I stare at him, helplessly. I don’t have a guidebook for dealing with this bolder version of Cole, and my brain is making a dangerous-sounding noise like it’s about to shut down in total bliss.
“I’ll take tea,” I say. It comes out weirdly low, like I’m trying to seduce him with chamomile.
I clear my throat. Cole’s mouth tips. “You eaten? I can heat something up.”
He says it like it’s nothing. Like feeding someone is in his muscle memory. But to me, it’s everything. I just nod, because if I talk, I’ll say too much.
He turns to the fridge, and my gaze drifts to the open notebook on the table — pages crowded with arrows and names. In the center, circled hard:WILLARD.
“May I?” I point.
“That’s actually what I wanted to show you,” he says, clinking around for forks. “I drew a very convincing deerstalker so I’m thinking of a career in fashion design.”
I smile at the lopsided hat, then scan the written chaos: his dad, JJ and Ronnie, the Bloom sisters, my dad, Earl, me.
Then my eyes catch something in the corner: small, messy handwriting, half-scratched out but still legible:
The truth is, I’ve never stopped being his.
Right below it, in frantic lines:
Could he end up in jail again? God, I hope not.
I have no intention of becoming a prisoner’s boyfriend.
I mean — I have no intention of becoming his boyfriend. Period.
…I might consider it. If it weren’t for JJ and Ronnie.
I freeze. Read it twice. Three times.
Cole turns just in time to see what I’m staring at. His face drains, then flushes bright red. “Oh my God. I forgot I wrote that — it’s just shorthand, a code for… I wasn’t…” He reaches for the notebook.
I set my hand on the page, gentle but firm.
“You might consider it?” My voice is a rasp. “You’ve never stopped being mine?”
He looks like he’d like the floor to swallow him. But he doesn’t retreat into silence like he used to.
He’s standing here, pink-eared and mortified, but still looking at me. And that feels… pretty damn good.
“Can we just forget it?” he grimaces. “Anyway, here, eat.” He puts a plate before me and steps back, rubbing his neck.
I don’t want to forget it. I want to frame it. But I hear the near-panic in his breath, so I close the notebook.
Still, I can’t resist. I meet his eyes. “JJ and Ronnie,” I say evenly, “are basically out of the equation.”
He makes a strangled sound, scrubs a hand down his face. “I’m going to pass out. That’s it. I’m going to die right here, next to the microwave,” he mumbles.
“Calm down Earl,” I smile.
“This chicken is suspiciously good,” I add because if I keep staring at his flushed ears I’m going to do something stupid and I’m going to do it now. “Are you sure we’re not on a date?”
He shoots me a look that says don’t push it. But he’s smiling.
COLE
Xaden insists on helping with the dishes, and it’s so domestic I almost break a plate. He’s meticulous with the towel, like he doesn’t want to leave. Well. I don’t want him to leave either.
