With Grayson's sudden absence from her life, Mia tries her hardest to carry on as normal; to continue as though she had never met the man who turned her world upside down in only a short amount of time.
With the help of her best friend Hailey, and...
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The sight of a set table—knives, forks, napkins and all—makes me stop dead in my tracks when I arrive home. My bag falls slowly down my shoulder as I study Hailey with wide eyes, watching as she fills a jug with water, ice and lemon slices. Just as she finishes the restaurant-like look by placing two wine glasses on the table, I throw my coat onto the bannister, my face flushing with amusement.
What is she up to?
Hailey turns, only just noticing that I've stepped back through the door. "Oh! Hey Mia," she says, her voice clipped and frantic. "I made us dinner."
My eyes widen even more than they already were. Hailey won't make the table for anyone, not even for the many dates that she brings back to the house—in fact, her favourite place to eat is on the sofa in front of a reality TV programme. "Wh—why have you made me dinner?" I ask, casting my confused eyes back over the small, rounded wooden table that takes up most of the kitchen space. "And why have you set the table?" A barely-there laugh escapes my mouth, and I guess that it sounded like more of a gasp.
Hailey pulls out a shepherd's pie from the oven, placing the glass dish onto the table and setting out two plates. "I wanted to apologise for last night," she says, momentarily moving her gaze to meet mine. I know she knows how weird I find this, and it's true; even if Hailey has to apologise for something, she will never go to lengths such as these. This is all so odd.
"O—kay," I say, deciding to push the strangeness of this evening to the back of my mind, for now. I take a seat at the table and lift my fork, remarkably surprised at how good the food looks in front of me; Hailey has never shown much interest in cooking.
"Here," she scoops a portion of the pie and drops it onto my plate. "I hope you like it." I watch the steam dance from the brown mince and sauce, shaking my head once more at this bizarre gesture of Hailey's.
Okay, I can't ignore this like I thought I could.
"Hailey," I laugh. "What is all this about? This is not like you in the slightest." I wave my hands in front of me, gesturing towards the dish and wine glasses.
She takes a larger than usual swig of her water, before filling our wine glasses with some white wine that she must have bought earlier today. Truthfully, I'm not sure if I can handle alcohol right now, but I decide to humour her anyway. "I already told you," she says, smiling. "To say sorry for my performance last night, and how I treated that guy—you know, Anderson."
I shake my head, not buying her lies, but enjoying her food, nonetheless. "No Hailey," I murmur, my mouth half-full. "I'm not buying it. Tell me the truth." I swallow, before gulping my water and pointing a finger at Hailey. "I knew something was off when you kicked off at that guy last night—there's something more to this."
I smile, but I'm wary of what she might say.
Her shoulders fall, and her back slouches as she slumps back into the chair, and she sighs, really loudly. "Fine," she places her head in her hand, her green eyes looking everywhere but to me.
