I swear, if Kat chops that onion any louder, I’m gonna throw her and the cutting board out the back door. It’s been a long day, and I’m not in the mood for passive-aggressive dicing.
The kitchen’s full—Kat, Sam, Gina, Tosha—all pretending they’re helping with dinner while really just stirring drama. I’m at the stove, guarding the sauce like it’s sacred. Because it is. And because it gives me an excuse not to look at anyone too long.
“So what’s Lina gonna do?” Gina asks, tossing her hair like she’s auditioning for a shampoo commercial.
“She gonna stay?” Sam adds, leaning against the fridge like she owns the place.
I don’t turn around. “She’s gonna do what she always does—make a mess and leave someone else to clean it up.”
Kat snorts. “You’re still mad.”
“Mad?” I stir the sauce slow, d
