Текст книги "Butterfly Dreams"

Автор книги: A. Meredith Walters

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

Chapter 3

Corin

“So not a good group then?” Adam asked, handing me a basket of fries, which I politely declined. I picked at my salad and shrugged.

“I don’t know. It just might not be exactly what I’m looking for.”

We sat perched on our designated stools behind the counter in Razzle Dazzle while a group of preschoolers and their helicopter mothers painted ceramic bunnies and chicks for Easter. They were a rowdy bunch, and my normal love of kids was being sorely tested with this group.

Adam gave the kids a disinterested look before turning back to me. “Just find another group then,” he suggested, and I agreed that would be the easiest thing to do.

Part of me thought I was overreacting. So what if the guy that had helped me during a mortifying panic attack happened to be a member? It wasn’t the first time I had endured horrifying and very public humiliation. What did it matter that he had seen me lose it? He wasn’t the only one, unfortunately.

I had lived through embarrassments much worse than that.

So what was my problem then?

“Yeah, well, I’m going to give it one more week and if it still sucks, I’ll find a different group.” What I didn’t want to admit to Adam was that I wasn’t sure that the heart patients’ group was going to work out for entirely different reasons.

Because, of course, Dr. Harrison had called yesterday, just after I got home from the group to inform me that my other tests had come back normal.

He told me that he wasn’t sure my heart was the problem, but he wasn’t ready to rule it out. I was supposed to go back in for another battery of tests on Friday. Deep down, I knew that those tests would come back with the same results as the earlier ones. And then I’d be back right where I started. With no answers and the constant gnaw of unresolved anxiety.

I had gone straight to bed with one of the worst headaches I could ever remember experiencing. I had slept on and off the rest of the evening and had to force myself out of bed the following morning.

I was feeling sluggish and lacking energy. The dull ache in my head threatened to explode once again into full-blown agony.

I was exhausted. Sick and tired of being sick and tired.

“Can I have one of those?” Krista, our cute part-time helper asked, reaching between Adam and me to snatch a fry from his plate. I raised my eyebrows in surprise that she would be so forward. Normally Adam’s I’ll-murder-you-in-your-sleep personality dissuaded people from talking to or even looking at him.

I was even more surprised when Adam didn’t rip her hand off and feed it to the raccoons that ate out of the trash in the alleyway.

“Is it all right if I go take a break? I need to run an errand,” Krista asked. Was she looking at Adam? Did I really just see her brush up against him? Adam didn’t respond to her in any way so I was pretty sure I had imagined the whole thing.

“Yeah, go ahead. It’s pretty slow today, so you can just call it a day,” I said, poking my salad with my fork.

“I don’t mind coming back—”

“Go ahead and head home, Krista. We don’t need you today,” Adam barked.

Krista flushed red and lowered her eyes. “Oh, okay then.” She grabbed her purse from behind the counter and scampered off.

I waited until she left and gave Adam a reprimanding look. “A little harsh with the employees, aren’t you?”

Adam shrugged but didn’t respond. His communication style could best be described as scary with a side of I-don’t-give-a-fuck.

“Incoming. It’s your turn,” Adam muttered as a woman hurried across the store toward us.

“You suck,” I hissed under my breath as Adam slid off the stool and disappeared into the office.

“I’m so sorry,” a frazzled mother said, handing me a broken teapot that her son, who had clearly been raised by wolves, had knocked off the shelf. Normally I would have let it go as an accident. Kids were kids after all. But I had seen the mini-monster in question purposefully throw it on the floor.

I took it while biting my lip so hard I was pretty sure I drew blood. “You’ll have to pay for this though,” I informed her, pointing to the sign Adam had insisted we post by the cash register: YOU BREAK IT, YOU BUY IT.

I had argued that the notice was rude but now I was extremely glad that he made me hang it up. Because I had a feeling these devil children were going to destroy half of our inventory.

“I understand. I’m just so sorry. You know what they say about the terrible twos,” she laughed, pulling out her wallet and handing me her credit card.

I forced a smile and pretended to understand what she was talking about. Wishing I could tell her that I didn’t think the terrible twos was the source of her child’s problems.

But I liked having customers. Verbally berating their parenting skills wouldn’t endear me to the clientele.

I processed her credit card and dumped the remains of the teapot in the garbage.

