Aunty Rose's scones were small windowless buildings - if you could manage to worry one down it sat and sulked at the bottom of your stomach for hours, impervious to the processes of digestion. I giggled, and she said haughtily, "My scones are very nice."
"We could bury you with a batch," I suggested as we went slowly back down the hall. "And if archaeologists opened your grave thousands of years in the future they'd find them there, just as good as on the day they were cooked."
"Ill mannered wench," Aunty Rose said. She sank onto the edge of her bed and reached up to touch my cheek as he had Matt's. "I'm glad the pair of you finally sorted yourselves out."
I smiled at her. "You sorted us out, didn't you ?"
"I swore I wouldn't interfere, but I couldn't stand it any longer."
"Thank-you," I said soberly.
"You're welcome. Honestly, Josephine, for an intelligent girl you can be appallingly dim at times. Couldn't you have fluttered your eyelashes at the poor boy ?

Autore: Danielle Hawkins