and not to set a spot for her at dinner. I spent my meal looking at an empty chair, and by the time I heard her bedroom door close that evening, I was debating if I should apologize. I’m not even sure why or what for, but this quiet and calm Sidney freaks me out just as much as the Sidney who swapped my cologne out for bug spray.
I was prepared for our swim this morning to be a no-go, but when I hear Sidney shower at exactly six, I figure I’ll be optimistic and at least show up, totally expecting to find a hostile Sidney on my hands. But what I actually find is a message on the bathroom mirror. It’s written in bloodred lipstick and if it weren’t for the actual words, it would look like something straight out of a horror movie, the way the red slashes almost seem to drip down the glass.
Meet me at 6:30 in the kitchen
—S
Curious doesn’t begin to describe me. I might be walking right into something horrible, but I skip everything but pulling on my suit and shorts anyway. I’m tugging a shirt over my head as I walk into the kitchen. Sidney is zipping around like an old-school pinball game, opening cabinets and closing drawers, stepping in front of the oven, and dumping something into the sink. It smells like butter and sweetness. There are two plates sitting on the breakfast bar in our normal spots. A cup of coffee and a bowl of fruit sit between the plates, and on mine, there are five tiny little pancakes.
“Um.” I’m not sure what to say. I stare at the plate like it’s the first time I’ve ever seen food. Like I’m an alien visiting from another planet. Which is pretty close to how I feel, because it’s definitely the first time Sidney has made me food. Unless it was laced with something. She must see the look on my face, because she smiles. A big, gleaming smile, like I haven’t seen on her in years. Not directed at me, at least.
She points the spatula at me and waves it around. “It’s fine. Truce-certified and all that. Eat yours while I finish mine.”
I sit down tentatively and grab the containers of butter and syrup next to me. I cut the first pancake into four mini bites, trying to stall until Sidney sits down and starts eating. Is it possible that she’s actually making me non-disgusting food? Maybe I’m as jaded and traumatized as she is, but I decide to risk it and stick the first bite in my mouth. She’s flipping pancakes as I let out a little moan. They’re not just pancakes, they’re chocolate-chip pancakes, and they practically dissolve on my tongue.
“These are my favorite,” I say as I spear three more bites onto one giant forkful.
Sidney nods. “I know.” She flips the last of the pancakes in the pan. “See, I’m perfectly capable of not being a paranoid, tree-up-my-ass bitch.” She’s smiling, but I can hear the hurt in her voice. I didn’t realize she’d heard me while she was swimming that morning.
“I’m—” I look down at the plate of tiny pancakes. “I’m sorry, I was an ass the other night. And before that, too, I guess.” I shove another bite into my mouth and talk around it. “Also, why are these pancakes so tiny?”
Sidney shrugs. “Hey, it’s sort of true. But, as long as you keep yourself in check, I’ll do the same.” She scoops a pancake out of the pan and drops it onto a paper plate next to the oven. “Plus, I can’t let you be the nicer one. That’s just unacceptable.” She points her spatula at my plate of tiny pancakes. “I haven’t made pancakes in a while, so if the first batch sucked I didn’t want to throw out half of the batter. Plus, tiny things are just better.”
I laugh. Leave it to Sidney to think through a plan B for her breakfast. And to turn even this—not being jerks to each other—into a competition. “Well, so far you’re kicking my butt in the niceness department. How are you even managing this?”
She flips another pancake onto her plate and smiles. “I’m taking your advice and pretending you’re Logan Hart.”
“The singer who grew up around here?”
“I’m practicing for when he randomly stops by, and I need to wow him. I heard he has a house on the lake.”
“I bet that’s a rumor. Something they tell tourists