For the next twenty minutes, they stand side by side in his kitchen, laughing, talking, and forgetting.
Jahlani questions him about high school, and he obediently offers up the information, telling her about anything and everything she wants to know. Occasionally, his hand will skate down her back, her elbow, her fingers. He pushes each time. Seeing what he can get away with it, which is apparently a lot.
Because every now and then, she’ll press her shoulder to his, she’ll touch him as she laughs, she’ll move a little closer. She’ll break a rule and invite him into her space.
After they slide the tray into the oven and set the timer, Jahlani settles back on the kitchen island, her glass in hand, her braids in a loose bun.
His chest thunders against his ribcage because she looks comfortable.
She looks comfortable inhis home.
And it’s everything and nothing and he needs it to besomething.
“Can I tell you a secret?” Jahlani says from her position on the island. Her feet swing from the edge. She’s onto her second glass of wine as they wait for the timer to go off. He stands adjacent to her, his own glass in his hand.
“Mhm.”
Her eyes widen, and she lets out a giddy laugh. “Okay, but you can’t tell anyone.”
He snorts, setting his glass down. “Okay.”
She laughs again, biting her lip. She fans her face before exhaling slowly. “Okay, you know Dr. Hunt?”
He crosses his arms across his chest, his mind firing through all the faculty from the school. “Vaguely.”
Jahlani makes an annoyed grunt. “Come on, she has blue eyes, brown hair …” She trails off when he continues to stare. “Okay, well. I caught her and Jackson hugging in his office earlier today!” she says, seeming so impressed with herself forgossipingthat he can’t help the slow grin spreading on his face. She sighs, reaching for her drink. “It sounded juicier in my head.”
Roman laughs, sending his head back. “Yeah, I can see that.” He spins, inspecting the food in the oven before grabbing twoporcelain plates from the cabinets and setting them down. With his back turned, he asks, “You think something’s going on?”
He turns back around as she frowns, looking into her glass. “I don’t know. I guess it wouldn’t be allowed if they were,” she says, meeting his eyes.
He inhales, wondering for a moment if they’re talking about the same thing, but she swiftly changes the subject.
“Your turn now. Tell me a secret. Tell me something deep and dark and tragic,” she says in a mockingly deep voice.
He laughs, folding his arms across his chest. “What do you want to know?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. You seem to know everything about me. I’m always spilling my guts to you, so it’s only fair.” She pats his shoulder, “Tell me something, and make it good.”
He sighs, shaking his head.
“Come on,” she croons. “Tell me all your secrets,” she says in a horrible, witch-like voice.
He laughs, dropping his glass in the sink. He wipes his hands on the back of his shorts, turning to face her.
“Okay,” he says, drumming his fingers on the countertop. “I don’t like celebrating my birthday anymore.”
She tilts her head. “Okay. Tell me more.”
He exhales. “Um, well, I don’t feel like I’m worth celebrating.”
His words hang in the air between them, and the timer goes off. He rotates, turning it off and grabbing the oven mitts.
Jahlani is next to him, peering down as he tries to maneuver the tray out without burning either of them. “What do you mean you don’t feel like you’re worth celebrating?”
Setting the tray down, he slams the oven door shut with his hip. He shrugs, removing the lid from the icing. He slathers it onto the first bun before handing the spoon to her.
He sighs, watching as she moves onto the third one.
