Page 95 of Desserts for Stressed People

It’s Emma. I check Shane’s expression, and he seems relieved, so I press the button that’ll open the door downstairs and walk to him. “Hey, a word.”

“Emma’s completely unhinged?”

“Yes. Be nice?”

He pecks my lips. “Of course. Your friend is my friend too.” He walks into the kitchen and dumps the rest of the chocolate down the drain. Which reminds me of the state of my apartment, my face and my clothes. I check my reflection in the mirror and it looks like I haven’t showered in six weeks. Inspecting the hair that’s sticking together in brown locks around my face, I smile.

When there’s a knock at the door, I open it with a chuckle, widening my arms. “Hello!”

Emma’s expression shifts from cheerful to worried. “Oh my God, is that poop?”

My arms drop to my sides as she gapes at the apartment behind me, Shane’s laughter traveling to us from the kitchen. “No, can’t you smell it? It’s chocolate.”

Her mouth widens, and she points at the kitchen, then mouths, “Is Shane here?”

Almost soundlessly, I whisper, “We kissed.”

She shrieks, loud enough to make the whole mouthing exercise futile, then walks past me and into the apartment.

Once I join her in the kitchen, Shane’s offering her his chocolate-stained hand, which she looks at with disgust. “Oh, right, sorry.” Moving to the sink, he washes his hands. “Nice to finally meet you. You must beParadise.”

“Because I’m the answer to all your prayers?” Emma croons.

I think I see Shane’s brain explode as his face disfigures with horror. His eyes dart to me as his cheeks turn blood-red, waving his wet hands uncontrollably. “No—no, that’s not—I just meant—Heaven said—”

Oh, I can’t let him suffer like that. “She knows what you meant, Shane,” I reassure him, sending a warning look at Emma. “The one time someone calls you that. You’re not making a great case for yourself.”

Chuckling a little too much on the outside, she walks to Shane and pats his arm. “Nice to meet you too.” She stares down at Shane’s chocolate-covered body. “Would you like me to chuck that shirt in the washer for you?”

I groan. “Emma, behave.”

“Fine, fine,” she says, turning to look at the walls, then at the once-upon-a-time white couch. “What happened here? Did the chocolate factory explode?”

“I figured Heaven might have needed something to clean today.” Shane points at the kitchen, his cheeks turning back to their regular complexion. “Where do I find cleaning supplies?”

I point him to the right cabinet, and he walks to it then pulls out sprays and cloths. Would it offend him if I told him those are my good ones? If he uses them on all this chocolate, I’ll have to throw them away, and I got them specifically ordered online.

“What is it?” he asks.

Shit. He noticed my look. “Uh, nothing.”

He turns to the sprays. “Are these not the right...”

When my eyes dart to the cloths, he grabs them. “These? You don’t want me to use these?”

Emma’s head bounces from him to me.

“Those are microfiber,” I whisper, knowing full well I’m being weird in front of him, releasing the control-freak beast—as Alex calls it.

“Okay. How about these?” He takes out some dirty, old ones, and once my shoulders relax, he moves to the microwave and starts wiping. “Cool.”

Cool. That’s all. No eye roll, no snarky comments. He doesn’t care. It’s cool.

“We’ll be right back,” Emma says after a few seconds of silence. As she pulls me into the bedroom, I look over my shoulder, where Shane observes us with a grin.

The door closes behind us, and once I walk to the closet, she appears by my side. “What the hell happened? Did you have sex?” she whispers.

Her whispers arewaytoo loud.