Page 103 of How To Plot a Payback

Seconds tick by.

I exhale.

I lean over and whisper, “She says she’s done a quick background check and that I should be pleased to know you’re apparently not on any list.”

“Ah.” He bolts his attention back to me. There’s a flash in his eyes. An energy. “That is good news.”

“But,” I say, raising a finger, “she’s also been scouring your social media the past hour and she’s becoming fretful because you haven’t got any online presence to speak of. Is this true?”

He shrugs. “I don’t need a social presence. Look around, Lavender. I’m up to my ears in social presences.”

I grin.

“Well, I think she’s currently narrowing you down to psychopath or sage recluse. Either way, it’s not looking good.”

“What’s not looking good? Tell her I’m more of a sage recluse.”

“Won’t help.”

“Why?”

“Nothing.” I pinch my lips together again.

He adjusts his glasses. Refreshes his look as he lowers his voice. “Why?”

I open my mouth, grinning despite myself. “She says you have worrying eyes.”

Finn frowns. “What’s the matter with my eyes?”

And then he’s looking at me full in the eyes, through his big round glasses with flashes of light from the screen glinting in the blue of them. And I take in Sonya’s words as I gaze into them, looking, maybe even hoping, to see what she sees.

Should I tell him what she said?

Do I dare?

“She says you have forever eyes.”

And there it is.

A flash crosses his expression as his eyes turn from curious and inquisitive to surprised, and then settle into a look that makes my stomach fly all the way up to my chest. I squeeze the cat so tightly it meows against the pressure.

Admission.

A look of being found out.

A balloon swells inside me. The pressure so tight I feel it’ll pop any moment.

There’s silence between us, a space filled with the sound of my own televised talk, and then he leans over. “I hate to bring it up, but you are a terrible first date.”

I put my hand on my chest. “Me? I just told you you were wonderful at it!”

He tsks. “Here I am, following all our very important traditions, having gathered chaperones by the boatload, and you go off mentioning forever.”

“Me? You’re the one giving the marry-me eyes, evidently,” I retort. I laugh, which does release a bit of that pressure in my chest.

“Next up, I suppose you’ll say you want children along with another slice of pizza.”

“Two, actually. I would like each to have a friend. And pepperoni, please.”