The girls each grab a different colored tape roll, and we disperse across my apartment to the coordinating area. I put on my favorite playlist, and “Wannabe” by The Spice Girls begins to play. For the next hour and a half, we pack up my apartment and sing pop music at the top of our lungs, and I’m reminded once again that I’m the luckiest girl in the world to have these four as my friends.
CHAPTER 15: OH SHITSHITFUCKINGSHIT!
TANNER
It’s eight o’clock in the evening when I pull into my designated parking spot outside my apartment, next to Wren’s car. I guess that means my new roommate has officially moved in, and I missed it.
The new proposal is nowhere near done, so I’ll most likely be in the office tomorrow and Monday working on it. I massage my temples and run my hands through my hair, trying to shake off my day. Grabbing my tie and jacket off the passenger side seat, I open my door and slide out of the car.
I’m exhausted and starving. I should’ve stopped for food, but it didn’t cross my mind until I was almost home, and I was too tired to turn around to grab something.
The scent of tacos hits me the minute I open my door. Every light in the apartment is on, and pop music is blasting over a speaker. Wren’s cat meets me at the door, and I bend down to scratch it between the ears. “Welcome home, kitty.” I stand, walk around the corner, and my whole day melts away.
Wren’s dancing and stirring something on the stovetop. The kitchen is a mess. The counter is covered with pots and pans and most of the food from my fridge.
My heart swells. I was fully expecting her to be hidden away in her room, and instead she’s made herself right at home. She seems comfortable. She seems happy.
I prop myself against the wall as she brings the wooden spoon to her mouth and begins to belt the chorus of Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance With Somebody.” She’s wearing a green silk tank top, shorts that are rimmed in lace, and cat slippers. Her ponytail and hips rock in sync with the music, and her other hand moves to match the words of the lyrics. I have to stop a laugh from bubbling out of me when she tries to hit the high note. She looks so damn cute. It’s clear she didn’t hear me come in, but I stay quiet, not wanting her little show to end.
Her happiness is contagious, and I fear the minute she sees me, it’ll disappear. I wish I could bask in it forever.
The bridge begins and she starts to spin in a circle, but her eyes are closed. I wait until she’s facing me and then clear my throat. Her eyes pop open, and the spoon flies into the air and then clatters to the ground.
“Boo,” I say with a wide grin.
“What the fuck, Tanner!” she yells. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough.” I smirk. “Very valiant effort with the high note on the word heat. I didn’t know you sang.”
“I don’t,” she grumbles, bending down and picking up the spoon then tossing it into the sink. She moves around the kitchen, opening drawers. “Do you have another spoon?”
“Top drawer on the right.” She opens it and grabs one out.
The scent of charred something wafts by me. “Is something burning?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
She flips around. “Oh shitshitfuckingshit!” She grabs a pot holder and smoke pours out when she opens the oven. She reaches in and pulls out a tray of what I think may have once been taco shells. Placing them on the stove top, she kicks theoven door closed. The smoke alarm begins to sound, so I quickly grab a towel and begin to fan the air around it.
“You trying to burn down my place on day one?” I say with a chuckle once the beeping stops. “Turn on the exhaust fan, would you?”
“The what?”
“The exhaust fan.” I move into the kitchen and flip the switch above the stove. The sound of the fan begins to compete with the music that is still playing.
“What are you doing?” I ask, muting the speaker.
“Cooking us dinner.” Her cheeks turn pink. “You made me dinner the other day, so I was trying to return the favor.”
“You were making me dinner?”
“Well I was, but the shells are burnt, and I’m honestly not sure if the meat is done. I used the ground turkey you had in the fridge.”
“How long did you cook this for?” I ask, pointing to the pan on the stove. The meat looks…dry. Really fucking dry.
“I don’t know, but I kept cooking it because I didn’t want to give us salmonella.”
“Based on the looks of it, I can assure you there is not a chance any salmonella is left on that meat.” I chuckle.
“I’m sorry,” she says, fidgeting. “I was trying to do something nice, and I ruined it.”
