Don't Let It Break Your Heart by Maggie Horne

Author:Maggie Horne [Horne, Maggie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Young Adult
ISBN: 9781250894977
Amazon: 1250894972
Barnesnoble: 1250894972
Goodreads: 200982271
Publisher: Feiwel & Friends
Published: 2024-08-26T22:00:00+00:00

Missing you at UN, baby!!! Where are you??

Olivia doesn’t miss people. Especially not at UN, where she can remind everyone that she knows everything about everything and then literally win a medal for it. It’s like it was designed specifically for her.

She notices things, and she definitely notices things about Gray. She might not know him as well as I do, but she knows him well enough to know when he’s upset about something. That plus me not being there isn’t too difficult to put together.

Last year, Mimi’s had basically become our post-UN tradition. Until she stopped asking me. So now it’s pretty clear Olivia’s trying to figure it out. Figure me and Gray out, like always.

I reply Just family stuff! Mimi’s next week?

I’m feeling bold enough to actually try and call Olivia out on her bullshit, but she replies almost instantly, oh my god PLEASE!!!!!! And ugh, I kind of get excited at the thought of something being normal again. Olivia has a way of sucking you in, of making you feel like the two of you are the only people on the planet, so it wouldn’t even matter if you told her what you really thought of all your friends or your deepest darkest secrets. You come away from hanging out with Liv blinking into the sun and wondering what, exactly, you just said. I stuff my phone into my pocket and try to forget it exists. It’s surprisingly easy to do when I remember who I’m with.

“I need to abuse some dough,” I announce once Tal and I step into my house, throwing bags and jackets and boots off to the side in a way my parents would normally yell at me for, but we’ll get away with because they’re visiting my aunt. “Do you know how to make bread?”

Tal laughs, and then looks at me and realizes I’m not joking, and then she really laughs. “Obviously I don’t know how to make bread,” she says. “Seeing as I am not a pioneer.”

“Oh, then my plan to have you churn the butter was a big mistake.”

I grab everything we need—as if I’d let this house exist without a steady stock of yeast, flour, and sugar—and Tal watches from her spot perched on my kitchen counter as I combine everything.

“Want a job?” I ask, and Tal hops down.

“I need warm water in that bowl.” I point to where the yeast, miracle ingredient of miracle ingredients, is waiting patiently.

Tal moves slowly, letting the water run and adjusting the temperature, asking me to test it, letting it fill a measuring cup before she pours it in carefully. She pushes the sleeves of her sweater up around her elbows, tucks a dark curl behind her ear, and my mouth runs dry. I lean my elbow on the counter and watch her, soaking up every second I have of her here, in my kitchen, doing this with me.

We’re standing beside each other, and if I look down, it’s so normal. We’re both in big knit sweaters (she looks cool, I look like I’m humoring my grandmother’s craft project).

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