eyes darted
from me to Ellie, and she gave a small and uncomfortable smile. “Hey,” she
managed.
Ringer’s head
popped over the back of the couch, a grin half-smudged with tomato sauce,
before he licked it away. “Hey, Bel Evans.” He lifted his brows.
Bel paused
midstep, looking at Ringer with uncertain unease, not an unusual reaction to
Ringer who tended to treat everyone like old mates.
“Pizza?” he asked,
holding up his plate in question.
“Oh, um, no, I’m
good, thanks.”
Ringer frowned. “It
wasn’t a question. Do you think you could bring me a piece?”
“RINGER!” Ellie
yelled out in dismay, casting him a filthy look as she brought a paper plate
over to Bel.
“What?” Ringer
shrugged in true wonderment. “What did I say?”
“Don’t be such a
pig. Here you go, Bel, it’s a bit cold but that kind of adds to the flavour, I
reckon.” Ellie smiled brightly at Bel, who just looked back at her, all
wide-eyed and uncertain. The poor girl was probably still shell-shocked from
before. I wasn’t managing to do much more than just stare silently at her
myself. I cleared my throat. “Um, you can zap it in the microwave if you want.”
I pointed to the kitchen.
Smooth, Stan. That
was sure to break the ice.
Break the ice?
What the hell did I need to break the ice for?
Bel followed my
direction, then looked back to her slice. Her mind was ticking as if English
wasn’t her first language. After a moment’s pause, she took the pizza she said
she didn’t even want and carried it over to the bench. “Thanks, it will be
fine,” she said, pulling out a seat at the island bench and facing away from
us.
I spun around to
Ringer, managing a heavy ‘you’re a dead man’ scowl.
Ringer held up his
hands, mouthing ‘What?” in innocence, his demeanour unflappable until Ellie
walked past him and sucker punched him in the ribs.
“You know what.”
She gritted. “Shut up, Ringer.”
I, for one, wasn’t
a fan of cold pizza and opted for the zap, casually making my way into the kitchen,
walking in front of Bel’s eye line as I popped in the plate, cool and calm,
even if I could feel Bel’s eyes boring into the back of my skull. I spun
around, leaning casually against the bench, and folded my arms. Bel’s eyes
flicked down to her plate, studying the half-eaten pizza with interest. It was
then my eyes caught my other captured audience, Ringer and Ellie, who quickly
spun back around on the couch.
I shook my head,
my attention settling back on Bel who was now fixed on me, her mouth gaping,
her eyes alight. I straightened with interest; was she about to say something,
finally going to move beyond the awkwardness of the moments before?
“You’re smoking,”
she said.
Chapter Eleven
Bel
Stan paused for
a mere moment as he slowly registered my words.
A cocky grin
curved the corner of his mouth and he straightened, almost puffing out his
chest like a peacock. I am sure he was about to say, “Why, thank you.” Until I
watched in horror.
“No, Stan,
seriously, your pizza is on FIRE!” I pointed over his shoulder.
Stan spun around. “Oh,
shit!” He plunged his fist on the button, flinging the door open, and stopped
the sparking, fiery tray as he grabbed it out and chucked it into the sink, as
if playing a game of hot potato. He doused the flames with water from the tap,
an acrid stench of foul-smelling burnt offering filling the room.
“Mate, what the
hell?” Ringer appeared next to Stan, peering into the sink, swiping at the air.
Stan reached into the sink, lifting up the chargrilled remains of what once was
a piece of garlic bread, wrapped in foil. “Mate, you can’t nuke tin foil,”
Ringer said in all seriousness.
Stan slowly
turned, his gaze landing next to me, fixing on Ellie who stood next to me at
the island bench, biting her bottom lip.
“I didn’t,” he
said.
Ellie grimaced. “Oops.”
Stan chucked the
charred garlic-infused rock back into the sink.
from me to Ellie, and she gave a small and uncomfortable smile. “Hey,” she
managed.
Ringer’s head
popped over the back of the couch, a grin half-smudged with tomato sauce,
before he licked it away. “Hey, Bel Evans.” He lifted his brows.
Bel paused
midstep, looking at Ringer with uncertain unease, not an unusual reaction to
Ringer who tended to treat everyone like old mates.
“Pizza?” he asked,
holding up his plate in question.
“Oh, um, no, I’m
good, thanks.”
Ringer frowned. “It
wasn’t a question. Do you think you could bring me a piece?”
“RINGER!” Ellie
yelled out in dismay, casting him a filthy look as she brought a paper plate
over to Bel.
“What?” Ringer
shrugged in true wonderment. “What did I say?”
“Don’t be such a
pig. Here you go, Bel, it’s a bit cold but that kind of adds to the flavour, I
reckon.” Ellie smiled brightly at Bel, who just looked back at her, all
wide-eyed and uncertain. The poor girl was probably still shell-shocked from
before. I wasn’t managing to do much more than just stare silently at her
myself. I cleared my throat. “Um, you can zap it in the microwave if you want.”
I pointed to the kitchen.
Smooth, Stan. That
was sure to break the ice.
Break the ice?
What the hell did I need to break the ice for?
Bel followed my
direction, then looked back to her slice. Her mind was ticking as if English
wasn’t her first language. After a moment’s pause, she took the pizza she said
she didn’t even want and carried it over to the bench. “Thanks, it will be
fine,” she said, pulling out a seat at the island bench and facing away from
us.
I spun around to
Ringer, managing a heavy ‘you’re a dead man’ scowl.
Ringer held up his
hands, mouthing ‘What?” in innocence, his demeanour unflappable until Ellie
walked past him and sucker punched him in the ribs.
“You know what.”
She gritted. “Shut up, Ringer.”
I, for one, wasn’t
a fan of cold pizza and opted for the zap, casually making my way into the kitchen,
walking in front of Bel’s eye line as I popped in the plate, cool and calm,
even if I could feel Bel’s eyes boring into the back of my skull. I spun
around, leaning casually against the bench, and folded my arms. Bel’s eyes
flicked down to her plate, studying the half-eaten pizza with interest. It was
then my eyes caught my other captured audience, Ringer and Ellie, who quickly
spun back around on the couch.
I shook my head,
my attention settling back on Bel who was now fixed on me, her mouth gaping,
her eyes alight. I straightened with interest; was she about to say something,
finally going to move beyond the awkwardness of the moments before?
“You’re smoking,”
she said.
Chapter Eleven
Bel
Stan paused for
a mere moment as he slowly registered my words.
A cocky grin
curved the corner of his mouth and he straightened, almost puffing out his
chest like a peacock. I am sure he was about to say, “Why, thank you.” Until I
watched in horror.
“No, Stan,
seriously, your pizza is on FIRE!” I pointed over his shoulder.
Stan spun around. “Oh,
shit!” He plunged his fist on the button, flinging the door open, and stopped
the sparking, fiery tray as he grabbed it out and chucked it into the sink, as
if playing a game of hot potato. He doused the flames with water from the tap,
an acrid stench of foul-smelling burnt offering filling the room.
“Mate, what the
hell?” Ringer appeared next to Stan, peering into the sink, swiping at the air.
Stan reached into the sink, lifting up the chargrilled remains of what once was
a piece of garlic bread, wrapped in foil. “Mate, you can’t nuke tin foil,”
Ringer said in all seriousness.
Stan slowly
turned, his gaze landing next to me, fixing on Ellie who stood next to me at
the island bench, biting her bottom lip.
“I didn’t,” he
said.
Ellie grimaced. “Oops.”
Stan chucked the
charred garlic-infused rock back into the sink.
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