Twenty minutes later—and after Adam deemed it safe to leave the office—we were cleaning up the mess left behind by the band of misfit children. After I disposed of the pile of broken ceramics, my phone began to ring from the front of the store. Thinking it could be Dr. Harrison’s office, I hurried to answer it.

“Hello?”

“We need to have a conversation.”

“Hello to you too, Tam,” I mumbled, wishing I could jump into a time machine and go back to thirty seconds ago and not answer this particular phone call.

“I’m on my lunch break and I don’t have a lot of time. I have a meeting I have to prepare for so excuse me for not exchanging pleasantries first.” That was my sister, total asshole.

“Well, I’m busy too—”

“Please, Cor, I don’t think you can compare your little pottery shop to what I do on a daily basis,” she huffed.

“Did you decide to take up brain surgery in your spare time?” I asked with just enough sarcasm to piss her off. I couldn’t help it. I had to get my digs in while I could. I knew that telling her to shove her condescending attitude and holier-than-thou bullshit would only result in all-out warfare that I was so not in the mood for.

I’d have to settle on strategically placed barbs. It gave me just the smallest bit of joy. Though it never lasted long.

“Your lack of maturity is draining, Corin. You can’t for one minute compare your hobby with my career. I’d love to spend my days playing with paint, but some of us have actual responsibilities,” Tamsin shot back, going in for the proverbial kill.

Tamsin was a criminal defense attorney. I knew she had worked hard to get herself through law school and blah, blah, blah. What it boiled down to was that it was her job to defend drunk drivers and pedophiles. She made certain that Bob, who had been arrested for beating his wife to within an inch of her life, only served two years of a ten-year sentence. And while I knew she worked hard, I didn’t think she would be presented with the Nobel Peace Prize anytime soon.

“What do you want, Tamsin?” I asked, already emotionally exhausted from our conversation.

“I just got the property tax bill for Mom and Dad’s house. I need you to send your half as soon as possible.”

After our parents died, the house we had grown up in was left jointly to the two of us. I had an understandable attachment to the place, though Tamsin didn’t seem to share my sentiments.

Tam just didn’t get it. She never had.

She had already been living away from home when our mother was diagnosed with melanoma shortly after I had turned fourteen. Less than a year later, Mom had died and our father was diagnosed with lymphoma.

While Mom had gone relatively quickly, Dad had lingered for almost two years, finally passing just before I graduated from high school. And Tamsin hadn’t been there to watch him die.

I was the one who had had to deal with all of it.

Even though I still felt strongly linked to the house, I had moved out as soon as I was able. I hadn’t been emotionally capable of living in the house by myself. Tamsin worked in Northern Virginia and had no desire to return to Southborough, thus leaving the place empty.

However, when Tamsin had suggested selling the property, I had fought her tooth and nail. There were very few times in my life that I fought Tamsin on anything, but that was one of them. While I couldn’t deal with the ghosts left behind in the house I grew up in, neither could I stomach the thought of it not being in our family anymore.

So we compromised and had rented it out. I had hired a property manager to handle finding tenants. Tamsin and I split the taxes and maintenance costs as well as the monthly rent checks.

But the house was aging and I had noticed in the last six months that the cost of maintaining the property was starting to exceed the money we earned from the rent. At the beginning of the winter we had to replace the roof. Just last month the boiler had given out. Between the two of us, Tamsin and I had spent close to ten thousand dollars on repairs.

On top of that, the property tax had increased and I had known that the day was coming when Tamsin would again insist on selling.

The easiest thing would be for me to live there, if I felt so strongly about it. But I wasn’t sure, even after all this time, whether I could deal with living in the place I had watched my mother die and my father fade away.

“Have you seen how much the property tax has risen?” Tamsin demanded.

“Yes, I saw that—”

“Because it’s too much, Corin. I can’t afford to keep spending money on a house I’m not even living in. Unless you’ve finally gotten over your issues,” she spat. “We need to have a serious conversation about what we’re going to do with the place,” Tamsin said firmly.

“We could increase the rent,” I suggested weakly. A group of elderly ladies came into the shop and I slipped into the storeroom, knowing that this conversation could very well get heated.

“Who in their right mind would pay more than eight hundred dollars a month for that house? It’s a shit hole!”

