“I managed to squeeze a short supply run in between moving and now. I put everything on the card you gave me, and I know I’ll be handling the budget and the receipts going forward as part of my position, but if you’d like to go over what I got—”
“No, that’s fine.”
I flinch. “Right. Sorry. This is my job, so you don’t have to spend your time worrying about it.”
“No…it’s not that. I just trust your judgment.” He cocks his head against the wall. “I’ve been busy this morning. Were you able to get settled in already? I hope the moving company treated you well.”
His tone seems to imply that if they didn’t, they’ll not be moving anything. Ever again. Like. Not even their bodies.
But I must be mistaken. Because that feels a little dramatic.
“Oh, yes,” I chirp as I ready a pot to boil the eggs and begin weighing the correct amounts of meat on the food scale I also picked up this morning. “They were great. I appreciated not having to worry about anything. Having an entire crew makes such a difference. Fawn and I were planning to give Jeffry a call, because last time we moved, he and one of our other buddies just came by with their tow trucks. My nightstand was so damaged, I had to throw it out. Good thing it only cost twenty dollars, right?”
Mr. Anders’s fingers dig into his bicep, but he mutters, “Right.” Pushing off the wall, he enters the kitchen fully, immediately commandeering the atmosphere with his presence. For a massive space with an island that separates the four ovens, fridge, and stove from a lavish, sprawling dining area, I suddenly feel a spot claustrophobic. “What are you making?” he asks.
Given the display I’m unpacking, it feels really stupid, but I say, “Uh…ramen?”
His gaze cuts to me. “You are joking.”
“Well…no?” I point at the box of Maruchan I got, because I didn’t have time to make fresh noodles this morning before the noon would be upon us. “See? Ramen.”
His heavy gaze lifts, and pins, and judges. “Well. Look at that.”
My stomach flips and flops, so I pull my phone out of my apron pocket and swipe to my ramen folder before presenting the pictures to him. “Like…this.”
His brows rise. Rubbing his neck, he takes my phone and peruses the images, whispering a swear as a short breath leaves him. “This is hilarious.”
I blink at him.
He’s not smiling.
But the softness in his mouth matches the tinge of humor in his eyes.
I hedge, “Is…it?”
He faces my phone screen toward me. “I like your matching bowls.”
My face heats. “Oh, thank you. I got them off Marsh.”
“Great guy, Finn.”
I freeze halfway through rallying to get my broth started. “You know…Finnegan Marsh?”
He tilts my phone toward me to return it. “Yes. Doesn’t everyone?”
“Right…” I drop my phone back in my pocket. “But you actuallyknowhim?”
“Somewhat. The last time we spoke, he invited me to play Stardew Valley with him and his wife’s friends. Apparently some recent update to the game increased multiplayer capacity from four to eight?” His gaze drifts toward the elegant light fixture twisting across the ceiling in winding reams of gold and silver. “I didn’t really understand what was going on for a minute, but I figured it out.”
“You…” It seems idiotic to ask, but I do anyway. “…you played with them?”
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I?”
I glance from his dark hairallthe way down his bear-like body to his probably size-thirty feet. And then I picture him harvesting crops in a cozy farm sim. With the billionaire who’s been leading the online shopping industry for the past half decade. You know. A billionaire who isso profound, I know his full name.
“I named a chicken Toast,” Mr. Anders says, although I haven’t yet processed anything up to this point. Eyes so very steady on me, he adds, “To go with my cow, Cinnamon.”
“What…did you name ‘Crunch’?” I ask.
