I was sitting cross-legged on my bed, staring at his reply.
That's rather late.
Thank you, Augustus. I hadn't noticed.
Have you eaten dinner?
Yes.
Then why do you need ice cream?
Because I WANT ice cream.
Understood.
I assumed that was the end of it. Then my phone buzzed again.
What brand?
I don't care.
That's unusual.
AUGUSTUS.
Ten seconds later, it rang.
"I'll come and get you," he said.
"I wasn't asking you to drive across Shorebridge at midnight."
"I know. But if you'd like company, I'm available. I don't mind."
I should have declined. I had a perfectly good kitchen, staff, and a lifetime of self-restraint. But somewhere in my body a small, tyrannical voice said strawberry, and it won.
He arrived twenty minutes later, which was suspiciously fast.
I came down in an oversized sweater, leggings, and the most comfortable shoes I owned. No heels. No makeup. My hair was twisted into a bun that had already given up.
Augustus looked at me for a long moment.
"What?"
