“Don’t be a bore, Ahmed,” Ace says, but his voice is teasing. I’m thrown by the change. Has he been switched out for a look-alike? He’s so different from the person I keep expecting him to be. “A little ice cream never killed anybody.”

“A lot of people die from high blood sugar, actually.”

Ace shakes his head. “Do you have an answer for everything?”

I grin widely, unable to help myself. “It’s because I read. You should try it sometime.”

Almost immediately, my muscles tense. I’m not supposed to say things like that to him.

But...he doesn’t look like he minds, so maybe it’s okay.

Slowly, I relax.

“Come on, Ahmed. I’ll pay again,” Ace says, offering me his hand.

I blink down at it once, twice, thrice.

Even with my mother across the world, I can almost physically see her standing over Ace’s shoulder with a sharp look in her eye. According to her, it’s inappropriate to interact with boys aside from neutral pleasantries.

I don’t really understand it, but her warnings are still ingrained in me like decaying roots.

I push his hand back, pressing his fingers down gently until they curl into his palm. “We really have to study.”

He sighs and leans back in his seat. “Fine.”

Our lesson goes completely downhill after that. His gaze keeps drifting away, as if he’s searching the aisles for something. His entire body is rigid for reasons I can’t begin to fathom.

Ten minutes later, I give up. I’m a people pleaser, and this situation clearly isn’t working for either of us. “Okay. You’re not paying attention. Let’s just go.”

Ace shifts his gaze from a bookshelf past my shoulder with a guilty expression on his face. Then my words seem to penetrate his thick skull. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” I roll my eyes. “But from now on we have to spend thirty minutes in the library and thirty minutes there. You can’t slack off during the library time. Okay?”

I’m hoping he’ll agree to the compromise, because I don’t think there’s any other mutually beneficial solution. Thankfully, Ace nods.

Five minutes later, he opens the door to the shop for me and I slip inside, this time inspecting the different doughnut flavors.

The same girl is behind the register, and she looks surprised when she notices me. I didn’t realize yesterday but her name tag says Pietra. She looks only a year or two older than me, though, which doesn’t make sense.

Pietra gestures to her name tag when she sees me looking. “My dad owns the shop. He named it after me.”

“That’s sweet,” I say honestly, trying not to wonder if my parents would do something like that for me. I hope so, but I have no idea. “Can I get a jelly-filled doughnut please?”