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“Do you have something to say?" I prompted. "Or do you just enjoy propping up the wall?"
Colin considered me for a moment longer. Aunt Arabella likes you."
He sounded unflatteringly perplexed.
"There is a small but vocal minority of people who do."
Colin had the good grace to look abashed. "Look, I didn’t mean to�"
"Treat me like I have a loathsome social disease?"
His lips quirked with something that might have been amusement. "Do you?"
"None that I’d admit to in mixed company." After all, an unhealthy obsession with Cadbury Fruit & Nut bars isn’t the sort of weakness a girl confides in just anybody.”
― Lauren Willig, The Secret History of the Pink Carnation

“He smiled â€� a real smile. Damn. It was easier to deal with him when he was being thoroughly vile. "Look, I’m sorry for being so rude earlier today. Your presence came as something of a shock and I reacted badly."
"Oh." Geared for battle, his apology took me utterly by surprise. I gaped.
"Aunt Arabella spoke very highly of you," he added, heaping coals of fire on my head. "She was impressed by your work on the Purple Gentian."
"Why all this sudden amiability?" I asked suspiciously, crossing my arms across my chest.
"Are you always this blunt?"
"I’m too tired to be tactful," I said honestly.
"Fair enough." Stretching, Colin detached himself from the wall. "Can I make you some hot chocolate as a token of peace? I was just about to have some myself," he added.
Suiting action to words, he loped over to the counter beside the sink and checked the level of water in a battered brown plastic electric kettle. Satisfied, he plugged it into the wall, flipping the red switch on the side.
I followed him over to the counter, the linen folds of the nightgown trailing after me across the linoleum. "As long as you promise not to slip any arsenic in it."
Colin rooted around in a cupboard above the sink for the cocoa tin and held it out to me to sniff. "See? Arsenic free."
I leant back against the counter, my elbows behind me on the marble work surface. "I don’t think arsenic is supposed to have a smell, is it?"
"Damn, foiled again." Colin spooned Cadbury’s instant hot chocolate into two mugs, one decorated with large purple flowers, and the other with a quotation that I thought might be Jane Austen, but the author’s name was hidden around the other side of the mug. "Look, if it makes you feel better, I promise to do a very bad job hiding your body."
"In that case, carry on," I yawned.”
― Lauren Willig, The Secret History of the Pink Carnation