“Trust me; I’d rather have my hands on you.”
“That’s dessert.” She winks.
I hang on to the fraying threads of my self-control. “How am I grilling these? I didn’t see a BBQ out back.”
“I have this.” She retrieves a cast iron grilling pan from the stove drawer. “I got it from my brother for Christmas. Never used it, of course.”
“Strange gift for someone who doesn’t cook.”
“That’s my family’s version of Evil Santa,” she explains, adding tomatoes to the salad. “We buy gifts for each other that are totally useless to the receiver.”
“That is evil.”
“I know, right? It’s fun, though, and what we can’t use, we donate. For some reason, I kept this, which will finally come in handy. I’ll get to rub it in my brother’s annoying face.” She grins devilishly at the notion.
“Does your brother…Jared, I think you said, live near here?”
“Good memory. Jared and his wife live near Rock Island, where we grew up. My parents are still there. We try to get together at least every other week. Although, if my parents had their way, it would be more often. But we talk almost every day. What about you? Any siblings?”
“Nope.” I turn on the burner. “Just me. Do you have oil or butter?”
“Both.” She gets them for me and continues her line of questioning. “Are your parents around?”
“Yeah, they’re still alive.” Since they haven’t managed to kill each other…yet.
“Do they live in Chicago?”
“Colorado.” I keep it broad.
“Is that where you grew up?”
“Yup.”
“I love Colorado. Used to go skiing there. It’s beautiful. What made you leave?”
“To be closer to my grandfather.” I give a partial truth.
“Do you see your parents often?”
“No. We’re not close.” I pour a little olive oil in the pan to keep the steaks from sticking. “They’re too absorbed in their long-standing marital troubles.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m used to it. The house was constantly tense. I didn’t like being there. I looked forward to the summers I got to spend in Chicago with my grandfather.”
“You love him to death. I can tell.”
“Yeah.”
She looks at me warmly, under her sheen of delusion. “You’re sweet, Jasper.”
I’m not. If Jordyn knew the truth about me, she’d know just how far I am from sweet.
* * *
“We did good!” she exclaims and takes our plates to the sink. “Our first cooking project was a success.”
“You crushed it on the baked potato and salad.”