I started to see red. Tamsin had never shown an ounce of regard for the house our parents had purchased shortly after they had gotten married. Sometimes I wondered if my older sister was missing that vital ingredient that made us all human. Emotions.

On the flip side, I guessed that’s what made her such a great lawyer.

“Look, it’s too much. Jared and I really want to sell.”

“What does Jared have to do with it? His name isn’t on the deed!” I exclaimed, my voice rising. In some ways, Jared, Tamsin’s husband, was worse than she was. Shallow and vain, he seemed to only care about making money and being a prick.

“Jared is my husband, Corin, so of course he has a say in my affairs. Don’t be an idiot!” she seethed, and I clenched the phone so tightly in my hand that I thought it might break.

“I can’t deal with this right now. I have a lot going on—”

“Is this about your stupid health stuff?”

I couldn’t help the tears that welled up and started to drip ever so slowly down my cheeks. I hated crying but it seemed an instinctual response when talking to my sister. Tamsin could be hateful and cruel. Sometimes there had been glimpses over the years of a person who could be kind and loving. But it was usually overshadowed by her irritation with me.

I spent most of my life desperately hoping that my parents had simply never gotten around to telling me that Tamsin was actually adopted.

“Stop it,” I whispered hoarsely into the phone, knowing I was only moments away from breaking down. And my sister was the last person I wanted to detonate in front of. Even if it was only over the phone. She’d hold it against me forever.

Tamsin sighed. “Okay, I don’t mean to give you hard time. I just think you really need to get over this block you have about selling the house. Financially it doesn’t make sense for us to hold onto it just because it belonged to Mom and Dad.”

I couldn’t justify myself to her again. It wouldn’t matter anyway. The best thing to do was to shut the conversation down.

“We’ll talk about this another time. I have to go.” I didn’t give my sister a chance to speak and disconnected the call.

I stood there for a few minutes after Tamsin hung up. Talking to my sister was akin to jumping in front of an oncoming train. Probably avoidable, but totally devastating all the same. She could squeeze my heart and stomp on it like no one else.

Adam came into the storeroom and grabbed a box off the shelf, pausing a moment to look at me as I stared blankly into space.

“You okay?” he asked.

I grabbed my purse and slung it over my shoulder. “Not really. I need to get out of here for a few minutes. Are you good to watch things until I get back?”

“Uh, sure,” he said, giving me a strange look, but true to form didn’t ask any questions.

I wiped at the tears drying on my face and hurried out to my car.

I thought about going to my parents’ house but I hadn’t been back since moving out years before. The house was all mixed up with hard-to-place emotions in my mind. There were so many good memories there. But the bad ones seemed to trump them every time.

Instead I somehow ended up at the park. Which was strange, given that even as a child, I wasn’t exactly a “park” kind of person. I didn’t like swings. I didn’t do jungle gyms. And don’t get me started on sandboxes. The thought made me shudder.

I parked my car and got out, walking across the crunchy grass, my shoes soaked after stepping in a pile of melting snow.

I would probably end up with hypothermia. I should get back in the car and take off my shoes and socks. I could feel my toes going numb and started to experience the telltale signs of unreasonable hysteria as I thought about all the possibilities of letting my toes stay in my freezing, wet shoes. Amputated toes. Irreparable nerve damage.

I was out of breath by the time I had reached the far side of the park. I noticed that a soccer game was going on. What sort of maniacs played in this weather? And wearing only shorts and T-shirts? Were they nuts?

It didn’t look like any sort of organized game. Just a bunch of guys kicking a ball around while shouting obscenities at one another.

I scanned the field, not sure why I had come there in the first place, only knowing that I had needed to be somewhere, anywhere but closed up in my shop.

I suddenly caught sight of a familiar face and stopped.

Beckett Kingsley, my unwanted savior and fellow Mended Hearts group member, sat on a bench, leaning forward, with his elbows braced on his knees. He was watching the group of soccer players fixedly, his brown hair a messy mop on his head.

He didn’t notice me, his focus entirely on the soccer game.

There was something about his face that made me pause. I half hid behind a giant oak tree, peeking out from behind it like a weirdo. He didn’t know that I was watching and I didn’t want him to. It would ratchet the awkward between us up to an agonizing level.

But I couldn’t help it.

He looked sad.

No.

He looked heartbroken.

