too squeaky, ‘‘why are you here?”

“I was bored.’’

“You were bored,’’ I repeat with a hint of disbelief. “And you followed me in the kitchen because of it?”

He gives me a brief nod.

I sigh.

“Let me get this straight,’’ I fold my arms in front of my chest. “You tell me I’m someone you barely tolerate and that if it weren’t for Arlo, you wouldn’t even talk to me. So, I give you what you want, and I don’t speak to you at all, and then you decide to just… follow me into the kitchen. Why?”

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