"She doesn't despise you anymore."
Thorne regarded Winter almost suspiciously, brow wrinkled. "Despise is a bit strong for a word, don't you think?"
"Ha," said Cinder, running the frother a few extra times in Winter's drink. "Despise is too mild of a word for your situation."
"It's impossible to hate me," said Thorne, now folding his arms in a show of concern.
"Trust me, it was hate," said Cinder.
Winter, for once out of her chair and even ordering something new, looked dreamily between the two of them, as if she knew something they didn't. Cinder couldn't figure out why talking about someone despising Thorne made her practically giddy, but interacting with her in the Lunar Café had showed her that nothing could make Winter angry or upset. Perhaps she was just in her usual mind space—wherever that was.
"But the point is that Cress has moved beyond that now. I've given her some more cultural theories to study. I have to admit she's not terribly interested in them, but she's at least reconsidering her harsh words."
"Words he deserved," muttered Cinder.
Thorne shook his head. "No, no, no. I don't want her to go out with me because of my culture. I get enough of that already."
"Yeah, yeah, we know," said Cinder, "you're such a good-looking Italian."
Winter smiled sweetly. "Thorne is pleasant-looking."
"Don't encourage him!"
"I don't need encouragement," he said. "I need tips on how to get this girl."
"Notice your vocabulary," said Winter. "Get this girl." She clucked her tongue and looked sympathetically at Cinder. She handed Winter the now-finished drink.
"I heard your speech the first time," said Thorne. "I'm going to be wonderfully sensitive and tactful the next time I see my true love."
"You don't even know her!" said Cinder.
"I'm confident that I will."
Winter reached out to pat Thorne's arm. "Perhaps."
"I don't know why you're giving me lectures, Cinder," said Thorne. "When you clearly have no idea how to respond to someone with tact."
"I do too!" she huffed.
"What's going on?" asked Winter.
Cinder shook her head. "No, not here. Not now."
"Get it together, Cinder! The man apologized profusely with gifts and treats—that were delicious, I might add—and came in here looking like a puppy dog, wagging his injured, heartbroken, little tail."
Cinder dug her fingers into the counter. Thorne was unbelievable. She was doomed to have her entire private life—or whatever it was—exposed to every customer on her work rotation, wasn't she? In fact, if she ever ended up calling Kai, she would tell him just how inappropriate it was to do romantic displays of affection while she was on the job. Most of the people she served coffee to went to her college. They could show up in her classes next year, in the after-school clubs she never felt like joining anyway but might someday make an appearance in, or…or…somewhere! Rumors spread quickly at her school. She did not want to be the blunt of anyone's joke or the topic of anyone's gossip. Though, admittedly, she was surprised she hadn't heard anything yet about the Aimery-Kai fiasco. Surely, if Aimery were as bad as Kai had said, then he would have let everyone know how much he had humiliated Kai. And Cinder too. Right?
"Kai?" asked Winter, releasing the name from her lips through a slight giggle.
"Yes, Kai," said Thorne. "She won't call him back."
"I'm thinking of it," said Cinder. "These things require time…processing…" She fumbled for more words to explain herself. "Time."
"It's a two-second decision," said Thorne."
"Love is like the wind," said Winter.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"It blows around and destroys the very infrastructure of your soul," Thorne whispered.
Winter frowned. "No. It means that it does what it wishes and we can't control it. You have to follow the wind."
"Is that a quote from Pocahontas?" asked Cinder.
"What's that?" asked Winter.
"Disney," Thorne and Cinder chorused.
Winter sighed contentedly. "Ah. I haven't had much time to watch movies like that. My step-mother didn't approve of them growing up, and Jacin, well…he's more of the action movie type. I don't mind, though. I just want him to be happy."
"Gag," said Thorne.
"How do you even know that word?" asked Cinder.
"It's an important word for people in the culinary profession."
"You're going to be a lawyer."
"Another profession that requires an arsenal of words."
Winter clapped her hands. "Oh! How wonderful! Are you thinking of working in human rights perhaps?"
Thorne stared at her before rolling his eyes into the back of his head with laughter. "You're a real hoot, Winter."
"I don't think she was joking," said Cinder. Winter was still standing there with a bright smile on her face.
"You're serious?" asked Thorne.
