Chapter 4: Kitchen Interrogation and a Text
The morning light was brutal.
It sliced through the gap in her curtains, a thin blade of gold that landed directly across her eyes and dragged her kicking and cursing out of sleep. Miri groaned, rolling onto her side, and immediately regretted it. Every muscle ached. Her jaw, her neck, the small of her back—all of it sore in ways she'd never experienced before.
She lay there for a moment, blinking at the wall, trying to piece together why she felt like she'd run a marathon.
Then she remembered.
Leo's hands on her waist. Leo's lips on her neck, her collarbone, the corner of her mouth. The weight of him pressing her into the mattress, the heat of him, the way he'd whispered her name like it was something sacred.
Her hand flew to her mouth. Her lips still felt swollen. Still tasted faintly of him—coffee and mint and something else, something warm and impossible to name.
She sat up slowly, her head spinning. The fairy lights were still on, casting their weak glow against the morning sun. Her dress was crumpled on the floor where she'd peeled it off somewhere around 2 a.m., abandoned in favor of the enormous sleep shirt she was currently drowning in. It was gray and faded, printed with the words "I'm Not Arguing, I'm Just Explaining Why I'm Right" in peeling white letters. Her fuzzy socks—bright pink, covered in tiny llamas—completed the ensemble.
She looked like a disaster. She felt like a disaster. And she couldn't stop smiling.
Her phone was on the nightstand, its screen dark. She grabbed it, heart hammering, and swiped it open.
No new messages.
Of course there were no new messages. It was—she checked the time—9:47 in the morning. He was probably still asleep. Probably hadn't even thought about her yet. Probably was waking up in his own bed, in his own apartment, and maybe he was already regretting everything.
She shoved the thought down before it could take root.
The house was quiet as she crept down the stairs, her llama socks muffling her footsteps on the old wood. She could smell coffee—strong and slightly burnt, the way Jess always made it—and something else. Toast. Maybe. The kitchen was probably a disaster zone, as usual. Someone had left a puzzle half-finished on the counter again, and the candle Chloe had been burning last night had guttered out, leaving a faint waxy smell that mixed with the stale beer and old takeout.
She pushed open the kitchen door.
Three heads swiveled toward her.
Chloe was perched on the edge of the table, her legs crossed, a mug of tea clutched in both hands. Her eyes were bright, almost manic, and she was grinning like a cat who'd just spotted a very large, very slow mouse.
Jess sat at the table, hunched over her laptop, her dark hair pulled into a severe ponytail. She was wearing her usual uniform—black leggings, an oversized hoodie, and an expression that suggested she'd already had three cups of coffee and was considering a fourth. She looked up when Miri entered, one eyebrow arching slowly.
Marcus was slumped in the corner, his head resting on his folded arms, a half-eaten piece of toast forgotten beside him. He looked like death. Smelled like it too—a mixture of stale beer and regret. He lifted his head just enough to squint at Miri, then let it thunk back down onto the table.
"Well, well, well," Chloe said.
Miri froze in the doorway. "Good morning?"
"Is it?" Chloe set her mug down with a deliberate clink. "Is it a good morning, Miri? Because I've been waiting. I've been waiting since approximately 11:47 last night, when I came home to find you face-down on your bed, making sounds I have never heard you make before."
"I wasn't making sounds."
"You were making sounds." Chloe slid off the table and advanced. "Happy sounds. Dreamy sounds. Sounds that suggested—"
"Okay." Miri held up both hands. "Okay, can I at least get coffee first?"
"No."
"Chloe—"
"No. Sit." Chloe pointed at the empty chair across from Jess. "Sit and talk."
Miri sat.
Jess pushed a mug of coffee toward her without looking up from her laptop. "You look like shit."
"Thanks."
"I mean it in a supportive way."
Marcus groaned from his corner. "Can you guys keep it down? My head is literally splitting open."
"You drank an entire bottle of Fireball last night," Jess said flatly. "You deserve this."
"I deserve nothing but death."
Miri wrapped her hands around the mug, letting the warmth seep into her fingers. Her heart was still racing, still caught somewhere between panic and giddiness. She took a sip of coffee—too strong, too bitter, exactly the way Jess made it—and tried to figure out how to exist in this conversation.
