Page 16 of Mistlefoe
That’s weird.
She tips her head like she’s asking me to head over to her. It’s not some creepy dark corner but the opposite end of the reception desk, and I’m pretty sure there are plenty of security cameras around the lobby. Besides, her hands are busy with two hot drinks and not with sharp knives. Should be safe, I guess.
“Uh… I gotta go, but send my regards to Linda, yeah?” I tell the sales guy.
“Not unless you want her to set you up with her cousin. She still talks about you, you know?”
I give an awkward laugh and wave my hand at him. Sierra’s eyes study me as I approach and my self-consciousness skyrockets. I should’ve made an effort this morning. Maybe I should’ve worn something sharper than one of my old St. Cloud U sweatshirts. Or the same joggers I wore yesterday. When’s the last time I trimmed by beard? And is that a finger smudge across my glasses?
After standing at a safe distance from her, I say a very awkward, “Hi.”
Instead of responding, she offers one of the cardboard cups to me. I blink at it.
“It’s hot chocolate. I know you have a sweet tooth,” she says.
“Um…” My eyebrows twist in confusion as I accept it. “Is it poisoned?”
Her expression flashes to annoyance. “You know, I considered it, but then if I go to jail there won’t be anyone to take care of my parents.”
“All good points.” I wrap both hands around the warm cup and bring it against my chest. “However, I’m still confused as to why you’re giving me this.”
“It’s a token of my apology.” After a quiet beat, she adds, “I’m sorry.”
My eyes pop wide open.
She shifts her weight to another leg. “Say something.”
“Hold on, I’m processing.”
Sierra releases a big sigh and drops her head a little, only to take a sip of her own drink. “I know this probably makes no difference but… what you said yesterday made me think a lot. And you’re right, I’ve been horrible to you.”
“No, I—That’s not what I meant. It’s just—” I stop when she raises a gloved hand.
“It’s true. I don’t know if it’s the first generation American or the only daughter thing, or the fact that I was a former gifted child who isn’t being bullied anymore but still constantly struggles with an adult world that doesn’t just work out every single time I make the smallest effort.” Sierra fills her lungs with a big breath and adds, “You’ve been the main reason I’ve had to grow up.”
“Huh?”
“I had it relatively easy at work until you showed up. Like, Rachel and I are a unit. We work together like a well-oiled machine and produce results just like it. And the others are good, but they’re not as good as us. Then you came in and you became my… competition. And I didn’t like it.” She shrinks. “See? I’m horrible.”
My head’s spinning. I run my hand through my hair just to make sure my head’s still in its place. “I… don’t know how I feel about getting a compliment that comes along with insulting yourself.”
“I’m not saying I’ll start being your bestie now, so don’t get too excited.”
“Ah, now we’re talking.” I smile a little as I raise the hot chocolate. The scent envelops me in the comfort that was missing until this very moment. “So, truce?” I ask for the second time in less than twenty four hours.
“Truce.” Sierra nods.
I shift my cup to my left hand so I can offer my right. “You have to shake on it. That’s how it works.”
“Fine, let’s make it fully legal.” Her brow scrunches as she bites the tip of her finger gloves and pulls it off. She grabs my hand without hesitation and gives it two solid pumps before releasing. “There, happy?”
That’s not how I would describe it. The problem is that I can’t. I take advantage of sipping the peace offering so I don’t have to speak.
Her hand fits perfect in mine. It’s so much smaller but strong nonetheless, like the physical manifestation of her personality. The big difference is that her skin is so soft it made mine tingle. As we walk over to the elevators, I open and close my hand, trying to rid it of the sensation.
We fall to the back of the elevator as three other people hop on and I don’t feel any less nervous because we signed a peace treaty. The littlest wrong move could push us to war again.
Even then, there’s one pressing concern. Clearing my throat, I ask, “So, what are we going to do about this thing?”
