Leaning down, he presses his lips to my hair, and my heart almost jumps out of my chest it’s beating so fast. “Like you,” he whispers before leaving me to return to the kitchen. Gulping over the messy ball of emotion nestling in my throat, I grab my wine and sit down on one of the cushions.
Vander approaches a couple minutes later with two plates. “Do you have placemats?” I ask before he sets the plate down in front of me. He shakes his head, so I grab two magazines from the shelf under the table to use instead. No point in risking damage to his new table. Putting the food down, he walks off to grab water and silverware. He drops down on the cushion beside me and hands me a knife and fork. “I hope you like it.”
I lean over the heaping bowl of chicken and chorizo pasta, and my belly rumbles appreciatively. “It smells delicious.” I wrap the spaghetti around my fork and take a bite, groaning as the garlicky-tomato flavor hits my tongue. “Tastes delicious too,” I say after I have swallowed. He visibly melts under my praise, and I’m instantly reminded of how much that’s been lacking in his life. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”
He finishes a mouthful of pasta before answering. “We used to have full-time housekeepers who cooked for us, but they all kept leaving. Dad either hit on them or they saw how he treated his wife and kid, got scared, and left. Then Dad stopped hiring staff when Mom got really bad. Mom can’t cook for shit, and she’s only interested in a liquid diet. I lived on takeout for a while. When I got into boxing, I didn’t want to eat crap anymore, so I taught myself to cook from videos. Keaton Kennedy has a great online cooking show. He focuses on healthy meals with a specific emphasis on athletes, so it’s perfect for me.”
I bob my head. “I’ve watched a few episodes. He’s good. Austen Hayes—the wide receiver for the Baltimore Ravens—is his husband and he’s from Golden. Colorado has pretty much claimed Keaton as one of their own. They are a beautiful couple, and Keaton is a great chef. I have a couple of his cookbooks at home. I’ll loan them to you, if you like?”
“Cool. Thanks.”
“You’re just full of surprises, Vander.” I mean it as a compliment.
He shrugs, like he’s not one of the most resilient people I’ve ever encountered. “I actually like cooking,” he says, staring into space while I eat. “I find it therapeutic.”
“I’m the same,” I admit before taking a drink of my water. “If I’ve had a bad day or I’m stressed about something, you will always find me in the kitchen cooking up a storm.”
“I cook for my mom too,” he adds, and we continue talking in between eating. “If I didn’t feed her, she’d waste away.”
I almost lose my appetite at his words. “You’re a good son, Vander,” I quietly admit.
“It’s still not enough.”
I rest my hand on top of his, needing to offer him comfort. His eyes meet mine. “You’re more than enough.” We smile at one another, and I remove my hand before my fingers get ideas.
“Speaking of food, what are you doing for Thanksgiving?” It’s only five days away, and I doubt his mother has organized anything.
“It’ll just be Mom and me. Dad is spending it in the city.” A dark look crosses his face, but he doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t need to. “I’m going to cook.”
“You should come to our house. Both of you. There will be more than enough food.” It’s a spontaneous offer, but I can’t regret it even if it will make the day more torturous for me. Pretending to play the happy couple with Curtis in front of the kids and his parents will be horrendous. Having Vander there will only add to my misery, but in another way, his presence will soothe me. And I can’t bear to think of him all alone, rattling around that big house with his semi-comatose mother.
“I don’t know.” He scrubs a hand along his prickly jawline.
I know why he hesitates. “There will be no judgment in my home. Besides, your mom knows how to conduct herself in public.” It’s another reason I despise Diana Henley, but a part of me feels for her too. She can turn the charm on in public and appear like a functioning human when the need arises. Yet, she can’t do that for her son. At home, she lets him see the true extent of her addiction. Forces him to care for her, and I have zero respect for her because of it.
Curtis will probably hate I invited her, but oh well.
“I will ask her. She’ll probably say no.”
I won’t ask him to ditch his mother on Thanksgiving, so I only say, “Just let me know either way.”
We chat about less stressful things as we finish dinner, and I help him to clean up. Then we sit on opposite ends of the couch, listening to more of Halsey’s new album, in between talking, as I sip a glass of crisp Sancerre while Vander drinks a beer. “Are you still attending your philosophy class on Monday nights?” he asks, swiping my empty glass and getting up to refill it.
“Yes. It’s the highlight of my week.” Vander returns, swinging his legs up onto the couch. I follow suit, tucking my legs underneath me and covering my knees with my dress to ensure I’m not flashing anything I shouldn’t be.
“What’s the hot topic this time?” he inquires, handing me a fresh glass of wine. Our fingers brush in the exchange, but I forcibly ignore the tingles shooting up my arm.
“Um…reincarnation.” My cheeks heat as I stumble over the word. Ever since Dee said the things she said, I have been struggling to wrap my head around it. It’s one thing being open-minded and believing in the abstract and quite another when it potentially becomes a reality. Truthfully? I don’t know what to think.
His eyes light up. “Interesting subject. What’s your view on it?” It almost appears like he’s holding his breath while he waits for me to reply.
I bite down on my lip as I contemplate my response. “What’s yours?”
“Answering a question with a question. Hmm.” He toys with his lips, and my eyes are like heat-seeking missiles latching on to a target as I watch him pluck his plump lips with long, lean fingers. “Classic deflection maneuver there.” His lips curl up at the corners in a teasing manner.
He’s not wrong, but I’m rethinking everything right now, so I go for another tried-and-tested deflection technique. “Most Buddhists believe in reincarnation, and a report we looked at in class said one in four Americans believe reincarnation exists.”
“I find that fascinating, but I’m interested in whatyouthink.” Gawd, he’s like a dog with a bone. He stretches his legs out, and his bare toes brush against my dress-covered knees because his legs are just that long. “Sorry.” He pulls himself upright against the armrest so his feet aren’t touching me anymore.
