Chapter 18: A glass

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"So where is all your stuff anyway?" I gestured to the apartment, which looked as if no one lived here at all, while I took some bowls and put them on the counter

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"So where is all your stuff anyway?" I gestured to the apartment, which looked as if no one lived here at all, while I took some bowls and put them on the counter.

"You mean clothes?" He looked at me confused.

"Personal stuff, I mean. Photos, books, or something. It looks so...empty." I shrugged my shoulders. "If it wasn't for that sweatshirt, I'd think nobody lived here." I nodded my head at the couch, over which a black sweatshirt was draped.

"I don't own anything like that."

"Oh." For some reason, I felt sorry for him.

I turned my back to him while I laid out everything I needed next to me on the counter.

"So how old is Jeremy anyway?" He spoke first after a few seconds.

"You bought him a present that costs more than anything he owns and you don't even know how old he is?" I laughed. "Twenty-nine."

As soon as his age came out of my mouth, I realized something. How old is Finn anyway?

"Um...I guess since I'm in your apartment..." I turned and leaned my hands on the counter behind me. "I should at least know how old are you." I laughed nervously. "Or you know...your last name."

My God, I'm in a stranger's apartment.

"Oh." A small smile played on his lips. "Twenty-eight. Acker."

"Twenty-four. Pierce." I said determinedly. "Nice to meet you?" I raised an eyebrow with humor.

"Yes." He laughed. "Nice to meet you."

And then we already maintained a conversation without any awkwardness. I told him how I met Jeremy and the others. And a little about what I like to do.

But I couldn't help but notice that he didn't want to talk about himself at all. I didn't go to force him into it, but still. I would like to know more about him.

After I finished the cake and stored it in the almost empty refrigerator, I had planned to wash the dishes but Finn quickly stopped me and said that if he couldn't help me with the baking, he would at least clean up.

When he said that, my pulse quickened for a moment. If only he knew that I hate cleaning up after I bake or cook. I always dreamed of finding someone to cook for and he would then clean it up.

Dream on, Lexi.

With a bowl that still had some frosting left, I sat on top of the counter, my feet not touching the ground, and licked the spoon.

"Thank you again for letting me do it here."

"Any time." He said, his back to me while he washed the dishes. "You looked good in my kitchen."

I know it wasn't an attempt to flirt, but I don't think my little naive heart knew that.

"Now you know where I live, so if you're passing by and want to stop for coffee..." He shrugged.

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