Chapter 28
By the time we pile into the kitchen, we’re all starving. We left the event before eating because we just couldn’t risk another run in with “The Populars.”
Morella immediately kicks off her heels and digs through the pantry like a woman possessed, while Silas and Archer open containers from the fridge and Rafe starts pulling plates down from the cabinet.
The kitchen feels warm and lived in, a little too elegant to be casual but somehow still cozy. The overhead lights are dimmed, the windows dark, and someone’s already queued up music on the speaker, soft and low, humming beneath the sound of Morella yelling about expired crackers.
“There’s leftover pasta in here,” Archer says, holding up a Tupperware like it’s gold.
“Yes,” Morella groans. “Get that out. Rafe, heat it up.”
“Say please.”
“Don’t make me throw a heel at you.”
He smirks, pulls out a pan and heats the leftovers up that way.
We end up around the massive kitchen island, barefoot, jackets and earrings scattered like we’ve been here for hours.
The pasta is devoured within minutes, followed by bread someone found and warmed up in the oven.
It’s quiet for a beat. Just the sound of chewing and someone pouring more sparkling water.
Then Silas sets his fork down with a satisfied sigh. “So. Maddison was a lot, but Victoria? That was my favorite trainwreck of the night.”
Morella grins through a mouthful of bread. “I missed that. What happened?”
“You didn’t see?” Silas says, eyes lighting up. “She cornered me and Archer by the donor wall. Full perfume bomb, eyelashes flapping, the whole nine yards.”
“She was like,” he raises his voice dramatically, “‘So, Archer have you thought about proposing yet? I mean, we’ve known each other for so long...’”
I choke on my drink. “No.”
“Swear on my life,” he says, holding up two fingers. “She said Summer. No later.”
“Honestly, I feel bad for him,” Rafe says, biting back a laugh.
Archer just shrugs, shoving a forkful of pasta into his mouth like it doesn’t bother him that much. Maybe he likes her? A sudden, unfamiliar feeling hits me in the pit of my stomach. I try to push it down but it sticks around.
Silas isn’t done. “I told him he should do it on his birthday. Really make it special. Public proposal. Maybe in a cemetery. Get her name tattooed across his knuckles.”
“Romance is dead,” Archer mutters dryly, eyes still on his plate.
“Exactly,” Silas grins. “That’s why you propose in a graveyard. Full circle.”
Everyone’s laughing again, but I tilt my head, still smiling as I look at Archer. “Wait, when is your birthday?”
He glances up at me, then back down like it’s not important. “September 18th.”
I blink. “That’s… really soon.”
Morella makes a vague sound of agreement as she swipes some crumbs off the counter with her hand. “Yeah. We never do anything for it though. He always spends the day with his grandma.”
“Really?” I ask, surprised.
Archer gives a one-shouldered shrug. “She likes birthdays. I don’t.”
“Which is stupid,” Morella adds. “But he never lets us throw him a party or anything. He won’t even let us sing. Literally glares if you try.”
“That feels on brand,” I say, looking at him again.
His lips twitch, but he doesn’t comment.
Silas leans in dramatically. “We’re doing something this year, though. Even if it’s just sacrificing a goat.”
“Please don’t,” Archer says under his breath.
“Just a little one.”
Morella throws a rolled-up napkin at him. “No sacrifices. Leave him be.”
I glance at Archer again, at the way he doesn’t look away this time. Just meets my eyes, quiet and steady.