His eyebrows shot up. “Two hours? I think I’d lose my mind if I had to sit still for that long.”
“We threw on that trashy reality show,Tough Love, and talked through it the whole time. It was kind of fun.”
I pulled out my phone to show him the before and after pictures. She’d left with healthier hair than she’d come in with. It was now a soft, chestnut brown that fit her features a lot better than the harsh red. I was proud of that.
Reid squinted at it, the glare reflecting in his glasses. “That’s incredible. Her hair looked about ready to fall off in the before shot.”
“Don’t bleach your hair at home,” I said, setting my phone face down.
He turned his back to me to shake the pan. “Why do I feel like you don’t follow your own advice?”
“Hairdressers abide by a different set of rules,” I said, thinking fondly of the time I had tried to do a rainbow underlayer at home for Pride month. “Can I help with anything?”
“Nope, almost done. Hope you’re hungry, because I made way too much pasta. Apparently, I can either cook for one person or a dozen, there is no in-between.”
I smiled. “That’s alright. I’ll happily eat for at least three. Can I send you some money for groceries, or?—”
“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” he cut me off.
I had tried to broach the subject of money with Reid twice before now. He was letting me stay in his house rent free, he was helping me out of the goodness of his heart, and now he was feeding me. I owed him. Big time. Even though he said I didn’t, I refused to be someone who took advantage of someone’s good nature. I’d think of a way to make it up to him, somehow.
“Do you cook much?” he asked.
“Does boxed mac and cheese count?”
He poured the onions into a larger pot and stirred its contents. “Hazel,” he scolded. “You should know how to cook.”
It should have concerned me how much I loved when he used that slightly stern tone with me.
“I’ve dabbled here and there, but usually everything I make turns out meh. No one ever taught me. Gran was never much of a talent in the kitchen either. Her idea of a homecooked meal was a pot of hamburger helper or jarred alfredo sauce.”
And what I wouldn’t give to taste one of her store-bought-homecooked meals again. They were the definition of comfort food for me.
Reid scanned my face before setting down the spatula on a rubber mat. “I could teach you. If you wanted, that is. I’m not saying I’m a gourmet chef or anything, but I like to cook.”
Ugh, see?Sofreaking nice. This guy was literally irresistible. “That could be fun,” I said. Reid shot me a shy smile and something warm settled into my gut and made itself at home.
Reid continued to cook while I went to get the plates down from his perfectly organized cabinets. The big, thick ones were just out of my reach, so without thinking, I hiked up my knee to rest on the counter and hoisted myself up a few inches to grab them before jumping down again.
“Hazel!” Reid barked, behind me in an instant.
“Shit,” I scrambled backward, nearly dropping the plates. “I’m sorry.” Crap, had I grossed him out by putting my knee on the counter, or something? I hadn’t even thought twice about it. It was my go-to maneuver for reaching into high cabinets.
“Careful,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Ask me to get them next time, or we can get you a stool.”
“Oh, um…” My voice trailed off. Was he…worried about my safety? I wasn’t sure what to say to that, so I settled on, “Alright.”
We ate our steaming bowls of garlicky penne at the table, a habit I realized I quite liked. Maybe it was Reid’s company, but there was something cozy about sitting down at a table for a meal. It made it easier to focus on each other, to actually talk without distractions.
He set a piece of bread onto my plate as we started effortlessly rehashing the details of our days, trading little stories and observations. It felt ordinary in the most special way possible.
“I can’t believe you saw Paul at the gym,” I said after we were both onto our second servings. I had been delaying bringing this up. First, because I was slightly worried Reid would judge me for dating someone who looked and acted like Paul. And second, because I knew he was absolutely going to hate the idea I was about to propose.
I swear I saw his jaw tense. “No offense, Hazel, but that guy seems like a jerk.”
A laugh escaped me. “No offense taken. He kind of is.”
With the food cleared from both of our plates, I got up, grabbed Reid’s, and carried them over to the dishwasher.
