She blinks at me, lips twitching. “Oh my god, you’re obsessed.”
I can feel the corner of my mouth tugging sideways—damn it, she makes it way too easy. “Don’t judge me.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” she says with mock solemnity. “You’re the one whose bed I’m currently stealing, trust me, I’m not judging.”
“Is it stealing if I offered it?” I ask, straightening.
“I guess not.”
I tug open the side panel, fish around, and come up with a fistful of coins and bobby pins. “Well. Found the problem.”
As soon as I clear it out, the drum whirs, and the red light stops flashing.
Liv gasps. “Traitor. Look at it, purring for you like a cat.”
I can’t help the smirk tugging at my mouth.
“You’ll have to let me pay you back, somehow, as a thank you. I’d offer to cook you something, but I’m nowhere near as talented as you are.”
I tilt my head, staring at her. It’s not the first time she’s wanted to compensate for kindness, as though the idea of owing someone something is too much. “I don’t need anything, I’m happy to help you, Liv.”
Her eyes dart around, trying to find something to say, but after a few seconds of her mouth opening and closing, she settles on, “Well, thank you.”
Heat prickles at my neck, spreading faster than a wildfire. I mutter, “You’re welcome.”
Liv is already moving on. Her arm brushes against mine as she reaches to turn the dial and press start. “So, since we’re on the subject of cooking and your talents… what’s on the menu this week, because everything you’ve made so far has been ten out of ten.”
Everything I’ve made being less than two weeks of meals since she moved in, but I didn’t miss the fact that she’s been writing her favorites on the fridge Post-its, which is every dish, actually.
“I don’t need much convincing,” I say, straightening. “Cooking’s just what I do. I enjoy it.” It keeps me moving, keeps my head clear. With how much time I spend hunched over a screen, it’s good to use my hands for something real. The rhythm of it—chop, stir, taste, it’s all a distraction to fill the space where thoughts about everything else try to creep in. Like the list of rejection emails from the jobs I’ve applied for lately. It’s a sting of remembering what it feels like to be the lesser choice with every one I receive.
“I was planning on something with chicken tonight.”
Liv hums, looking at me in a way she hasn’t yet, as though she really sees me. “You know, you’re amazing. Most people get roommates who eat cereal out of the box.”
I huff out a laugh. “Cereal has its place.”
“Not when I’ve got you making, wait, what was that called again?”
“Feijoada.”
“Yeah, it’s becoming my new favorite thing,” she says genuinely, then says something that pushes the threatening blush out the window. “But I have a date tonight.”
I school my expression into something easy, but inside, there’s a flicker of disappointment I don’t have the right to feel. She’s allowed to date, of course she is, and I’m not stupid enough to think dinner with me was ever more than convenience. But I’d liked the idea of it. Liked the way she looked at me when shetalked about food. Hearing she’s going out with someone else forces me to tuck that tiny spark of something back where it belongs. Probably for the best.
***
An hour later, we’re both folding our laundry in the living room. I grab my phone, connecting it to the speakers and playing Post Malone’s album.
“Wait, you like Post Malone?”
“Yeah?”
“Huh. I like learning things about you. It’s kinda like a surprisingly attractive puzzle.”
A huff of a laugh escapes me. “As opposed to those really ugly puzzles.”
“Hate those. What else you got for me? Surprise me some more.”
