“I don’t have a crush on him,” I repeat, quietly this time, all the giddy happiness I felt leaving my body at once. Dammit. Why is it so elusive? Why can’t I hold on to it longer? Don’t I fucking deserve that after everything I’ve been through? “Hey, do you want to come over for dinner tonight?”
“Really?” Arlo asks, eyes brightening. He’s only twenty-two, and even though it’s really not that much younger than me, it feels like I’ve lived seven lifetimes since I was his age.
“Yeah, it’ll be fun. I’ll see if Jasper wants to stay too. I think it’ll make me feel better to hang out with him some before he teaches me self-defense. You’re still coming, right?”
“Yeah, I’m still coming.”
I smile. “Perfect.”
Whenourlittleconvoypulls into the driveway, some of my happiness has returned, especially knowing I get to cook dinner. Austin would never control me, but he has been slightly against me cooking. At least when it comes to elaborate meals.
I’m still riding the high of buying a car, still giving Damien the big “fuck you” in my head, so I’m gonna ride that high all the way to the kitchen and cook for my friends and Austin.
Jasper and Austin are deep in conversation about something that happened on a call when we walk inside. I go straight to the kitchen and start pulling out flour and eggs so I can make some homemade pasta for dinner.
I’m pretty sure Austin only has jarred sauce, but that’s alright. It’s still better to have the pasta homemade if nothing else.
“What are you doing?” Austin asks, catching my attention.
“Making dinner.” I wave my hand over the counter. “I want to.”
Austin watches me for a second, his gaze assessing before his lips curve up. “Okay. Can’t wait.”
Arlo joins me next to the counter, tapping his fingers against it nervously. “Can I help?”
“Of course.” I take a few minutes to disinfect the counter and then mound my flour up in the center.
Arlo gets closer. “What exactly are you making?”
“Pasta. Want me to show you how? It’s super easy and way better than anything you’ll find in a store.”
Damien wouldn’t settle for anything less than perfection, and store-bought pasta wasnotan option in our home. He expected me to make it like this each time, and it had to be perfect. If it was, he rewarded me. If not…
I was excellent at making pasta.
Arlo and I work side by side to get the dough made and rolled out. Unlike when I used to cook for Damien, I’m happy. I’m having fun. Austin doesn’t have the fancy pasta roller and cutter that Damien did, so the strips are far from uniform, and the dough is thicker in places than in others.
Arlo has a bit of flour on his button nose, and his smile matches mine, and Austin is chuckling at something he and Jasper are talking about, and something about the whole thing isperfect.Even with the messed-up pasta and the mess in the kitchen.
“You cook, I clean,” Austin says from the couch, eyeing me. “Don’t even think about cleaning up that flour mess.”
I roll my eyes at him, sticking my tongue out. “Fine.”
I gesture toward the stove. “Wanna get some water boiling?”
Once the water is boiling, I drop the pasta in. “Fresh pasta doesn’t take as long to cook as store-bought, shelf-stable pasta, so it just needs to cook for a couple of minutes.”
“This is fun,” Arlo says softly. “Thank you for inviting me.”
“Thank you for coming.” I bump into his side, smiling when he laughs.
After the pasta is cooked, I divvy it up onto four plates, topping each one with a little extra sauce. Next time, I’ll also make the sauce from scratch. “Wanna take two and help me take these to the living room?”
The only downfall of this house is that it’s too small for a dining room table, but I kind of like it. Sitting around the living roomfeels… intimate and homey. Just laughter and good food, and it’ll be especially nice in the winter when we have a fire going.
Arlo and I hand out the food and sit down at the coffee table on the floor.
“So you’re coming to self-defense tomorrow, eh, sweetheart?” Jasper asks, staring right at Arlo.
