Everything goes still.
Callie stops laughing.
Violet’s gaze flicks to the floor, to the pages listing a detailed schedule of my day. My favorite foods. Likes and dislikes.
Her expression doesn’t change.
“You’re not going to say it’s not yours?” I ask.
“No.”
That catches me off guard.
“No?”
She bends down, carefully gathering the pages like they matter.
Like they aren’t evidence in what could probably be a very convincing court case.
“It’s mine.”
My mouth opens.
Closes.
“You’re admitting that?”
Her brows pull together. “Why would I lie?”
I stare at her. Because that is somehow the craziest answer she could’ve given.
“You have a binder about me.”
“Yes.”
I wait.
She doesn't elaborate.
“With my schedule.”
“Yes.”
“My favorite coffee.”
“You drink terrible coffee.”
“That’s not the point.”
“I know.”
I blink at her. “You know?”
She looks up at me. “I know how it looks.”
“And how does it look?”
She pauses, like she’s thinking about her words.