“You can say, yes, I want to go. Or no, I don’t want to go.” He pointed to where each button was as he said it.
Cameron said, “Yes. I want to go. Beach.”
“Great job.” Asher gave him knuckles, and the two of them walked out the bungalow door together. Asher was reminding him where the beach words were on his talker, and they were talking about the flamingos.
They looked adorable together—both so different. Asher tall and broad with longish dark hair. Cameron had short blond hair, was slim, and the top of his head barely came to Asher’s shoulder. With Cameron, Asher was—dare she say it?—friendly. Which proved that side of him did exist.
It didn’t explain why she felt compelled to provoke him. Maybe because it was the only way to get him to acknowledge her at all.
“Sure, I’d love to come too,” Eliana said to their backs. “Thanks for the kind invite.”
Asher’s long side-eye was the only indication that he’d heard her.
Chapter 8
Theturtleonhiskitchen table chewed its lettuce with lazy, round jaw movements as it stared at Asher.
“I don’t like animals,” he informed it with a low voice.
The turtle seemed unfazed. If only Asher could be so calm.
Ever since Eliana showed up at his house almost two weeks ago with her suitcase in one hand and a turtle habitat in the other, his life had taken an unexpected twist.
And an animal? She hadn’t told him about that, or else he might have taken his chances with Mr. Richardson.
He finished closing the blinds Eliana had opened and leaned against the kitchen counter. She was going to arouse curiosity with the open blinds. Eliana unsettled him—and he hadn’t even seen her yet today.
Chicken alfredo. That would do the trick.
In his desperation to avoid the bungalow, he hadn’t cooked anything since Eliana moved in. He missed it, and not just the good food, but the process of making it—that time relaxing and creating he only experienced while cooking.
He didn’t know where she’d gone tonight, but it was the first time in a while he had the bungalow to himself.
He opened the fridge to get the butter, Parmesan cheese, cream, and garlic cloves out. He debated using dried pasta, but a day like today called for homemade noodles. He set eggs and flour on the counter beside the other ingredients, already feeling more settled.
Something happened in the kitchen, with his fingers kneading dough or when chicken sizzled in the pan or in the rhythmic motion of cutting vegetables, where his mind finally calmed.
As he cooked, each tightly wound nerve unfurled. And when he plated his chicken alfredo and inhaled its buttery garlicy scent, he didn’t even mind as much that a turtle temporarily lived in his space.
These months would pass. Eliana would move out.
And then?
He couldn’t think that far ahead. One hurdle at a time.
He sat on the couch where the turtle couldn’t watch him, eating that first blissful bite, when Eliana blew into the bungalow like a fresh summer breeze. How did she do that?
She didn’t see him at first. She hummed one of Aurelia Halifax’s new songs as she kicked off her sandals, then muttered, “This is why I’m never getting married again.”
“Again?”
She screamed and tripped over her shoes, landing against the door with a thud. Her gaze shot over to his with lightning speed as she realized she wasn’t alone.
He cringed. “Sorry.” Wait. Was he apologizing for being in his own house—well, his grandpa’s house?
She laughed with a hand over her heart, as if to slow it down. “Uh, I’m sure that was quite a sight.” She kicked her shoes farther from the door. “It smells incredible in here.”
His stomach tightened as she breathed in his cooking, a not unpleasant feeling, but not a welcome one either. “You can’t open all the blinds.” There. Put her back at a distance. “Someone will notice.”
