Since I lived and worked in a pretty intense foodie culture, I tried to keep these facts about myself hidden. I knew how to order the good stuff at any given restaurant. And I could demand delicious drinks from happy hour to bottle service.
But secretly, I could hardly take care of myself.
Jonah already knew that about me. Which was why he was constantly trying to feed me. It was annoying. But also endearing. And without him shoveling delicious food truck potpies at me a couple times a week, I probably would have expired from hunger years ago, hit my head on the corner of my kitchen counter, and then bled out because I was all alone. My brothers wouldn’t have thought to check on me for at least a couple weeks.
Dark? Yes.
True? Also, yes.
But, all that aside, Jonah was still in my apartment a good twelve hours after we picked up takeout last night, and I was starting to get antsy. “Then maybe you should take your coffee to go and rummage through your own fridge.”
He turned around smiling and let the fridge door close on its own. “There’s no food over there either.”
“I told you I have oatmeal. And not just any oatmeal. I have all the good flavors. Peach, blueberry, brown sugar and cinnamon, apples and cinnamon, banana...”
He actually flinched when I said banana. He hated bananas more than anything on the planet.
“Did you want me to make you a bowl?” I only offered because I knew there was no way he’d take me up on it.
“I’ll starve. Thanks.”
He’d already set the creamer on the counter, so I got busy making my cup of coffee and pouring one for him. He didn’t drink his with creamer, but he knew I wouldn’t touch the stuff without it. It was thoughtful of him to get it out for me.
But I was annoyed he was still here. And that he’d seen me in a way that would definitely get back to my brothers, become an instant running joke, and never go away.
“You were out of it last night,” I said, wondering if he’d explain why he spent the night.
I wasn’t looking at him, but I sensed a shrug at my back. “Your couch is unfairly comfortable. I didn’t stand a chance.”
He apparently didn’t remember me lying directly on top of him. So at least there was that. “It really is. I had to lie on like fifty couches before I picked that one.”
“I remember.”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot you went with me.”
“Then you made them upholster it for you with that flowery pattern. The sales guy was so pissed.”
I snorted before taking a sip of my perfect coffee. “He shouldn’t have been. That thing cost an arm and a leg. I know he got a fantastic commission from it. He was just one of those people who liked to complain. I could tell.”
“How could you tell?” His question sounded innocent, but I heard the amusement he was trying to hide in his tone.
“I just could. He also made a comment about maybe I would want a smaller size. And when I told him I wanted it delivered and assembled, he made a snotty noise.”
“Okay, I remember the smaller size comment. But I think that had to do with finishing it within your time frame. But there wasn’t a snotty noise about delivery. You made that up.”
I whirled around and planted my butt against the counter. “I heard it. He hated me.”
He shook his head but finally released a laugh. “You’re delusional. He didn’t hate you. Nobody hates you. You’re too... you.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
He held my gaze. “You know what it means.” When I pressed my lips together and shook my head, he added, “I don’t know, you’re... so nice. And funny. And... gorgeous. And you have that way of making everyone feel like they’re your instant best friend. The poor guy was probably just nervous.”
It was my turn to roll my eyes—despite the way his compliments made me feel all warm and squishy. “That’s such bullshit. You were there. He had it out for me.”
He took a long drink of his coffee. “I give up. I can’t win without at least three more cups of this.”
I nibbled on my lower lip, enjoying this early morning banter. I didn’t usually talk to anyone until I got to the office. Unless I had an errand or went to the gym with Ada or Claire instead of using my own treadmill.
