But she didn’t seem to feel the same way.
“Actually,” she said, stopping me before I could leave, “I noticed something last time we were here. Does Asher always scrape the cheese off your pizza before giving you a slice. Do you not eat dairy?”
The word ‘always’ made me pause. I swallowed hard, my throat tight. “I... I actually like cheese,” I admitted, feeling sick to my stomach.
Celeste smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “I know. He’s always said you didn’t like it because I’m lactose intolerant. It’s a habit he has... for ME.”
It was like a punch to the gut.
I had always thought Asher did it because he was looking out for me. I didn’t mind it—it was his little habit. But now, I realized the truth. He never did it for me. He did it for *her.*
Celeste tilted her head, a sly smile curving her lips as she watched me from across the table. The warm glow of the Italian restaurant didn’t soften the sharpness in her eyes.
"You know…" her voice light and airy, "I’ve always thought we looked alike. Almost like sisters, don’t you think?"