There’s no mistaking the sounds of Jack’s feet coming down the path. There’s something about his gait — a kind of hesitant shuffle almost — that’s both different from other people and instantly recognizable. Blue looks up from her book and the arguments she’s been having with an imaginary Jack — ranging from cooly dismissive to eviscerating him with her wit — when the actual Jack stops in front of her.
Even at first glance, this is already going nothing like she imagined.
The cupcake is unexpected. So is the contrite look on Jack’s face and the rustle-thud of his book against the forest floor.
Like most women in the little house nestled between two edges — the town’s and forest’s — Blue’s anger runs hot and close to the surface. Her ire is easy to wake. But it runs hot and bright and quick. Without further fuel, it dwindles quickly.
“Everyone goes to the library,” she tells him, needing to clarify that one misconception. It’s not a special invitation or anything. “The whole class. Every Tuesday. Right after lunch.”
Carefully, she plucks her bookmark — the same one from Saturday, though the book is new — from the back of the book and settles it between the pages to keep her place. She sets it aside on the same root as last time and climbs to her feet. She bends down near Jack, picking his book up from the ground and carefully brushing leaves and fresh dirt and little sticks from its pages.
Instead of handing it to him — he’s clearly out of hands — she tucks it against her body and considers the cupcake.
The frosting has gone flat where the plastic wrap presses against it. Little wrinkles in the plastic reflected in strange wavy patterns in the frosting. It looks almost store bought — the highest, almost unachievable luxury — and Blue’s eyes flicker between the extended plate and Jack’s face.
As far as apology offering goes, it’s a good one. Sweet treats are rare in Blue’s life. It’s not that Maura Sargent is leading the charge in a war on sugar or anything. But sweet things are for special occasions and frosting is a hassle. Banana nut muffins are Not, whatever Maura might think, a reasonable alternative to cupcakes just because she doesn’t want to deal with mixing or piping or cleaning up after frosting. (And Maura’ll be damned if she pays for ready-made frosting when it’s cheaper — and tastier — to make her own. Blue doubts both of those asserments. The tastier most of all. She’s had storebought cupcakes, every time a child that isn’t her has a birthday during the school year, and Maura’s lumpy frosting doesn’t even come close.)
”Did you bring a knife so we can split it?” A glance down at the cupcake to clarify it.
no subject
Even at first glance, this is already going nothing like she imagined.
The cupcake is unexpected. So is the contrite look on Jack’s face and the rustle-thud of his book against the forest floor.
Like most women in the little house nestled between two edges — the town’s and forest’s — Blue’s anger runs hot and close to the surface. Her ire is easy to wake. But it runs hot and bright and quick. Without further fuel, it dwindles quickly.
“Everyone goes to the library,” she tells him, needing to clarify that one misconception. It’s not a special invitation or anything. “The whole class. Every Tuesday. Right after lunch.”
Carefully, she plucks her bookmark — the same one from Saturday, though the book is new — from the back of the book and settles it between the pages to keep her place. She sets it aside on the same root as last time and climbs to her feet. She bends down near Jack, picking his book up from the ground and carefully brushing leaves and fresh dirt and little sticks from its pages.
Instead of handing it to him — he’s clearly out of hands — she tucks it against her body and considers the cupcake.
The frosting has gone flat where the plastic wrap presses against it. Little wrinkles in the plastic reflected in strange wavy patterns in the frosting. It looks almost store bought — the highest, almost unachievable luxury — and Blue’s eyes flicker between the extended plate and Jack’s face.
As far as apology offering goes, it’s a good one. Sweet treats are rare in Blue’s life. It’s not that Maura Sargent is leading the charge in a war on sugar or anything. But sweet things are for special occasions and frosting is a hassle. Banana nut muffins are Not, whatever Maura might think, a reasonable alternative to cupcakes just because she doesn’t want to deal with mixing or piping or cleaning up after frosting. (And Maura’ll be damned if she pays for ready-made frosting when it’s cheaper — and tastier — to make her own. Blue doubts both of those asserments. The tastier most of all. She’s had storebought cupcakes, every time a child that isn’t her has a birthday during the school year, and Maura’s lumpy frosting doesn’t even come close.)
”Did you bring a knife so we can split it?” A glance down at the cupcake to clarify it.