Page 117 of The Holy Academy of Witches

“I like rocks?”

“Rocks?” He was looking at me like I was insane.

“Climbing! Rock Climbing. Bouldering is good too. Or spelunking.”

“Spelunking…”

“What?! It’s a word!”

“Yes, I’m aware it’s a word, Sage.”

“Why did you say it like that then?” I asked frazzled, how did I keep getting turned around in this conversation?

“It’s just… I don’t think I’ve heard it said out loud before.” He chuckled into his water.

“I like any kind of exploring…” I violently buttered a roll, annoyed at always missing the joke. The butter wasn’t spreading so it turned into a gnarled clump of crumbs and butter. I left it on my plate as a lost cause.

“Makes sense.” He nodded.

“Why don’tyouever make sense?” I muttered, annoyed that he knew so much more about me than I knew about him.

Just then a smiley young waitress came to take the order. Her French sounded like a small bird while Cillian’s response sounded deep and smooth and altogether not something I wanted anyone else to hear but me. Which was totally normal, and not anything worth looking into further.

When his eyes returned to me he seemed pleased by whatever was written on my face.

“When don’t I make sense?”

So he had heard me then.

“Whendoyou make sense?” I argued. Annoyed, I couldn’t think of a cleverer way to say the same thing.

“I always make sense, Sage.” He folded his muscled arms and leaned back, the leather jacket hanging like a cape off the back of the chair.

“See! Even what you’re doing now doesn’t make sense!”

He laughed, “How so?”

“You take me to this polished and quaint restaurant with fancy food and then order with your fancy French but are leaning in your chair as if you’ve never been to a fancy restaurant in your life! You’re a constant contradiction. You get straight A’s, compose symphonies, and then in your spare time you collect records, run a rock band, and ride motorcycles. It’s like you’re two people and I never know which one to expect!”

“I knew you went into my room!” His front chair legs hit the floor with a loud clunk to emphasise the statement.

I had said too much. Stuffing the mangled roll into my mouth I pointed to the now bulging cheeks as if to say, ‘Oh, I’d answer right now but my mouth is full.’

“Okay, so you rifled through my things. Did you find what you were looking for?”

Taking my time to chew the roll ended up working in my favour, as they brought out our food right as I swallowed. ApparentlyPoissonmeant fish and he had ordered the “plaice meunière” for me, which came with a side of vegetables smothered in a rich and smoky butter, a separate side of fries was placed in front of me as well. I wasn’t normally into fish but maybe fish in the UK was just better. Meanwhile Cillian was enjoying his Steak, shallots, and fries. Despite enjoying the fish, I decided next time I’d just have whatever he was having. We ate in silence, mainly because anytime he went to ask me a question I shovelled more food into my mouth. Perhaps not the most charming, but then I wasn’t trying to win him over was I? And I really didn’t want to answer the questions he had for me. I wasn’t even sure I had answers.

When the plates were cleared I’d eaten much more than I should’ve, and my body was screaming at me to just answer the question instead of torturing myself further.

But then dessert came.

“Don’t we need to get you to your gig?” I asked pathetically. Too upset to admit I had no more room for the upside down apple tart and ice cream in front of me.

“We’re last up, so I’ve got time.” He scooped up a small bite of ice cream and hummed his delight. Rude.

“I… I was in your room because I… I felt like you knew more about me than I knew about you. It made me nervous.”

“You wanted to get to know me?”

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