He seemed so different than how he had come across at the Mended Hearts group. Then he had been jovial and upbeat. Incredibly optimistic given all he had been through. I had found it unsettling and jarring. I hadn’t been quite sure how to handle that level of positivity, given that I was the least happy-go-lucky person out there.

But this Beckett was someone I could identify with. Because right then, staring at the men running across the makeshift pitch, he looked like someone who had lost everything. He was a man that was mourning.

I swallowed around the thick lump in my throat, feeling a complicated rush of emotions that was both startling and unfamiliar. I knew how Beckett was feeling. I recognized the look on his face because I had seen it so many times when I looked in the mirror.

It was the look of a man who thought his life was over.

Beckett continued to sit there, unmoving, with a visible weight on his shoulders. Until the game was over and several of the guys noticed him sitting there and came over to speak to him. Then I saw a smile. I heard a laugh. And Beckett became Mr. Positivity once again.

But for a moment, when he was completely unguarded, I saw something else. Something that made him so much more real.

And in his grief I saw a man that I wanted to know.

Chapter 4

Beckett

“Beckett! How was your appointment last week? I forgot to ask last time!” Candace asked when I arrived at the Methodist church for the Mended Hearts support group on Tuesday. In some weird way, the ragtag group of randoms had become a second family. Friends that actually got it. People I wanted to spend time with.

The hospital social worker had given me a list of community resources and supports before I was discharged. I had looked them over and chosen the group at the top. And when I had shown up at the first meeting, I was still more than a little skeptical of the whole thing.

But as the weeks went by, I began to feel comfortable in that strange group. They didn’t ask a million obnoxious questions or look at me like I was walking death. They didn’t expect me to talk about how I was feeling or what I was going to do now that my life was oh so different.

“Pretty good.” I tapped at my healing incision. “Everything’s working the way it’s supposed to. So score one for the ole ticker.” I smiled and it was genuine.

Candace patted me on the shoulder in a maternal way. “That’s great. I have no doubt you’ll show that obstinate heart who’s boss.” I winked and she laughed, a deep belly guffaw that sound a lot like a donkey, before turning to Clive and Jennifer, two group members who had just arrived.

I poured myself a cup of tea and took a sip, closing my eyes briefly. I missed coffee. It was just another thing in my life that I had to give up. I hated tea. I hated the taste. What it represented for me. But I drank it anyway. Because I had to. Because that’s what my life was now.

One never-ending concession.

“I’ve never seen someone look so unhappy to drink tea in my life.” I opened my eyes and found Corin standing beside me, her hands tapping the tabletop in a nervous, repetitive fashion.

I was glad to see her again. After my mildly disturbing behavior toward her last week I hadn’t been so sure she’d come back. But I had been so surprised and honest-to-God relieved to see her that day that I couldn’t help but be over the top.

That day when I found her having a panic attack in the slushy snow had been a big deal for me. I didn’t really know why, but there was something about her that made me instantly protective. It was weird and made absolutely no sense, but it had been powerful stuff.

I hadn’t thought twice before I knelt down beside her, not caring about my soaked jeans and freezing fingers. She couldn’t breathe, her hands fluttering wildly in front of her throat as she made scary gasping sounds.

I knew what a panic attack looked like. I had suffered from my fair share after finding myself in the hospital, hooked up to a few dozen beeping machines. I also knew that what she was feeling was very real and very scary.

I had gotten her to her feet and spoke calmly, trying to soothe her. I had been on my way to pick Sierra up from work. But then I had stumbled upon Corin. In those few minutes I didn’t think about where I needed to be or what I should be doing.

I just wanted to help her.

And when she had finally gotten herself together, she had rushed off before I could say anything else. I never even got her name.

I found myself thinking about Corin a lot after that. Wondering about her. Hoping she was okay. I wasn’t sure why I was fixating on her so much, but the thought of her had burrowed deep regardless.

So when I saw her at the Mended Hearts support group last week, I saw it as some sort of sign. Like fate had thrown her back into my path for some important reason I didn’t comprehend yet. I had felt an understandable relief that she was okay. She was standing there still breathing and that made me feel good.

But Corin hadn’t jumped at the chance to engage in further discussions about that day that had connected us. In fact she looked as though she wanted to deliver a swift punch to my throat.

The whole thing had been odd. Unsettling. And I had convinced myself that Corin Thompson was just a random blip on the radar of my life. If she never came back to the support group, then that was her decision, and I couldn’t care one way or another.

