Page 109 of How To Plot a Payback

“No,” I say, pursing my lips and looking around again. “Can’t be.”

She drops her hand. “Are you alright?”

“Of course.” I wave my hand at her. “Carry on. I’m listening.”

She plops the laptop onto the desk and stands. “Yeah, that’s the thing, Finn. You are listening. I’m on slide 46.”

I raise a brow.

“Slide 46,” she repeats. “I’m getting bored of myself. Honestly, I didn’t expect to get you past slide 10. I was hoping you’d do that thing where you halt me and say, ‘Fine, whatever, Paula, just let me go to the bathroom,’ and then I’d go off and spend half our yearly budget on Roberts before you have time to blink and change your mind.” She starts flipping through the remaining slides. “See? I didn’t even finish 50 to 150. I just wanted you to see the number at the bottom of the screen and panic. So what is going on?”

“Nothing,” I say, reaching for my coffee. “It’s just a good day.”

She frowns at me. Her eyes flicker to my coffee.

“You’ve got a dead fly in your coffee.”

“Oh,” I say, chuckling as I fish it out. “So there is.”

I take another sip.

Paula’s eyes look like they are about to bug out of her head.

But at the deepest level, I suppose, her suspicions are not off.

I walked Lavender home Saturday night.

She was quiet for most of the walk, which made me feel uneasy, the kind of uneasy that makes you flip through your actions of the last twelve hours and spiral downward. Was I too honest? Did she regret that kiss? Did she see through my facade of platonic friendship, deep down to my true feelings? Was I too eager? Was I too boring? I had said that thing two minutes back about not caring for cheese.

Stupid, stupid comment. Everybody loves cheese.

What was I thinking?!

Pair that with my karaoke comment and I’m the dullest man alive! Who wants to spend time with a man who hates lasagna? Nobody, Finn. NOBODY.

But as she stood on her doorstep and opened her door, she turned abruptly. Took a breath. Said, “D’you think you can invite me to next week’s community showing?”

I casually quirked a brow but on the inside felt awash in relief. “I’m pretty sure you invited yourself the first time. What’s stopping you now?”

And she shrugged. Then fell quiet again. Then said with a touch of softness, “I just wonder what it would feel like to be properly invited. Without Sonya around.”

I smiled. Tried very hard to ignore Gabriel and his angry muscles strapped over his chest, standing in view from the open doorway. And said with a little bow, “Lavender Rhodes, it would please me very much if you would come to our exclusive gathering next Saturday night at seven. And if you could bring some of that baklava, that would be even better.”

For one stomach-plummeting moment, she just stared at me.

I’m not sure what was going through her mind, but this exchange suddenly felt much bigger than our friendly little game. Facing the sudden possibility that she may not actually accept, I was met with the pounding fear that she didn’t want to. That getting me to ask was just a cruel joke.

But then the moment was over, and a little smile lifted her lips.

She nodded. “I’m feeling keen for enchiladas. I feel it must be enchiladas.”

For one fleeting moment, I considered joking back, “I guess you won’t be coming then.” But I smashed it to bits, saying instead, “Anything or nothing, Lavender, we will always want you there.”

“We?”

“Yes.”

“Everyone?”