"So," Chloe said, pulling up a chair and sitting down directly across from Miri. "Start from the beginning."
"The beginning?"
"Don't play dumb. You know exactly what I'm asking." Chloe leaned forward, her elbows on the table, her eyes practically glowing with anticipation. "What happened? Everything. Don't leave anything out."
Miri took another sip of coffee. Then another. Her face was already burning, she could feel it—that hot, prickly flush that started at her neck and crawled up to her ears.
"He picked me up at six," she said slowly. "He opened the car door for me."
"Of course he did," Chloe breathed.
"We went to this Italian place. Family-owned. He goes there every Sunday with his mom."
Jess's eyebrow arched higher. "He has dinner with his mom every Sunday?"
"That's what he said."
"Huh." Jess leaned back in her chair, her expression shifting from skeptical to something like impressed. "Okay. That's... unexpected."
"I know. I thought the same thing." Miri picked at the edge of her mug. "He ordered for both of us. The waiter knew him by name. We talked about... I don't even remember. Books. History. He asked me to tell him something I'd never told anyone, so I told him about the letter I wrote to the British Museum when I was twelve."
"You did not," Chloe said.
"I did."
"What did he say?"
"He laughed. Not in a mean way. He said it was the best thing he'd ever heard." She paused, remembering the sound of it—that warm, surprised laugh, his head tipped back, his eyes crinkled at the corners. "Then he told me about his mom. How she worked three jobs to put him through school. How he has dinner with her every Sunday because he doesn't know how else to thank her."
The kitchen went quiet.
Marcus lifted his head again, squinting at her through bloodshot eyes. "Wait. Are we talking about Leo Castellano? As in, the Leo Castellano? Star quarterback, six-three, looks like he was carved by fucking Michelangelo?"
"That's the one."
"Bullshit."
"It's not bullshit."
"Bullshit." Marcus sat up straighter, wincing as the movement jostled his hangover. "There's no way. There is literally no way that you—" He gestured vaguely at her. "—pulled Leo Castellano."
"Marcus," Chloe warned.
"What? I'm just saying. He's got girls throwing themselves at him every weekend. He's a legend. He's—"
"He's sitting in my kitchen asking about my dragon collection, apparently," Miri said, and the words came out sharper than she intended. "Sorry to disappoint you."
Marcus blinked. "You have a dragon collection?"
"Focus," Jess said. "Miri, keep going. What happened after dinner?"
Miri's face got hotter. She could feel the blush spreading, could feel the tips of her ears turning crimson. She took a long, desperate gulp of coffee and burned her tongue.
"He walked me to the door."
"And?"
"And I dropped my keys."
"Of course you did."
"And then he..." She trailed off, the memory hitting her all over again. The way he'd looked at her in the dark, his eyes searching her face. The way his hand had come up, so gentle, tilting her chin toward him. The way he'd kissed her like she was something precious, something to be handled with care.
"He kissed you?" Chloe's voice was barely a whisper.
"Yes."
"On the porch?"
"Yes."
"Was it good?"
"Chloe—"
"Was it good, Miri?"
Miri closed her eyes. She could still feel it. The soft press of his lips, the warmth of his breath, the way her entire body had seemed to light up from the inside out. She'd never known a kiss could feel like that. She'd never known anything could feel like that.
"Yes," she said quietly. "It was good."
Jess leaned forward, her laptop forgotten. "Define good."
"Jess—"
"I need details. Was there tongue? Eye contact? Did he hold your face or your waist or—"
"Both." Miri buried her face in her hands. "He held my face first. Then my waist. Then he—" She stopped, the memory of his hands on her hips flooding back. "He pulled me inside."
Chloe's mug hit the table with a sharp crack. "He went inside?"
"To talk."
"To talk."
"Yes."
"And did you... talk?"
Miri lifted her head from her hands. Her face was on fire. Her entire body was on fire. She could feel the ghost of his hands on her waist, his lips on her neck, the weight of him pressing her into the mattress.
"We talked," she said. "And we kissed. A lot. For like... two hours."
