Page 113 of The Storm

I go and sit down next to her and poke her shoulder with my finger.

“Dia?” I say.

“I’m fine,” she mutters into her arms.

I poke her again until she lifts her head.

“I’m making pancakes.”

She sniffs pointedly. “By the smell of it you’re making charcoal.”

“Shit.” I jump up and rush back to the other side of the counter. I scrape the remains into the compost bin and start again.

The front door opens and closes and footsteps come closer. Bridge appears in the doorway. She frowns at Dia.

“Oh. So you’re not dead. Good to know.”

Dia blinks at her for a bit before she groans and thumps her head against the counter.

“Sorry. I totally forgot.”

Bridge presses her lips together and exhales through her nose before she shakes her head. “Did you at least call the doctor?”

“You’re like a broken record,” Dia says.

“Indy, back me up on this, for fuck’s sake,” Bridge says. “She’s tired all the time. Suddenly there are bruises all over her and these weird red dots on her legs, and she keeps saying she’s fine, but clearly shit’s not fine.”

“Jesus Christ, Dia,” I say. “Grab your stuff. I’ll drive you.”

She slaps her palms on the counter and glowers at both of us. “Stop fucking ganging up on me. I’m telling you, I’m fine.I’m a bit tired. Big deal. This is, like, a vitamin deficiency or something.”

I point at her face. “Your nose is bleeding.”

It takes her a moment to register what I said, but then she touches the underside of her nose with the tips of her fingers and frowns when they come back red. I hand her a tissue, and she glares at me as she takes it and presses it under her nose.

We stay in this silent standoff, Dia glaring at me and me handing her tissues until the nosebleed stops. Bridge goes and takes care of my abandoned cooking attempts when there’s a smell of burning food again.

“You’re going to the doctor,” I tell Dia after I drop the last bloody tissue into the trash.

“No. I’m going to Boston. In five days. Stop being a pain in my ass.”

Bridge and I exchange glances as she stomps out of the room.

“That went well.” I sigh.

She makes a face and gives a grim nod.

Neither of us is that hungry for pancakes anymore.

THIRTY-THREE

INDY

Maybe it’sbecause competence is generally sexy, or maybe it’s the lingering memory of all those late-night snacks he’s made me in the kitchen over the course of this summer, but I can never seem to get enough of the sight of Nick cooking. There’s just something so unbelievably sexy about the way he moves when he’s in his element like this. With both of us busy with our jobs, I haven’t been able to see him in the kitchen that much anymore, so when I can, I take full advantage.

The house is still a mess after the moving away party my parents threw for me, Nick, Dia, and Bridget. Out of nowhere it’s already the end of August. Mom and Dad will drop Dia off in Boston in a few days. Bridge is heading to Vassar. Nick and I will talk to my parents tonight and clue them in on everything that’s been going on.

He moves around the kitchen with his usual ease, with the added bonus of him showing off. He throws an egg into the air, and it lands perfectly on the edge of his knife, cracking in half.