“Mmm.” Cecily concentrated on the game for a second, because that seemed like the best way not to actually gag out loud.
Scott continued, “It’s sort of funny, though. We have this great relationship, even though we don’t enjoy the same things. I used to think that was impossible.”
“What kind of stuff do you like to do?” Cecily felt she could guess Kathleen’s interests: reading gossip magazines, bleaching her roots, tormenting the innocent.
“You would never guess my number-one hobby.”
“I’m not even going to try. Just tell me.”
“I like to cook.” Surprised, Cecily glanced at Scott instead of the foosball table, which gave Theo a chance to score. As Theo cheered himself, Scott laughed. “You don’t think guys should cook? You don’t look old-fashioned.”
“I’m not,” she said. “It’s just—you know—I love to cook.”
Scott nodded. “You get it, then. I was thinking about maybe trying to become a chef someday.”
At home on Cecily’s desk, where most of her friends would’ve kept college catalogs of prospective universities, she had brochures from every top cooking school in the nation and a couple in Paris. “Oh,” she said weakly. “Me too. That’s—”
“A huge coincidence, huh?” Scott gave her a conspiratorial grin. “I’m crazy about Kathleen, but I don’t think she can even make toast.”
Cecily’s absolute, ultimate dream for her future was one she’d never seriously expected to come to pass, because dreams were dreams and reality was reality and she felt people were better off understanding the difference. But it was still fun to dream, so she’d imagined falling in love with a gorgeous, sweet, built guy who loved cooking absolutely as much as she did. Then they would open their own restaurant together, and it would be a huge success, and Cecily and the future Mr. Cecily would be incredibly happy cooking side by side.
And Scott was the very first guy she’d ever met who’d made her realize that dream might not actually be impossible.
“It’s great that you know what you want,” Scott said. “Too many people don’t.”
“Exactly! They keep saying that at our age, you don’t have to make up your mind. But shouldn’t you want to make up your mind?”
“So you have some direction. It’s all so much clearer that way.”
“Absolutely.”
“Hey,” Theo said loudly. “You’re not even paying attention!”
Cecily blushed. Scott laughed and rumpled Theo’s hair. “Sorry, buddy. We were just trying to get you off your guard, so maybe we’d stand a chance.” Then he glanced back at Cecily, and something about the affection in his blue eyes made her bones seem to liquefy. She leaned against the table, telling herself that kissing another girl’s boyfriend in the middle of a crowded room wasn’t a good idea. Even though her body seemed to be swaying toward him, beyond her control—
“What’s going on in here?” Kathleen wandered in, holding her hands out in front of her, fingers splayed. Her nails gleamed wetly of red polish.
Theo said, “Scott’s helping Cecily, but I can still beat them both!”
Kathleen sighed. “I guess there’s no helping Cecily, is there?”
“You were doing your nails?” Cecily said. “Again?”
“Yes.” Apparently Kathleen didn’t even register that as an insult. “This color is much better, I think. I want to do my toes too. Scott, lend me a hand, okay?”
“Okay.” Scott winked at Theo. “You and I are going to have a rematch later. Cecily—good talking to you.”
“You too.”
Already Scott had turned away—willing to drop everything to give Kathleen a pedicure. He had to be absolutely crazy about her to do something like that.
How can he be so into her? Cecily thought in despair. How can any guy so right for me be in love with the peroxide piranha? This just can’t be for real.
Wait—THIS CAN’T BE FOR REAL.
Cecily’s eyes went wide. Adrenaline made her heart thump crazily, and nothing around her seemed entirely genuine. Although she remained at the foosball table occasionally spinning her men, she couldn’t pay any attention to what was going on; for once Theo beat her fair and square.
As soon as the game ended, Cecily hurried upstairs to her room. She needed a couple of seconds of privacy to think. Because if what she suspected was true—
It isn’t. It couldn’t be. Kathleen Pruitt’s awful, but not even she could be that awful. Could she?