had four other kids pulling good grades, so what’s one lost cause in the grand scheme of things?” he joked.
“Did they compare you?”
“It’s only natural. People do it to siblings all the time, and we’re so close in age that I guess it came with the territory,” he said, sticking a photo down onto the scrapbook page. “But I’m not like my siblings.”
There was something strange about his tone, a hint of emotion underneath the words that pricked Cora’s ears up. As someone who created characters, she was always looking for the chink in someone’s armor, the contradiction behind the mask they presented to the world. And even though Trent had appeared nothing less than perfect in the past forty-eight hours, those five simple words hinted at something less-than-perfect beneath the surface.
“I might not have inherited their desire for straight A’s, but I’m still the reigning family champion at both Jenga and table tennis. I’m also better at cricket than Nick.” Trent smiled and the unabashed cockiness made Cora laugh. “Not that he’d ever admit it.”
“Your family seems so wonderful.” Cora leaned back to look at her lettering. It wasn’t as good as Liv’s but it would pass muster. “I’m officially jealous.”
“Stay a while. Maybe they’ll adopt you.”
“Don’t tempt me,” she muttered with a rueful smile. “Now, how the hell do you think we do this?”
Liv had made some little, flat ruffled thing to go along the bottom of baby Adam’s photo. It looked like it was made out of washi tape, which she could identify thanks to Tori Spelling’s craft tutelage. But that was based on Cora’s very limited hands-on experience and, thus, couldn’t be entirely trusted.
Trent looked at her with a blank expression. “I’m hoping that’s a rhetorical question and not you expecting me to have a bloody clue about how we’re supposed to do any of this.”
Hmm.
“You hold it and I’m going to do the ruffling part.” She pulled a strip of washi tape and handed the end to Trent. “Hold it straight.”
“Yes, boss.” His charming smile sent a jolt of lust right through her. How was she supposed to do anything with that expression aimed in her direction? Could neurons even exist around a smile like that?
She focused on trying to make the ruffles with the tape. Fold, stick, fold, stick, fold, stick.
“I don’t think that looks right,” Trent said, his nose wrinkled.
“Shh. I got this.” Fold, stick, fold, stick.
“But aren’t they supposed to be…even?”
Cora sighed and looked at her handiwork. Yeah, it wouldn’t even pass kindergarten QA. But what else could they do?
“It’s fine, we’ll stick it on and sprinkle some glitter over the top.” She bit down on her lip. “Glitter fixes everything.”
“Hang on, I thought glitter was herpes? And that most definitely does not fix everything.” Trent looked confused.
“No, that’s because… Oh, never mind.” She reached for the container of silver and gold glitter. “In this case, glitter is a good thing.”
“Whatever you say.”
She unscrewed the lid, and a little plume of shimmer mushroomed into the air—like a tiny, sparkling dust bomb. All she had to do was carefully sprinkle it over the washi tape, and…
Her nose twitched. Oh no. Cora had been voted “most likely to wake the dead with her sneeze” back in middle school. Her sneezes were no joke. They could wake a baby three houses down and had the velocity of a high-powered sportscar. Twitch, twitch.
It’s okay, just put the container—
“Achoo!”
Glitter went flying…right into Trent’s face.
For a moment, he didn’t even move. He sat there, like some fabulous drag version of the Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz. Silver and gold glitter coated his entire face, his hair…and everything. The container was now three-quarters empty, and Cora couldn’t seem to budge her lips from their shocked O shape.
“You gave me sexually transmitted glitter,” Trent said, eyes still closed.
“Don’t blink.” Cora set the container down and shoved her chair back, sending another fine cloud of glitter shimmering to the floor. Shit. “Craft glitter isn’t meant for use around the eyes because it can scratch your cornea.”
She could thank Tori Spelling for that tip.
“Excellent,” Trent drawled. “Now how am I supposed to get this stuff off me?”
“Ummm…” Cora’s mind spun. “I think water might be best, at least for most of it.”
“Is it in my hair?”
Cora pressed a hand over her mouth at the sight of Trent’s gorgeous blond locks looking like they’d been attacked by an angry gang of My Little Ponies. “Uh-huh.”