Liam threw his head back and laughed. "I would expect nothing less."
During the drive home, I smiled so hard my cheeks hurt. For the first time since moving to Goodwin Grove, I felt like I was where I was supposed to be.
I jerkedawake on my couch, disoriented by the silent images flashing across the TV screen. The Cowboys were up by seven in the third quarter, but I had no memory of how they'd gotten there. My neck ached from the awkward angle it had been bent at, evidence that I, the man my crew jokingly called 'always alert', had passed out cold during Sunday football like a rookie after a 48-hour shift.
"Damn," I muttered, wiping my face and stretching my arms overhead until my shoulders popped. It was 5:47 p.m. I'd been out for almost two hours, and my body apparently decided to cash in on the sleep debt I'd accumulated since the storage unit fire — since meeting Gisselle if I were being honest.
My mouth curved into a smile as I remembered our mini-golf date earlier, Gisselle's victory dance, and how she'd hooked her arm through mine as we walked to return the putters.
My stomach growled, and I realized I hadn't eaten since breakfast this morning. My body protested as I pushed myself up from the couch and headed to the kitchen. Once there, I washed my hands before grabbing the ingredients I needed for dinner from the refrigerator and pantry.
The routine of cooking centered me as I chopped the onion and minced the garlic. I preheated the oven while I combined all the ingredients in a mixing bowl. As I prepped my food, I thought about how Gisselle had my nose wide open from the moment I'd carried her out of the burning building. She was gorgeous, but it wasn't just her looks. Her smile made me forget why I'd kept people at arm's length for so long.
I pulled out a muffin pan, sprayed it with oil, and scooped the meatloaf mixture into each cup. I then put it in the oven and set the timer.
Next were the potatoes, which I scrubbed clean, cut into uniform cubes, and tossed with olive oil and salt. I threw them into the oven to crisp. Finally, I put the green beans in a pot with a piece of bacon, onion, and garlic for flavor.
I washed and wiped my hands on a kitchen towel, debating whether to call Gisselle. I'd cooked enough food for at least two people.
"Man, what are you thinking?" I muttered to myself, but I already knew. The idea had already lodged itself in my mind.
According to the timer, thirty-two minutes remained, enough time to take a quick shower, change, and get back before the food was done. I'd pack it up and head to Gisselle's. I wanted to make sure she took care of herself.
I moved to the shower, planning how I would keep the food warm on the drive over. My idea of eating alone in front of thegame had already faded. I just hoped it would come off as more thoughtful than presumptuous. Either way, I was committed to the plan, and my instincts told me where I needed to be.
After a quick shower, I packed up two plates and headed out the door. Ten minutes later, I stood outside Gisselle's door with the plates balanced in one hand while I rang the bell with the other. Second thoughts crashed into my mind, making me suddenly wonder if she was home or had company. This idea was presumptuous as hell, but I'd already driven over there.
Footsteps approached the door. I heard the security chain slide and the deadbolt turn. Her hair was pulled in a bun with a pencil stuck through it, and glasses perched on her nose. She had on leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, looking surprised.
Gisselle's eyes widened, flicking from my face to the covered plates in my hand. "Liam? Is everything okay?"
"I figured you might be working and forgot to eat. I made dinner." I lifted the plates slightly.
Gisselle's expression shifted from confusion as a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "You appointed yourself my personal meal delivery service?"
I shrugged, feeling ridiculous for showing up unannounced. "I can go if you've already eaten or have plans."
"Don't you dare. I haven't eaten since the pancakes this morning, and whatever you have smells better than the ramen I'd contemplated."
Relief hit me as I stepped inside. Her apartment was what I expected for an architect, with a drafting table and blueprint rolls leaning against the wall next to it.
She led me into a small kitchen area, clearing a stack of design magazines to make space for the food. I noticed a half-eaten granola bar and a cup of coffee next to her drafting table, confirming my suspicions that she'd worked through dinner, with no plans to stop.
"What did you bring?" she asked, looking at the wrapped plates.
"I made meatloaf, roasted potatoes, and green beans. My mom's recipe." I unwrapped them, the aroma filling the kitchen.
"Wait. You cooked this?" Gisselle's voice held genuine surprise.
"What? You thought firefighters only knew how to work a grill?"
Gisselle laughed. "I assumed you survived on protein shakes and takeout like every other single guy I've met."
"I enjoy knowing what's in my food, and cooking helps me think," I explained.
"What were you thinking about today?" she asked, her eyes meeting mine.
"You. Among other things," I admitted.
