She blinked, totally thrown.
I sighed. “For now, focus on your internship and thesis. Prof. Harington’s not exactly a softie.”
Emma groaned and flopped onto her desk. I slid the cake Peter brought in front of her, grabbed my bag, and walked out.
***
Peter was standing by the department board, staring like he was deep in thought. When he spotted me, he smiled and reached for my bag.
Noticing I only had my purse, he asked, “Where’s the cake?”
“Gave it to the new intern, Emma. She’s drowning in her thesis proposal.”
I kept my tone flat. His smile twitched, then stalled.
He knew the old me would’ve never handed off something he brought. But now? I didn’t even blink. That shift clearly threw him.
I didn’t add anything—just kept walking.
If I hadn’t seen Cindy’s latest message, maybe I would’ve hesitated. But five minutes earlier, she’d sent a pic—two slices of cake, one strawberry, one matcha.
[Told Peter I wanted cake. He went out just to get it. He was going to give you the strawberry one, but I pouted a little, and he let me have it.]
Later, when Peter served the chicken soup, I looked at him through the steam.
“Peter, is there something you want to tell me?”