Page 40 of Icing Hearts

But I don’t pretend I’m not haunted by the smell of cinnamon on the hoodie from the boy I don’t understand .

Chapter 24

Clara

Cinnamon surrounds me. I detect his scent before I see him, and I’m powerless against the flutter in my stomach. But when I slam my locker shut and meet eyes with the man leaning against the locker bank, something doesn’t compute.

Because it’s Tory.

But he’s in glasses.

Tory. Amato. Is leaning against the neighboring locker. Wearing bookish, wire-rimmed glasses. And looking absolutely delectable.

“Morning.” He smiles smugly and hands me a matcha iced latte. “Don’t worry, it has almond milk. No dairy.”

Some sort of choking, stuttering sound comes out of my mouth while I absently take the clear cup of green frothy goodness from his hand. The ice makes that incredible sound against the sides of the cup when I swirl it. He pops a straw into the lid.

“What—” I begin. But my shock strangles the words in my throat.

Some girls walk by and compliment Tory on his new accessory. He gives them a slight nod but never breaks eye contact with me.

“Is this all it takes to get you to shut up for more than ten seconds? I should have worn these a long time ago.”

My eyes narrow. “Um. Rude.”

“It speaks.”

I shake myself back to reality. “Why?”

“You’re my charity case. I’m going to wear these as long as it takes you to feel comfortable wearing yours. We can match.”

“Since when do you need corrective eyewear?”

Tory simpers. “Since forever. Contacts are just easier with all the hockey I play.”

He holds out a small plastic, lidded container next. I raise my eyebrows in question.

“Avocado toast on sourdough. My mom made bread this weekend,” he tells me. “And the latte has a scoop of protein so it’s a nutritionally complete breakfast.” He smiles in that self-assured, self-absorbed manner. “You can say ‘thank you.’”

I stutter, “I—I, yes, thank you,” pulling a Kristen-Stewart-in-Twilight-squint-and-headshake.

Tory tips his chin and saunters off toward his class. He has science first.

“Who says I didn’t already eat breakfast?” I call after him.

He turns and walks backward a few steps down the sterile hall. Students part around him, moving the way a river does around a rock. All he says is, “See you in history, Charity.”

“Uh, bye, handsome!” I shout after him.

Jack strolls up on my left. “Vic’s wearing glasses?”

“Apparently.”

“So, he’s into you…”

“What makes you say that?” I ask, a bit flustered by Jack’s statement. “He mostly tolerates me. We’re kinda becoming friends. I don’t know, and then he’ll randomly get jealous.”

“Because he’s into you.”

---