“The freckles are cute,” she says without really thinking about it, because they are. She’s discovering an annoying desire to inspect those at close range, too. “Why would it be rude for you to assume I’m in high school? I know I look like I’m about fifteen.” She sounds faintly disgusted with that. “Anyway. I write mostly science fiction, fantasy, stuff like that. I want to be like Tolkien, or maybe Brandon Sanderson.”
Stiles winces a little, although his mouth is trying to pull upwards into a smile, which makes the whole expression look somewhat more theatric than necessary. “I don’t know, it felt rude, like I don’t know any woman who likes to be mistaken for a high school student but, hey, not gonna pretend I understand girls in the least, so…yeah. Glad you didn’t think it was rude. Uh—Sanderson, like…the guy who made the Wheel of Time series actually stop sucking for five seconds?”
Summer waggles her eyebrows at him a little, just to let him know that it really doesn’t bother her all that much, she’s used to it. “Yex, exactly, him. Have you read his epic fantasy series? Oh my god. It is so amazing. He takes everything Jordan was trying to do and kinda failed at and makes it work, and his cosmology is fucking /huge/, and it’s just /amazing/.” She bounces up out of the chair, and vanishes around the half-wall dividing the bedroom from the rest of the apartment, which turns out to be lined with bookshelves, because she comes back with a giant paperback. Like, the thing has a two-inch spine. “I haven’t bought the second one yet.”