“So you’ve used the microwave, then,” she deadpans, clearly having relaxed a little.
“Yeah, I do know how to use that.”
She laughs, and the soft sound flows through me. Damn, I want to hear that more.
“So obviously, I didn’t have this on hand when I filled the fridge,” I say pointing at her meal plan. “Do you think you’ll be able to make something up on the spot?” I challenge.
“You…you want me to start right now?”
“Did you have other plans?” I ask, realizing that I never specified how long she’d be here. I invited her for a chat to go through things. But now that she is, all I can think about is getting to try her food again.
Sadness washes through her expression. But as much as I want to ask, I keep my questions to myself.
“No. No, I don’t have any plans.”
I study her for a beat, searching for a lie, but I don’t find anything.
“Honestly, my plans included hanging out with my mom while we cooked dinner, then watching ESPN with my dad. My life is anything but busy or exciting right now.”
“It sounds like the perfect kind of night, if you ask me.”
“Yeah,” she whispers as she slips from the stool and walks around to the fridge.
I watch as she pulls it open and stands with a hand on her hip as she studies the contents.
“You never told me if you’re allergic to anything.”
“I did the grocery shopping. Trust me, I didn’t buy anything I’m allergic to, Chef.”
She startles at my nickname for her. I might not be able to see her face, but I’d put money on the fact that it made her smile.
“Okay, that’s fair.”
“But no, I’m not allergic to anything,” I say.
“And anything you dislike?”
“There isn’t anything I refuse to eat.”
“Wow, you’re making this sound too easy,” she muses as she begins pulling ingredients out and placing them on the counter.
Once she’s happy, she turns to the pantry for more.
By the time she’s finished, there are more ingredients than I know what to do with covering the island. Just looking at it all makes me nervous.
I’d love to be able to cook, and I hate that I’m so bad at it. Maybe one day, when I have some more time on my hands, I’ll figure it out and be able to look after myself. But right now, I have other more important things to focus on.
I sit there watching as she figures out how to turn the oven on and then begins pulling pots and pans from the cupboard.
If I had my way, I’d stay here and watch for as long as I can, but I can’t help feeling that my presence makes her nervous. Aware that having your every move watched and scrutinized on day one is probably a little overwhelming, I make my excuses and disappear to my bedroom.
Where I try to think about anything but the woman working her magic in my kitchen.
3
FREYA
“Oh my gosh,” I breathe the second Cole’s bedroom door closes.