Yet here she was. Bobbing up and down on her tiptoes, drumming her fingertips on the tabletop, attempting to smile and failing horribly. And I wanted to laugh at how awkward we both were. There was this twist of genuine humor that felt pretty damn awesome.

I gave her a broad smile in a way that was slightly insane and registered pretty high on the creep-o-meter.

“No, it’s fine,” I said, grabbing another cup and pouring her some. “Milk and sugar?” I asked.

Corin frowned. I hadn’t thought my question was that confusing. Maybe I shouldn’t have given so many options. Should I speak slower? Perhaps make a list on PowerPoint? Because I could swear I almost saw her brain exploding.

“Uh, yeah. Both please,” she answered after a painfully uneasy pause, her gaze flittering away from mine and then returning again. And when she met my eyes, it felt like a gift. As though she were giving me something she never gave anyone.

What was wrong with me? I was thinking in sentimental bullshit!

This sort of insanity should be reserved for the meeting of supermodels and sports icons.

Not quietly good-looking girls with obvious social phobias.

The truth was Corin was very pretty. Though understated. Not the type of pretty I was used to with Sierra, who dressed in a way meant to show off as much skin as possible with her boobs on permanent display. That had been such a turn-on when we had first met.

Corin’s brown hair was long and held back in a simple ponytail. Her eyes were a dark, intense brown that was nice to look at when she wasn’t staring at her shoes. She didn’t seem to wear any makeup. I hated when women caked that shit on their faces so it was impossible to see what was underneath. I hadn’t seen Sierra’s natural skin tone until we had been together for eight months and that was purely by accident after walking into the bathroom just as she got out of the shower.

But I could tell Corin didn’t care about stuff like that. She was too busy chewing on her bottom lip and drilling a hole through the table with her fingers.

She was tall. Almost as tall as I was. Though she stooped her shoulders, which I figured had to be on purpose so her height wasn’t as noticeable. I had known a few girls growing up that were on the giant side, and each of them had been really self-conscious about it.

It seemed Corin Thompson was no different.

But without trying, she exuded an innate sexiness that was compelling. Mesmerizing even. I couldn’t stop looking at her, no matter how hard I tried. And it wasn’t just her looks.

It was something just below the surface that I was eager to find.

I wasn’t typically such an observant guy. I was a notoriously poor judge of character. Just ask my mother about every single one of my ex-girlfriends—including Sierra—and you’ll get the picture.

But Corin made me want to read between the lines. I found myself watching her. Noticing her. Trying to figure her out. She was intriguing without meaning to be. I felt triumphant when I thought I could understand her. And I knew, without a doubt, that it was difficult for her to talk to me. To talk to anyone.

I felt strangely flattered that she was making an effort with me.

“Here you go.” I handed her the cup of tea and watched as she slowly sipped, some of the liquid beading on her bottom lip.

“Did I do okay?” I asked.

“Huh?” That seemed to be her go-to response.

“The milk to sugar ratio. Is it all right? It’s an important thing to know,” I prompted. I tried the grinning thing again and hoped I looked more like a normal dude and less like a serial killer.

“Oh, sure.”

I placed my hand over my thumping heart and feigned a pained expression. “You’ve made me doubt my tea preparation abilities. She says sure. I hear shit.”

Corin didn’t crack a smile. She gave me nothing. Clearly my attempts at humor were lost on her.

But I just wanted her to smile. I felt compelled to do whatever it took to make it happen. Standing on my head wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. Because she seemed sad.

Too sad.

And I hated that.

“Your tea preparation abilities are superb. No need to be overly dramatic about it,” she replied dryly.

And then I saw it.

The elusive smile. It was there and then it wasn’t and I couldn’t help but miss it when it was gone.

“Everyone have a seat,” Candace called out, and we all started shuffling unhurriedly toward the chairs.

I waited for Corin to find a seat and sat down across from her, noticing that once again she chose a chair without an opening beside her. That seemed intentional.

I bothered her. A lot.

I needed to change that quickly.

“Does anyone have news they want to share?” Candace asked, beginning the group in the usual way. My gaze found its way back to Corin who sat quietly with her hands folded in her lap. She was still chewing on her full bottom lip, looking anxious. I noticed her rubbing her chest periodically and wondered if she was all right.

