I throw a dish towel at him. He catches it, laughing, and that's when I notice how good he looks post-workout. Gray t-shirt clinging to his chest, hair damp, face flushed.
I look away quickly, focusing on the mugs.
"Mel's coming over tomorrow," I say. "To see the place. That okay?"
"Of course. She's welcome anytime." He moves to the fridge, pulling out a protein shake. "You eat lunch?"
"I had crackers."
"Sloane. That's not lunch."
"I wasn't hungry."
He gives me a look. "The doctor said small meals throughout the day. Crackers don't count."
"I'll eat later."
“Let’s eat now." He opens the fridge again, surveying the contents. "I've got stuff for sandwiches. Or I could make pasta. Or we could order something."
"You don't have to feed me."
"Someone has to." He's already pulling out bread, turkey, cheese. "You like mustard or mayo?"
"Both."
"Weirdo."
But he makes the sandwich exactly how I like it—both condiments, extra pickles, chips on the side. He even microwaves the deli meat so it’s safe for me to eat. He sets it in front of me at the island and leans against the counter, drinking his shake while I eat.
"This is good," I admit. “Thank you.”
He grins, taking huge bites of his own food, which I suspect is more of a pre-meal snack for him, given his size and my experiences with Josh.
“How was anger management?” I take a swig of water and am pleased that everything seems to be staying put in my stomach.
Tucker grunts and keeps eating. He wipes his mouth with a napkin eventually and says, “Maybe we can table talking about that? I’m beat and you seem like you have a lot of work.”
I nod, ceding his point. We fall into comfortable silence, me eating, him watching once he finishes. It should be weird, having him watch me eat, but it's not. It's... nice.
Domestic.
Dangerous.
The next afternoon, Mel wheels into the apartment and immediately starts exploring.
"Holy shit, Sloane. This place is huge."
"I know."
"And fully accessible." She rolls a big circle around the living room, into the kitchen, toward my room. "The hallways are wide enough, the bathroom has a roll-in shower—did Tucker do this on purpose?"
"I think the building is just fancy."
"No, look." She points to the kitchen. "The counters have different heights. The cabinets have pull-down shelves. This was designed for accessibility."
Tucker always talks about his designer being a genius. I guess I just felt so comfortable that I never noticed the kitchen's unique features. But she's right.
"That's..." I trail off, not sure how to finish the sentence.