"TWO HOURS?"
"Chloe, please—"
"You kissed Leo Castellano for TWO HOURS?"
"I didn't plan it!"
"She didn't plan it," Marcus echoed, shaking his head in disbelief. "This is insane. This is literally insane. You're telling me the quietest girl in the entire school, the one who spends her Friday nights reading medieval manuscripts, hooked up with the biggest player on campus?"
"We didn't hook up," Miri said sharply. "We kissed. With clothes on. He left at like eleven."
"So no—"
"No."
"Not even—"
"Not even."
Marcus stared at her for a long moment. Then he let out a low whistle. "He's coming back, then."
"What?"
"He kissed you for two hours and left without getting anything. He's definitely coming back." Marcus grabbed his toast and took a bite, talking around it. "Trust me. A guy doesn't put in that kind of effort if he's not serious."
The words hit Miri somewhere in the chest. Serious. She didn't know what to do with that word. Didn't know what it meant in the context of Leo Castellano, who'd never had a relationship last more than a month, who went through girlfriends like tissues.
She was about to say something—she didn't know what—when her phone buzzed on the table.
Everyone went silent.
Miri looked down. The screen was lit up, a notification banner sliding across the top.
Leo: Morning, nerd. Lunch after my 11am? Same place as coffee?
Her heart lurched. Literally lurched. She could feel it stutter in her chest, could feel the blood rushing to her face, could feel her hands start to shake.
Chloe snatched the phone before Miri could react.
"Hey—"
"Morning, nerd," Chloe read aloud, her voice dripping with delight. "Lunch after my 11am? Same place as coffee?" She looked up at Miri, eyes wide. "He's asking you out again. He's asking you out less than twelve hours after your first date. Oh my GOD."
"Give me my phone."
"Not until you respond."
"Chloe—"
"Miri." Chloe held the phone out of reach as Miri lunged for it. "Miri, listen to me. This is important. You are going to text him back, and you are going to be normal. Can you be normal?"
"I don't know."
"Okay, that's fair. Just... don't overthink it. Say yes. Say yes and ask what time."
Miri finally managed to grab her phone, a wave of adrenaline spiking through her veins. Her fingers were trembling. She typed out a response, deleted it, typed it again.
Yes.
She stared at the word. It was so small. So inadequate. So terrifyingly casual.
Then she added: Same place as coffee works.
Her thumb hovered over the send button. Then, before she could talk herself out of it, she typed one more thing.
But can we have a rule? No PDA? I'm still not sure you actually like me and I don't want to make a fool of myself in public.
She hit send before she could regret it.
The reply came almost instantly. So fast she barely had time to breathe.
Leo: Deal. But I'm holding your hand under the table.
Chloe was reading over her shoulder again. Miri hadn't even noticed her lean in, but there she was, her face inches from the screen, her breath warm on Miri's neck.
Chloe screamed.
It was a loud, piercing, entirely unhinged scream that made Marcus flinch and spill his coffee and sent Jess's cat bolting from the room. She grabbed Miri's shoulders and shook her, the phone still clutched between them.
"He's holding your hand under the table," Chloe shrieked. "Under the table. That's the most romantic thing I've ever heard in my entire life."
"It's just a hand."
"It's not just a hand. It's his hand. On your hand. Under the table. While you're sitting across from him pretending to be normal." Chloe's grip tightened. "You're going to die. You're literally going to die."
Jess was laughing, actually laughing, her coffee forgotten, her laptop closed. Even Marcus was grinning, despite the hangover, despite the spilled coffee, despite his earlier skepticism.
Miri looked down at her phone, at the words still glowing on the screen.
But I'm holding your hand under the table.
A small, helpless smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. She couldn't help it. She didn't want to help it.
She was still terrified. Still convinced that at any moment, Leo would wake up and realize he'd made a mistake, that he'd been bored or confused or simply feeling charitable. But for the first time, beneath the fear, there was something else. Something small and bright and impossibly hopeful.
She typed one more message.
See you at 11:30.
Then she set the phone down, picked up her mug, and took a long sip of coffee.
"So," Jess said, her voice light, her eyes knowing. "What are you wearing?"