The Chosen One (The Chosen One #1) by T.B. Markinson

Author:T.B. Markinson [Markinson, T.B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Contemporary, Lesbian, Lesbian Romance, Mystery, New Adult, Politics
Goodreads: 30135385
Publisher: T.B. Markinson
Published: 2016-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

***

In the car on the way back to Maya’s dorm, I apologized for Pat. “I’m sorry. I should have warned you about his flask.”

She waved me off. “He’s pretty funny. Odd, though. Who was the guy he mentioned? Liam?”

“Oh, him. Dad’s younger brother decided the Carmichaels were too much to handle.” Lying left a nasty taste in my mouth, but what could I say? We’re almost certain Uncle Liam is swimming with the fishes because of Grandmother? I braced for a question about being the Chosen One.

“I wish I could take Grover home with me. What a sweet dog,” Maya said.

The tension behind my eyes dissipated. “You and Pat both. He adores that dog. That’s one thing he’s always loved about Fiona.” I was intrigued she’d asked about Liam but hadn’t said anything about the other stuff. Was she trying to respect my privacy? Or was she afraid of opening conversations that might involve tit for tat?

“Grover?”

I laughed. “No, her love of animals.”

Maya nodded thoughtfully. I wanted to know what thoughts ran through her beautiful head. “He really loves Fiona.”

“Yes, he does. I hope it doesn’t ruin him.” I hadn’t intended to share that much information. “Here we are,” I said in a silly singsong voice as I pulled up in front of her dorm.

She didn’t bolt from the car like she had last time; instead, Maya the Gray chewed the side of her cheek, like she was mulling something over. Several seconds passed before she said, “Would you like a cup of coffee?” She swallowed. “Another one, I mean?”

“Sure. Is the shop still open?” I turned the keys in the ignition, clutching the gearshift in my right hand, ready to put the car into reverse.

“Upstairs.” Maya placed her hand on mine. “I’ve mastered making coffee in my room.”

Her hand stayed on top of mine, and my heartrate shot through the roof. “That would be lovely,” I said, my voice cracking.

We walked up three flights of stairs, neither of us speaking. When we entered her room, I was taken aback by its sparseness. My room wasn’t extravagant, but Fiona had helped me decorate it a smidgeon to make it homier, even though I spent many a night in her guest bedroom.

In the corner sat a coffee pot‌—‌the most expensive item in the room. “I can’t live without coffee,” Maya explained, filling the machine from a jug of water she’d pulled out of a dented mini-fridge that appeared older than Maya was.

“Is that why you work at La Creperie and not any of the restaurants you mentioned earlier?”

“Partly. I got tired of the clientele. Occasionally, I pick up some shifts at Nadine’s,” she said with her back turned.

“I can only imagine about the patrons,” I said, hoping to relieve the tension.

“How’d you end up at the crepe shop?”

“A few years back, the owner of La Creperie was the manager of one of the places I worked. When she opened her place, she asked me to join the staff. It’s not close to here,” she said, waving to her room, “but I like the atmosphere.

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