"I'm always serious," said Winter.
He gaped. "But there's no money in that at all."
"Gee," said Cinder. "Maybe some of us are looking to change the world rather than just make money."
Winter nodded even as Thorne held up his hands. "I want to be independent from my family. Why do you think I came to America to study?"
"Because you enjoy school?"
"Absolutely not," said Thorne. Winter's smile was faltering, suddenly, and Cinder had the urge to reach out and comfort her—to protect her naïve little self from Thorne's words. "You don't need school," he continued. "It's just a tool to get you a job. And once I have a job that pays well enough, I can move far, far away from my family. Winter, surely as a psychology major you can understand a man's need to be independent."
Winter brightened again. "Maybe when you're independent, you can be a good type of lawyer." She turned to Cinder. "But you're not off the hook."
"I'm not—"
The bell rang and the three of them looked expectantly at the door. It had been an unusually calm evening. They turned back to each other quickly as Wolf and Scarlet strode through the door, holding hands. Cinder, however, peeked over Winter's dark, curly locks and saw how much he was grinning. All those days that he had sat waiting to make his move, and it had heaped big rewards—even if his Valentine's Day surprise had been a disaster. Maybe some disasters brought good in the end. Maybe hers could too.
"Yeah, okay, maybe I should call him," she whispered.
Winter squealed—literally squealed. In fact, she clapped her hands and jumped up and down.
"Shhhh!" said Cinder.
"Who cares at this point?" said Thorne. "It's not like there's anyone in this café right now who doesn't know you're madly in love with Kai."
Winter jumped a little less. "You shouldn't throw the word love around, Thorne."
He shrugged.
Cinder put her hand into her pocket and pulled out the crinkly piece of paper she'd been carrying around for four days. She had considered leaving it at home or putting it in her backpack, but she was deathly afraid that she would lose it or that it would go missing if she took it off her person. Plus, if she ever made the spontaneous decision to call him—like now—she didn't want to chicken out because she didn't have his number with her at the moment.
She stared at it.
448-59—
Thorne ripped the paper out of her hands. "You're really going to do it?" He was full of glee, and knowing him, his tone of voice was probably his version of Winter's squealing.
"Give me the paper back before I change my mind."
Thorne kept it in his fist. "You don't have a cell phone?"
"Yes, I do."
"Then you should put the number in your phone, Cinder, like a normal person."
"He has a point," said Winter thoughtfully. "What if you lost it?"
"That's exactly why—"
"Or what if you spilled something on it?" said Thorne, waving the paper over his carton coffee cup before bringing it back into his fist.
"Just give it back."
"It must not really be that important," joked Thorne, letting the paper fall from his hands, "if anyone could just drop it on the ground where people could step on it."
The paper floated to the ground and Cinder and Thorne both dove for it at the same time, Thorne laughing and Cinder flushing red. Thorne snatched it up first and she struggled against him.
"How much do you really want to call Kai?" said Thorne. "Prove your worth."
"Stop," shrieked Winter, but it was too late. Cinder's elbow had shot out to snake behind Thorne's forearm and hit Thorne's coffee cup.
Horrified, the three of them watched in slow motion as the coffee splashed out of the container and onto Cinder and Thorne.
Onto the paper.
Onto Kai's number.
"Burning! Burning! Burning!" Thorne yelled, shaking the coffee off of him. He backed away from the counter, away from Cinder, the soggy paper in his hand dripping as he cursed about the hot coffee.
Cinder, ignoring the coffee on her, grabbed a rag from behind her and held it under the paper. Thorne finally dropped it on top.
"Oh dear," said Winter. "Can you still read it?"
"You're worried about the paper while I'm over here with third degree burns?"
Cinder's glare shut up any more complaining on his part. She dabbed at the paper, but it was no use.
"It's ruined," she said. "Look."
She handed the towel with the paper to Winter. She inspected every angle. "It looks like a 4 and 0 and maybe a…5? Or 6? The ink is too smeared to tell."
"I know."
"If you'd saved the number in your phone we wouldn't be in this situation," said Thorne defensively.
"If you hadn't—"
He held up his hands. "I know. I'm sorry."
Cinder shrank against the counter. What on Earth was she going to do now?
Maybe—maybe this was a sign from the stars that she was never supposed to call him back.