Page 113 of The Kiss Of Death
“Your URL is like a digital address. Those numbers and characters are here to locate and access a web page online.”
Her mouth was agape like a fish out of water, and I realized it was time to wrap things up.
“Yes, I can help you shorten it,” I said.
“Oh, please do.” She rose from her seat. “I’m off to the bathroom.”
She was cunning, but the bathroom was opposite her determined stride toward the checkout counter. She probably aimed to prove my lack of generosity with another test.
“You charmed my grandma.” Dalia’s voice rang with a subtle, playful lilt while I shortened the link. “I think she’ll even offer you one of her cooking recipes.”
“Remind me to never eat anything she cooks,” I responded with a dry quip, rising from my seat. “I’m off to fight your grandmother to pay the bill.”
Making my way to the checkout, I crossed paths with Michel. Our eyes met briefly, but he quickly averted his gaze, hunching his shoulders as he shuffled along with a tray in hand. It had been a while since I hadn’t seen him desperately trying to make friends in our common room. He finally understood not to try so hard.
“Michel,” I called to him. “Are your parents here today?”
Ignoring my attempt at conversation, he continued on his path when a short elderly woman joined him.
“Hi,” she greeted, extending a hand I didn’t bother to acknowledge. “You must be Levi, right? My son talks about you all the time.”
Here we go again.I rolled my eyes at the impending lecture from yet another mother about what a jerk I was. “Yeah, well, if you excuse me, I have to—”
“You’re one of his closest friends here at Pantheon.” She beamed, and I blinked. Was it all a joke? “You’re his role model, you know.”
A dark chuckle escaped me. “Right.”
She kissed Michel’s cheek, her fingers cradling through his hair. “I’m so glad he’s found friends here. He was so nervous and—”
“Mom, let’s go,” Michel interrupted, his fists clenched, avoiding my gaze while his face had turned red.
I frowned—nothing that just happened made sense. I watched him leave, his mother apologizing to me for her son’s rudeness. The same group of Pioneers who had taken Michel to the roof snickered at him, one of them swiping the dessert from his tray. Oblivious, his mother followed her son to find a table to eat at.
Not your concern, Levi.
Shaking off the distraction, I proceeded to settle the bill, sliding my card into the payment slot just before Dalia’s grandmother had a chance.
“You’re fast.” One second, she was laughing, and the next, she was not. “My Dalia likes you, I can see that, and you seem to like her too, am I right? But I can’t shake the fact there’s something… My blooming flower, she has a big heart.” Her eyes scrutinized mine, as if trying to read into my soul through a crystal ball. She’d definitely be the type to have a voodoo doll of me. “I never could offer you my condolences for what happened to your mother. I’m sorry. No child should have to endure that.”
I clenched my jaw. “I wasn’t a child.”
Her hand extended toward me, hovering over my heart, but she didn’t touch me this time. “You were, and in some ways you still are. I think you still haven’t healed your inner child.”
She withdrew her hand, the gulp that followed carrying the weight of her pity-laden gaze. She mustered a feeble smile as if she thought she could offer solace to my supposedly fractured soul. In response, I offered a composed artificial smile of my own.
It was laughable, really. I was perfectly fine and in control. As for my inner child, he was exactly where he should be—six feet under, snug in a coffin, buried deep beneath the fortress of my memories, secured with double-locked gates.
I was thankful the moment Dalia arrived by our side and wrapped her arm around mine. “Are you going to be okay on your way back?”
“I’ll be fine,” her grandmother reassured her with a wink, and she turned to me. “Oh, and Levi, next time I see you, I’ll share my favorite cookie recipe with you.” She grasped Dalia’s hand, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles before giving them a pat. “Don’t worry about your father, my flower. I’ll handle him, okay?”
Grandma Mercier was the only person to have a grip over her son—until I came into the picture.
“I don’t think even you will be able to make him listen to reason this time,” Dalia said.
And then, her eyes, wide and imploring, locked onto mine, silently urging me to take action.
Her lips, so innocent and inviting, seemed to beckon for a solution.
