I suck in a breath and shake my head.
It’s why, even when I figure out how to forgive both of us, he’ll just be my friend. I can’t disrespect our parents—orhim—like that. Regardless of how desperately I want to feel his lips on mine again.
Clover meows loudly, drawing Ayden’s attention. He points a wooden spoon at her, then must catch me in the corner of his eye because he whirls around, wets his lips, and clears his throat.
“Thanks to whatever god is watching out for me I wasn’t in full karaoke mode.” His face is slightly flushed, and I can’t tell if it’s from the heat of the room or if he’s blushing.
Either way, I like it.
I chuckle and stroll through the living room toward the kitchen. “It’s not like I haven’t heard your singing before.”
“When I was a kid. I’m a full-blown adult now, Keo.” He rolls his head back and turns away from me.
The cat meows and jumps down, crossing the space to rub against my ankles.
I pull out a dining table chair and slouch into it, letting Clover jump into my lap. My elbow rests on the table, my chin pressing into my palm. The urge to say, “I’m sure it’s just as pleasant as it was back then,” pricks at me. But I force out instead, “Is that Grant’s stew?”
“Yeah,” he says while turning back to the stove. “There was a homemade cookbook, and I don’t mind cooking—I kinda love it.” He pauses for a moment, then lets out a soft laugh. “Just not baking. For some reason, I cannot make a cake to save my life.”
“I can’t do much of anything in the kitchen other than clean…” He looks over his shoulder while idly stirring the liquid in the pot. “The cookbook is Mom’s.”
“I could tell by the writing. Dad always had terrible handwriting.”
“Alysa got that trait from him,” I jest.
“Yeah, she sure did. She had me writing a lot of her handwritten reports in high school.” He drags the back of his forearm across his forehead. “Is it hot in here?”
Truthfully, it’s warm, but not unbearable. It’s likely because he’s standing over a hot stove.
Definitely just you…
“I’m good.”
“Mind if I open the window?”
“Go for it.”
He cracks the one right above the stove, and I watch as his shirt drags up, exposing his lower back. The divots that taper in and point toward his boxers has me taking a meaningful breath through my nose. Before he stands straight, he leans further forward, putting his face out into the brisk evening air. It showcases just a bit more of his skin for me, and it’s now I see a scar, or, at least I think it is. He’s standing back upright before I have a chance to inspect it further.
“That’s better,” he says before stepping to the side and grabbing two bowls from the cupboard. “Hungry-hungry? Or just hungry?”
“Fucking starved.”
He nods and gets our food prepared, before setting it down and joining me. The moment I’m going for a bite, I realize that there’s something missing.
Oh, that’s right, he’s vegetarian.
I don’t make a fuss or comment. I just take a spoonful. The potatoes along with vegetables, hit my taste buds just like the original did. The absence of meat doesn’t even register. If I hadn’t looked beforehand, I probably wouldn’t have noticed.
After taking a few more bites, he asks, “If you’re open to talk about it, do you mind telling me why you’re in therapy?
I’m not entirely ready to tell him. The mere thought of thewhyis what has spiraled me into a very dark place, one I barely managed to get out of myself.
Ayden had Alysa, and she came right away for him. I didn’t have anyone, because my biological dad couldn’t be bothered to care aboutme. He made it all about himself, losing the woman helet get away.
But, if I want the man across from me to tell me hiswhy, I should at least be honest with him.
“I’m open about the therapy. Everyone needs help, regardless of the circumstance.” I catch something flash across his eyes—understanding, maybe… envy? No. I must be reading that wrong. “As for the why, I’m not particularly ready to discuss that, but when I can, I’ll tell you if you still want to know by then.”
