Page 101 of The Breakup Artists

“My sister used to bring me here on birthdays. We had this game we played.” I feel a little shy telling her this, but I also can’t seem to stop myself, like the sketch... a little piece of my sister that wants to be known. “We’d each pick two things. And then we’d make something out of all four. Worst design had to do the dishes for a week or—”

“Buy dinner?” she suggests.

I shake my head. “I was too young, but—”

“No,” she says. “I mean whenweplay, loser pays for dinner.”

For a moment I stand there, trying to recalibrate up from down. Ella wants to play my sister’s game with me? The thought fills me with warmth I wasn’t anticipating, and I raise an eyebrow at her. “Is this a ploy to get me to go to dinner with you, Scorpio?”

She laughs, but her eyes scream challenge. “If you don’t think you’re creative enough...”

“Creativity isn’t my problem,” I reply, and somehow it feels like we’ve moved closer, like the space between us is alive with current.

She shrugs mischievously, raising and dropping her perfect shoulders. “Or if you’re scared of losing. No shame.”

I laugh. “You’re on, Scorpio.”

She looks all too pleased with herself. “I’ll choose first,” she says and saunters off, with her blue dress swishing around her tanned legs, like she owns the place. I practically fall over myself to follow.

The moment Ella spots the display of embroidery materials, she beelines for a rainbow pack of embroidery thread. She holds it up with a smug look. “Suck it, Holden.”

“Did you know that in elementary school they dubbed me king of the friendship bracelet? True story.”

“You’re so full of it,” she says, laughing as I lead her toward the back of the store to the sewing section.

I lift a bag of safety pins.

She stares at it, like I just drew a line in the sand with my randomness. “Oh yeah? Well, let’s just hope you can sew,” she says and grabs a bag of fabric scraps.

“I can’t,” I say. “Which is why I got the safety pins. You’re making it too easy on me.” I flash her a victorious smile and walk to the jewelry-making section, where I pick up a bag of mismatched vintage junk jewelry (Des’s favorite).

She looks from me to the bag and back again. And as much as she fights it, she grins. “I think I hate you.”

“That’s okay, Scorpio, because I like you. And I’m not opposed to working for your admiration.” The moment I hear myself say it, I know it’s true. But I also know I shouldn’t have said it. I can hear Tiny chewing me out in my mind.

Thankfully she looks like she took it as nothing more than our usual banter. “So now it’s admiration, huh? I thought you were just going for neutral?”

“The goalposts have moved.”

Ella opens her mouth to respond, but before she does, someone says, “Jonah?” and my heart jumps so violently into my throat that I cough. “What are you doing here?” the familiar voice continues, confusion lacing its tone.

I panic—hot lava courses through my insides, and spots form in my vision.

But before the girl can get another word out, I start speaking. “Hey, Daisy,” I say, finally catching up to the situation. This has never happened before. Tiny and I spread out the locations of cases specifically to avoid this type of thing. “Wow, it’s been a minute.”

“A year,” she says, looking at me like she’s not sure I’m real. “Aren’t you supposed to be in India?”

I rub my temple, my pulse beating like a jackhammer. “Mom’s organization lost funding. Real bummer. We just got back a month ago.”

Ella looks back and forth from me to Daisy. “Jonah?” Ella says, suspicion making her eyebrow lift.

The panic lava surges, threatening to melt my brain.

“Middle name,” I say and turn to Daisy. “Hey, can we—”

“Wait, Jonah is yourmiddlename?” Daisy says over me.

“Daisy, can we talk a minute?” I gesture down the aisle and away from Ella.