Without thinking, I mirrored her movements, rubbing the always-sore spot below my collarbone. I found myself doing it frequently, usually when stressed.

She looked my way once or twice but otherwise kept her focus on whoever was speaking. Finally after everyone had shared their news, Candace turned to Corin, who looked about ready to jump out of her skin.

“Do you think you’d like to introduce yourself to the group? Perhaps tell everyone why you’re here?” Candace gently urged.

Corin looked at me, her face blank but her eyes wide.

Geoffery, the resident grandfather figure of the group, held out his trusted bag of mints for Corin to take one. She shook her head. Geoffery could be a little pushy about those mints of his.

“My name is Corin Thompson,” she began, and I leaned forward almost unconsciously.

“I’m twenty-five years old and I own the Razzle Dazzle pottery studio downtown.”

Beside me, Stella made a cooing noise. “My granddaughter loves your studio! I’ve taken her there a few times! It’s lovely!” she enthused, and I could see that the compliment made Corin happy. She flushed red and her lips quirked upward into an almost smile. A genuine expression on an otherwise frozen face.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, rubbing at her chest again. My fingers still rubbed at the spot on my own skin.

“Do you mind telling us what brought you here?” Candace asked.

Corin looked uncomfortable and I understood that feeling well. It sucked having to talk about your condition to complete strangers. You quickly got tired of explaining the details over and over again until you wanted to snap. I could see her getting flustered, her cheeks burning red. Her bottom lip was bloody from being torn to shreds by her teeth.

Corin fidgeted in her seat, her eyes darting from Candace, to me, back to Candace.

“I, uh…well…”

“Do you think we’ll have time to go over those yoga techniques we talked about last week? I was trying to remember them the other day and couldn’t,” I interrupted. Candace gave me a dark look, clearly not appreciating my perceived lack of sensitivity.

There was a second or two of silence after my abrupt subject change, and then a few others murmured their agreement.

I glanced across the room at Corin, hoping she didn’t think I was being rude. I hoped she realized that I was only trying to help her. Our eyes met and her severe expression softened, her dark eyes almost warm and it was like a punch to the gut. Real and raw and unlike anything I had ever experienced before. The air between us crackled with energy that I felt everywhere.

I couldn’t look away. It was physically impossible. But no sooner had the moment begun than Corin was looking away and I was wondering if I had imagined the whole thing.

What was going on with me? I briefly touched the bandage on my chest and winced at the twinge of pain.

Pain that had become my new normal.

–

After group, Corin and I left the church at the same time. We walked beside each other, though neither of us said anything until we were outside.

“Thanks for helping me out earlier. I don’t know what my problem was. Normally I have no problem talking in groups like this,” she said, sounding a little sheepish.

“Groups like this? Is this not your first one then?”

“Um, well…” she trailed off, and I could tell she was starting to shut down. In seconds she’d be walking off and I knew with a certainty that I couldn’t let that happen.

“Eh, it’s no big deal,” I said quickly, reaching out as if to touch her and then thought better of it. I clenched my hand into a fist and dropped it back to my side. “I know how hard it is to talk about your health stuff. I’d rather poke wooden toothpicks under my fingernails than explain what the hell ARVC is one more time.” I chuckled and it sounded wrong in my ears.

Corin didn’t say anything and I almost wanted her to.

“Beckett, Corin, hello!” Geoffery came over, his usual bag of mints open in his outstretched hand.

“What’s with the mints?” Corin whispered.

“Just take a few and smile,” I told her under my breath. Geoffery was a good guy. A little over the top with the whole mint thing, but I also knew he had to give up smoking and whiskey sours because of his heart condition. Who was I to begrudge a guy his fixes if they were healthy?

“Thanks, Geoffery,” I smiled, taking a handful. Corin smiled too and took one, tucking it in her pocket.

She patted the small lump. “For later,” she assured the older man, who grinned indulgently.

Geoffery seemed pleased and moved on to hand out the rest of his treats before leaving for the evening.

“He’s a funny old guy. Odd but sweet,” Corin mused before the silence fell between us again.

“Well, I’d better get going. See you on Tuesday,” she said abruptly, attempting to put an end to any further conversation.

“I’ll be sure to work on my tea preparation skills before then,” I said lamely. Corin gave me a strange look and arched an eyebrow.