Chapter 8

Page Six
Last seen: Luke Brown, senior at prestigious Kingston School for Boys, at Zabar's buying ingredients for an Ice Box pie.

Two days later, Thursday for those of you who didn't get into BC Calc, Emma's doorman buzzed up.

Amanda was out with her family, as usual, leaving her no choice but to go home, and smoke cigarettes out her bedroom window for most of the afternoon. Her parents were both out getting ready to redo her room, the twins were at practice for their various sports teams, and Henry was well ... at college. She wore her good ole cashmere bottoms again, and this time Henry's old Yale sweatshirt (he went to Yale).

"Hello?" she quipped.

"Visitor."

"Who?"

"Can't say..."

"What the fuck..." she muttered. Then in a voice he could actually hear, "Send them up."

"What the fuck?" she muttered again as she slammed the phone back on its hook in the foyer.

She went back into her room, running a brush through her hair, and spritzing herself with perfume, just in case it was her mom's completely gay personal shopper who had his arms full, and "can't say" meant Alfred (the doorman) wasn't sure who it was.

She didn't even bother to look through the hole, just flung the door open. One iPod headphone still hung down from her ear, the other still blasting an old Doors song.

There stood Luke, a Tupperware container in his hand.

"What?"

"Don't slam the door..."

He stepped into the foyer.

"Now that would be pointless."

He always made things adorably ironic like that.

"Go ahead..."

She slammed it shut, and they felt the foyer shake a bit.

"That was nice..."

"What do you want?"

"Come on..." he turned her shoulders around, and steered her towards the kitchen, his arm still around her shoulders.

She shrugged him off and plopped down onto one of the bar stools.

"Now..."

Against her own will, she watched him admiringly.

She loved the way his shaggy hair moved as he shook it out of his eyes. She loved the way his olive green sweater brought out the green and golden flakes in his beautiful, almost identical to hers, sapphire eyes. She loved the peak of six pack and hips triangling into his pants view she got when he stretched his arm up to get a plate out of the cabinet.

She loved the way he knew exactly where everything in her kitchen was.

She loved the way his hands delicately held the slicing knife as he lifted something that looked like a white pie out of the container, and cut into it.