Page 503 of Lodestar

Lily: Me too. :*

Star: Thank you for everything. Seriously. I mean every word.

Lily: Stop! You’re making me blush!

Star: Then Link isn’t doing a great job in killing that blush reflex. :P

Lily: Oh, trust me, he does a wonderful job. ;) Speaking of… GTG.

Star: Hahahaha.

55

STAR

MAKE THIS GO ON FOREVER - SNOW PATROL

A WEEK LATER

“Eat.”

Conor frowned at me, then at the bowl of soup in my hands. “I’ve eaten.”

“When?”

“A couple hours ago,” he mumbled, his gaze drifting to his computer.

“It wasn’t,” I argued, half wondering whenthishad become a thing—me caring enough to pester a dude about his eating habits. “You ate breakfast before I went to Kat’s school to deal with those little fuckers who keep stealing her shit and that was five hours ago?—”

“Wait.” His eyes flared wide. “You didn’t deal with them personally, did you?”

I sniffed. “It’d have been more effective but no. Kat asked me not to break their arms this time.”

“Good. That school has ex-presidents’ grandkids for pupils. There’s probably Secret Service crawling all over it. I’ll bust your ass outta jail but I’d prefer not to have to.”

“Don’t care if they’re related to George Washington himself. You think I have a problem with getting in the face of an ex-POTUS’ grandbrat if they’re being horrible to Kat?”

“No, but even though we have an in with Davidson, I’d rather not piss off the Secret Service?—”

“There are ECD in their ranks.”

“I know.” He shook his head tiredly. “It’d be nice if people could stop having an agenda.”

“Like you don’t,” I couldn’t help myself from teasing. “Look, I made this. So you have to eat it.”

Conor stared at it. “Youmade it? Or did Panera?”

“Me. I made it.”

“From a packet?”

“Nope. With real shit.”

“Real shit. I hope you’re not talking literally. I knew I shouldn’t have introduced you to pop culture.”

I hooted. “You think I stole that idea fromThe Help? That was pie and this isn’t curried so you’d taste it if it was shit.” Spooning up some of my concoction, I sampled the simple vegetable soup for myself. “See? No feces were harmed in the making of this meal. Plus, I like you so I’m less prone to punish you.”

Still suspicious, he asked, “What flavor is it?”

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