Forever, Yours ➹ Timothée Chalamet

16 | So This Is Love

VERA

_

"I HAVE HALF-A-MIND TO KILL ALL OF YOU," I hissed, sliding into my spot in the backseat of Avery's car.

After the (semi) successful scam we pulled, I found myself climbing into a vehicle in the back of a dark alley, cheeks puffed out with annoyance. The adrenaline rush of seducing—and then saving—a man's life tired me out, and the knowledge that the piece of weaponry that had Pierre choking was Timothée's earpiece...

...was infuriating.

"I agree with the part that you have half-a-mind, but I'll pass on the murder," Sam grinned, tapping the dashboard with his fingers, "I've got things and people to do before I die."

"Oh, stop it," I frowned, smacking him lightly on the arm, "where's Timothée?"

Avery tapped on the window pane. "There."

I turned my head to see a familiar head of brown curls running towards the car, unbuttoning the loops of a chef's coat with one hand as he ducked under exit signs. His appearance was more rugged than the last time I had seen him, and definitely more stressed. Whatever mischief he found himself in was probably the result of the 'earpiece incident'.

He popped open the car door and slid in quickly.

"Hey," he said to me through heavy breaths, "you okay?"

The car was silent as I debated two things. One, I was slightly mad at him, and didn't want to give him the generous act of responding kindly. Two, it was evidently awkward how he seemed more focused on asking me if I was okay. The first thing he said as he got in the car, was something about my well-being.

"Well, gee, I'm doing bloody great," Avery said sarcastically, "thanks for asking, Chalamet."

Timothée shut the car door. "I'm asking Vera."

"And why not us?" Sam frowned.

"Because I was with you three the entire time, and she was the one who had to go near my disgusting Uncle."

"Just admit that you care about her more, and move along," Sam yawned.

Timothée ignored him.

I wanted to ignore him too, but Brontté's words were like a boost to the heart—no matter how hopeless I've begun to think matters were—but I decided I'd dwell on those thoughts later. I turned towards Timothée instead, narrowing my eyes and holding out my hand.

I dropped his earpiece into his lap.

"Care to explain how that ended up in your Uncle's soup?" I frowned, "I know you hate him, but attempted murder is something I can't excuse."

Timothée stared at me. "It was an accident."

"An accident?" The skepticism was dripping off my tongue. "Do you expect me to believe you?"

"Yes, if you're being smart," he sighed, resting his head against the seat cushion, "one of the waiters was trying to show off by rushing through the kitchen with a soup bowl, and then they crashed into me."

"Let me guess, the earpiece just happened to fall into the soup?"

"Yes, actually."

"Did it do a swan dive while it was at it?"

Timothée gave me a look that had me questioning my ability to live in the next five seconds. I never liked it when he glowered. The few times I had seen him with such a dark expression was when I was adding too many commas into my chapters and refusing to delete them.