Page 58 of Before We Break

“Oven mitts are in the top drawer to the left,” she says as she scrolls mindlessly on her phone.

I pull the pizza out of the oven and set it on the counter to cool. “Pizza cutter?”

“Scissors on the side of the fridge.”

“What kind of monster cuts pizza with scissors?”

“Says the guy who makes children cry,” she teases. “It’s a thousand times easier. Trust me. And while you’re at it, grab the bottle of hot honey. Top cabinet on the left.”

The scissors are exactly where she said they’d be, tucked in a small cone-shaped pouch on the side of the fridge. It looks vintage and possibly handmade. The first cut feels like a crime, but I’m loath to admit she was right—it is easier.

I grab two plates and fill them with two slices each before shoving the bottle of hot honey in the crook of my arm. “Grab us some sodas and follow me.”

She stands with the knit blanket wrapped around her curvy body, stopping by the fridge for two cans of Diet Coke, then she follows me into the hallway.

“Where are you taking me?”

I silently lead her out of her apartment and down to the far end of the hallway.

“This feels like some serial killer shit.”

“First you accuse me of making children cry, now you think I’m a murderer. I left a hell of an impression on you.” I stop outside the window that leads to the emergency exit, stack the plates to free one of my hands, and slide open the bottom pane. “It’s a wonder you accepted my proposal.”

We settle side by side on the slatted metal platform; the only thing between us is a bunched-up blanket. I probably should’ve thought this through.

I pass her a plate and the condiment bottle.

She slowly takes the items from my hands, her expression wary.

“Promise I’m not gonna push you off. Sometimes I come out here when I need to think. It’s peaceful.”

She eyes me curiously, drizzling hot honey over her first slice. “Hmm. You know what I think?” she says. “I think you’re a secret softie. Like M&M’s. Hard on the outside and soft in the middle.”

An involuntary smirk slips free. “Nobody’s ever accused me of being soft.”

Her eyes widen, and her jaw goes slack. “Did you just smile? Holy shit.”

I scoff. “No.”

She points at me with the hot honey clenched in her fist. “You totally did! I made Noah Asshole Weston smile!”

“That’s not my middle name,” I mumble around a bite of too-hot pizza, trying to chew and suck in cool air at the same time as it threatens to burn my mouth.

“What’s your middle name?”

My expression sobers. “August.”

“He’s named after you?”

I nod. “Jonah and me… we used to be close.”

“That’s Auggie’s dad, right?”

“Yeah. We’re twins so we’ve always had a special bond.”

“You mean there’s two of you? I should write your parents a sympathy card.”

“They died.”