Page 24 of All That Glitters

To some, the text would be cordial at best. But I see it for what it really is—an olive branch. She extended it tremulously over the canyon between us.

I’m exhausted. My head hurts from overthinking. And I can’t remember the last time I got a full night’s sleep. But there’s no version of me that would be able to turn her down. I’d crawl across the Grand Canyon on my hands and knees to take that branch from her hand.

Jameson: I’ll be there at 7.

Chapter twelve

Never Believe Me

Marigold Belmore

My leg bounces beneath the library table. Any minute now, Jameson is going to round the corner. He’ll sit across from me, and I’ll have to come up with enough words to hold a conversation. Usually, that wouldn’t be hard for me, but after the incident in the newsroom, I’m worried I’ll be tongue-tied again.

I glance at my cup of coffee. I’d downed half on my way here, but I’m starting to feel the negative effects of that decision. When was the last time I ate? My brows scrunch together. Days and nights are starting to blur with my lack of a sleep schedule. I check the time on my phone. Five minutes until seven. Maybe I can snag a protein bar from a vending machine. The very thought of an artificially flavored bar of chalk makes my stomach turn, but something is better than nothing. I should have stopped by the apartment to get one of Jasmine’s meal preps, but I checked my calendar of upcoming deadlines and immediately got sucked into trying to lessen the long list.

I riffle through my bag for my wallet and tuck it into the pocket of my hoodie, then stand, ignoring the way the room spins. Maybe I’ll get a bar and some pretzels. And water. I frown as I realize I left my reusable water bottle at home this morning, which means I haven’t had so much as a sip today.

“I’m a wreck,” I mumble, and push my chair back.

I hurry around the corner and run straight into someone. My already precarious balance is thrown off, making me sway. Without thinking, I grip the sweatshirt of the person I’ve run into. A strong arm wraps around my back to keep me upright.

“I’m so—” My words cut off as I tip my head back and meet an all-too-familiar pair of brown eyes. “Jameson,” I whisper.

His mouth hitches up on one side.

“Did you decide to bail on me?”

There’s mirth in his expression, as if he’s amused by the idea of me running away after inviting him. I swallow, my throat dry. I haven’t been this close to him since that dreadful, perfect night.

“I–um–I was going to get a snack from the vending machine,” I stutter.

He holds up a paper bag with the hand not secured around my waist.

“I brought food. Street tacos, with extra cilantro and hot sauce.”

It occurs to me that my hands are still clenched in the fabric of his sweatshirt. I flatten them, but that only makes the tingling sensation against my palms worse. The fog around my brain starts to clear, and I push against his chest, getting him to release his hold so I can stumble backward.

“You didn’t need to get food.”

Jameson shrugs, eying me like he knows just how much being close to him affected me.

“I was hungry, and I figured you might be too.”

He walks over to the table where all my stuff is splayed out and sets the bag down. My stomach growls at the thought of one of my favorite foods. It sounds much better than flavored chalk, that’s for sure. I’m too hungry to negotiate with my pride, so I walk back to the table.

“How much was it? I’ll pay you back.”

Jameson shoots me a look that says that’s not happening. We never split things while we were friends. We’d just get things for each other and say it would even out eventually. A part of me always felt like Jameson did more for me than I did for him, but he never made it seem that way.

He pulls out two water bottles first, then a few cups of salsa, before dumping a mixture of foil-wrapped tacos and a stack of slightly soiled napkins onto the center of the table. My mouth waters as I take my seat. I grab a taco and a container of hot sauce. As I’m unfolding the foil, Jameson wordlessly slides two more tacos toward me, along with the rest of the sauce. He never liked it.

“Thanks,” I say quietly, looking up at him through my lashes.

He just nods and unwraps his taco. There are only three on his side, which is unusual for him. I frown. I’ve seen him eat six easily in one sitting.

“Did you bring this for yourself and decide to half it with me?” I ask him.

He finishes chewing before replying, “I wouldn’t have gotten hot sauce if that were the case.”