parts thing. If Abi had sensed anything last night it was presumably just a joint freak out at the mortality of Nan, but I defied anyone to turn that into a saucy situation.
Still, Elliot was here now, and his proximity was making my skin itch weirdly, what was that all about?
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him obviously get bored of me ignoring him and hitch himself up onto the counter with that long legged superiority of his. Cheeky monkey.
I sighed, put down my knife and snatched up the tea towel that was hanging on a hook next to where I was working. Rolling it up with a deft twist, I turned and whipped him hard on the leg.
"This is a food preparation area," I scolded him as he let out a particularly un-macho yelp and jumped straight back off the counter to escape my attack. "It's bad enough that the poor students who go here have to put up with your pretty boy posturing, they don't need to be infected with your germs as well."
OK , maybe by 'students' I meant me, but honestly! He might think he was above everyone else, but he was not above basic kitchen hygiene standards.
"Pretty boy posturing?" He repeated in bemusement as he made a drama out of dusting himself off even though I knew for a fact that the counter and tea towel were spotless. "I can't believe I never noticed before how out of your way you go to call me pretty."
I ignored that, mostly because there was no getting round that he was pretty; just because he was also a self-involved tosser didn't mean I was blind.
"What are you doing back here?" I demanded instead. "This isn't Haze; you can't expect special treatment here. Go out the front and order like everyone else."
"Order what? Food? From here ?" He deadpanned and I quickly looked down at the sandwich I was making so he wouldn't see my battle to not smile. Lord knows the trouble I'd got in last time he'd made me laugh.
"Madness, I know," I said sarcastically. "To think that some students can't afford high quality cuisine delivered straight to their door is repulsive. Poor people are gross."
"Yeah," he nodded and leant back against the bench, much too near to where I was standing, "and I hear that people sit on the counters in the food preparation area at this place. Very unhygienic."
I will not smile, I will not smile, I will not…
"You're smiling," he said obnoxiously, "which is weird, because last night you said I wasn't funny."
"Your face is funny." I wiped my hands down on the apron tied at my waist in the most officious, 'I don't have time for this' kind of way I could. It was the least I could do after retorting something my 6 year old self would've been proud of. Folding my arms , I turned to look at him and said bluntly, "Right, we've established that you're all witty and everything, but I need to get back to work. What are you doing here?"
My abrupt question seemed to sober him up sharpish and he ran a hand through his dark hair almost sheepishly before saying, "Abi told me where you were."
"…which doesn't answer my question," I pointed out, even as I groaned internally. If he'd gone and asked Abi where I was, that was hardly going to support my 'there's nothing weird going on with me and Elliot' stance.
"Fair enough, " he admitted, before he cocked his head to one side and enquired, "Do you want to go to Papua New Guinea?"
OK , not what I'd been expecting.
I blinked rapidly as my brain processed his words, double checking them to make sure he had just asked what I thought he had.
When I was convinced that, yes, he had just asked if I wanted to go to Papua New Guinea, I tried to read him to see where the hell that question had come from. No luck there, his gaze was steady and his expression held nothing but a bland look of polite interest in my answer.
Huh.
Reaching blindly back behind me for support, my hand landed on some bread and I whirled round to grab it and start spreading margarine across it.
"As in ever?" I asked, super casually.
"As in next week."
Oh yes,
Still, Elliot was here now, and his proximity was making my skin itch weirdly, what was that all about?
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him obviously get bored of me ignoring him and hitch himself up onto the counter with that long legged superiority of his. Cheeky monkey.
I sighed, put down my knife and snatched up the tea towel that was hanging on a hook next to where I was working. Rolling it up with a deft twist, I turned and whipped him hard on the leg.
"This is a food preparation area," I scolded him as he let out a particularly un-macho yelp and jumped straight back off the counter to escape my attack. "It's bad enough that the poor students who go here have to put up with your pretty boy posturing, they don't need to be infected with your germs as well."
OK , maybe by 'students' I meant me, but honestly! He might think he was above everyone else, but he was not above basic kitchen hygiene standards.
"Pretty boy posturing?" He repeated in bemusement as he made a drama out of dusting himself off even though I knew for a fact that the counter and tea towel were spotless. "I can't believe I never noticed before how out of your way you go to call me pretty."
I ignored that, mostly because there was no getting round that he was pretty; just because he was also a self-involved tosser didn't mean I was blind.
"What are you doing back here?" I demanded instead. "This isn't Haze; you can't expect special treatment here. Go out the front and order like everyone else."
"Order what? Food? From here ?" He deadpanned and I quickly looked down at the sandwich I was making so he wouldn't see my battle to not smile. Lord knows the trouble I'd got in last time he'd made me laugh.
"Madness, I know," I said sarcastically. "To think that some students can't afford high quality cuisine delivered straight to their door is repulsive. Poor people are gross."
"Yeah," he nodded and leant back against the bench, much too near to where I was standing, "and I hear that people sit on the counters in the food preparation area at this place. Very unhygienic."
I will not smile, I will not smile, I will not…
"You're smiling," he said obnoxiously, "which is weird, because last night you said I wasn't funny."
"Your face is funny." I wiped my hands down on the apron tied at my waist in the most officious, 'I don't have time for this' kind of way I could. It was the least I could do after retorting something my 6 year old self would've been proud of. Folding my arms , I turned to look at him and said bluntly, "Right, we've established that you're all witty and everything, but I need to get back to work. What are you doing here?"
My abrupt question seemed to sober him up sharpish and he ran a hand through his dark hair almost sheepishly before saying, "Abi told me where you were."
"…which doesn't answer my question," I pointed out, even as I groaned internally. If he'd gone and asked Abi where I was, that was hardly going to support my 'there's nothing weird going on with me and Elliot' stance.
"Fair enough, " he admitted, before he cocked his head to one side and enquired, "Do you want to go to Papua New Guinea?"
OK , not what I'd been expecting.
I blinked rapidly as my brain processed his words, double checking them to make sure he had just asked what I thought he had.
When I was convinced that, yes, he had just asked if I wanted to go to Papua New Guinea, I tried to read him to see where the hell that question had come from. No luck there, his gaze was steady and his expression held nothing but a bland look of polite interest in my answer.
Huh.
Reaching blindly back behind me for support, my hand landed on some bread and I whirled round to grab it and start spreading margarine across it.
"As in ever?" I asked, super casually.
"As in next week."
Oh yes,
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