Leo doesn’t look up. “I said that?”
I let out a short laugh. “Yeah. Just now. About my kitchen.”
He nods once, eyes still on the screen. “It’s true.”
That’s it. No smile. No follow-up. I bite back the urge to fill the silence. My brain scrambles for levity — something to make this less awkward, less lopsided.
“I’ll add that to my Yelp reviews,” I mumble, half under my breath. “Chef Sage Hart: certified efficient by Leo Voss.”
He snorts — barely audible, but real — and it warms something in me I wish it didn’t. My lips twitch before I can stop them, a smile I try to hide as heat crawls up my neck. I can’ttell if it’s amusement or exasperation, but it’s sound. From him. Progress.
I turn back to the counter, pretending to check his empty bowl. “How’s the timing on that meal?” I ask casually, though I already know. Perfect window for glycogen replenishment. I track his schedule more closely than my own.
“Good,” he says. “You nailed it.”
My pulse skips. “I mean… that’s kind of the job.” I shrug, trying to keep it light, but there’s something intimate about knowing exactly when his body needs fuel. Like reading a language I shouldn’t be fluent in.
He finishes the last bite, sets the spoon down, and the silence lingers a heartbeat—just long enough for the air to thicken—before he sets the spoon down, and finally looks at me — really looks. “Thanks,” he says again, quieter this time. Less automatic.
I force a smile, masking the flicker of warmth that hits too deep. “Don’t mention it.”
When he glances back at the film, I grab a marker from the fridge and, on impulse, scribble something on the corner of his to-do list:Eat joyfully.It’s stupid, probably too whimsical for him, but it makes me smile.
He notices the motion, eyes flicking up. His expression gives nothing away. He just nods once — acknowledgment, not approval — then goes right back to analyzing a defensive shift.
The small spark I’d felt dims, snuffed out by that familiar emptiness. Disappointment slides in, quiet but sharp. I remind myself it’s not his job to notice. Or to care.
My phone buzzes on the counter, vibrating hard enough to rattle against the cutting board. Leo barely glances up, but my stomach drops the second I see the name flash across the screen.
Grayson.
Even muted, the name hits like a slap. I shouldn’t look. I know better. But the preview text pops up before I can stop myself — a voicemail transcription.
Miss your cooking. You were better with me.
My throat tightens. The world narrows to that one line, those five stupid words. I can almost hear the smirk in his voice, dripping with condescension. The kind of tone that used to make me feel small and flattered at the same time.
Leo’s chair creaks slightly. “You okay?”
I blink hard, forcing air into my lungs. “Yeah. Fine.” My voice sounds too bright, brittle around the edges.
He studies me for a second longer than usual, like he’s weighing whether to push. Then, maybe mercifully, he doesn’t. He just goes back to his film.
I delete the message without listening, thumb shaking a little as I hitconfirm. Gone. Out of sight, out of mind — except it never really is. The ache under my ribs is familiar, dull but deep. Old habits die slow, especially the ones shaped like people who taught you to doubt yourself.
The silence stretches again, thicker this time. The hum of the fridge fills the space, loud enough to mingle with the steady thrum of my pulse, tightening the air between us until it almost vibrates. this time. I grip the counter, trying to anchor myself. The knife glints beside the fruit bowl, and I pick it up more for something to hold than anything else. The handle feels solid, grounding.
Then the intercom buzzes — loud, abrupt, slicing through the quiet. I jump, heart thudding.
Leo looks up. “Expecting someone?”
I shake my head, setting the knife down carefully. “No.”
He pushes back from the stool, moving toward the door with that easy, contained power. The buzz sounds again, sharper.When he opens it, a courier stands there, holding a large box stamped with a gear logo and Leo’s name.
“Delivery,” the guy says. “For Voss.”
Leo signs, shuts the door, and sets the package on the floor. His jaw’s tight when he glances at me. “Equipment drop.”
