Page 26 of The Dating Coach
"Right. Chemistry." But the way he said it made clear we both knew we weren't talking about the academic kind anymore.
We managed to focus for all of ten minutes before the universe decided to test my emotional capacity. Mia burst through the door without knocking, tears streaming down her face, cell phone clutched in her shaking hand.
“Gemma,” she gasped. “Someone from our parents’ neighborhood saw me on my way back from school. They recognized me. They’re going to tell Mom and Dad where I am.”
Every protective instinct flared to life. I was across the room in seconds, pulling her into my arms. "Who? When? What exactly did they say?"
“Mrs. Patterson’s daughter, Chelsea,” Mia sobbed. “She crossed my path on my way home from school and said she knewmy parents were looking for me. She said it was her ‘Christian duty’ to tell them where their ‘wayward daughter’ was hiding.”
"Chelsea," I murmured, remembering the sanctimonious girl who'd made Mia's life hell in middle school.
"What if they come here?" Mia's voice pitched higher with panic. "What if they try to take me back? I can't go back, Gemma. I can't do the conversion therapy. I'd rather run away—"
"Hey, no." I gripped her shoulders, made her look at me. "You're not going back. Ever. I don't care if I have to fight them in court or take you myself. You're staying here where you're safe."
"I can have Frank pick you up from school for a while," Liam offered quietly. He'd moved closer but was careful not to crowd us. "Different car, different schedule. Make it harder for anyone to track your routine."
"You'd do that?" Mia looked at him with such hope it broke my heart.
"Of course. Frank loves any excuse to skip his morning class." Liam's attempt at levity worked – Mia managed a watery smile. "Plus, his car is so ridiculous no one would expect you to be in it. It's like witness protection via absurdity."
"The Cryptid-mobile," Mia said, referring to Frank's disaster of a vehicle covered in Bigfoot and UFO stickers. "That could work."
"See? Problem taken care of." I smoothed her hair back, the gesture so automatic I didn't realize the parallel until I caught Liam watching us. "How about we all have dinner together? That Italian place downtown?"
"Can we afford somewhere that nice?" Mia asked, ever practical even in crisis.
"We can afford to celebrate you being safe and having people who care about you," I said firmly. "Besides, I aced my last practice test. That deserves pasta."
"You did?" Liam's face lit up with genuine pride. "Gemma, that's amazing! When did you—"
"Yesterday." I felt heat rise in my cheeks at his enthusiasm. "It's just a practice test."
"Just a test that you failed two months ago," he countered. "This is huge. We're definitely celebrating."
And that's how I ended up at the restaurant, squeezed into a booth between Liam and the wall, watching my sister gradually relax as Frank regaled her with increasingly absurd theories about their breadsticks being a mind-control device. Karen had tagged along, claiming she was craving Mexican tonight but Italian would work just as well. Henry was there as well, having been dragged from his study cave by the promise of free food.
"I'm just saying," Frank insisted, waving a breadstick for emphasis, "no normal bread product should be this addictive. There's clearly something supernatural at work."
"Or garlic butter," Karen suggested dryly. "I hear that's pretty addictive too."
"That's what they want you to think," Frank said ominously.
Under the table, Liam's knee pressed against mine. Such a small point of contact, but I felt it through my entire body. When I glanced at him, he was focused on his menu, but there was a slight smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
"Stop that," I murmured, low enough only he could hear.
"Stop what?" All innocence.
"You know what."
"I really don't." But his knee pressed a little firmer, and my traitorous body wanted to press back.
"So Gemma," Henry said, breaking whatever was happening under the table. "Liam says you're pre-med. What's your focus going to be?"
"Oncology," I said, grateful for the distraction. "Specifically researching new treatments for leukemias."
"Damn," Frank said. "That's heavy. Important, but heavy."
