Gio chuckles. "Found you?"
"Yeah." I smile. "At a party, actually. Tiny apartment, too many people, horrible music." I roll my eyes at the memory. "I'm standing awkwardly near the door, ready to leave, and Noah just shows up. Starts talking like we're already friends. I swear, ten minutes later he declared me his responsibility. Said, and I quote, 'you're too lost to survive out here alone, man.'"
Gio laughs. "That sounds like him."
"It was him." I grin. "And that's it. He adopted me." There is a small pause as Gio chops another tomato. "Did you ever...you know…liked him?"
I blink. "Liked him?"
He nods, eyes still on the cutting board.
"Oh yeah. A lot. You have no idea."
His head snaps around so fast I hear his neck crack. I burst out laughing, grabbing onto the counter as my stomach hurts. "I'm kidding. Jesus, Gio."
He stares at me. "You're awful, Weston."
I wipe my eyes, still chuckling. "Never. Never even thought about him that way. Noah is like, I don't know. A second brother or something."
Gio grumbles under his breath and keeps chopping. Then my face lights up, remembering. "Oh, oh—remind me to tellyou about the time when my chair fucking betrayed me in the library."
He raises an eyebrow. "What?"
I nod, hands flying as I explain. "Okay. I'm in the silent study zone, full-on academic mode, hoodie up, highlighter in mouth, doing calculus." I start laughing. "And then my freaking chair breaks. Not dramatically. No.It sinks. Like the Titanic. Slowly. With despair. My body just descends. Inch by inch."
I am fully wheezing. Laughing at my own suffering. "I didn't even get up. I just sat in my shame puddle for a moment. And that's not the only time I embarrassed myself. Gio, I swear, Canada hates me."
I place Lulu gently on my lap. "Picture me: walking home from the store, headphones in, feeling accomplished. I have eggs, bread, chocolate, milk." I try to hold my laughter back. "And then the bagbreaks. Right in the middle of the sidewalk. Eggs? Gone. Bread? Rolling into the street dramatically. Chocolate? Somehow lands in snow. As for the milk, I don't even have to explain." I rest my cheeks on my hands, still laughing.
"I just stood there, holding the empty bag. A woman walked by, handed me a reusable tote, and said, 'We've all been there, sweetie.' I almost CRIED, GIO!"
Gio stops cooking entirely now, just staring at me with this soft, stupid grin.
I catch him looking, and my heart does a little flip. "What?" I ask.
He shakes his head, still smiling. "Nothing."
He keeps staring.
"The oil!" I yell.
Gio curses, spinning back to the stove just in time to save the pan from burning. The moment he turns back to the stove, my phone buzzes on the counter. I glance down.
Dad.
Nope. Not tonight. I silence the call without hesitation and slip the phone into my pocket, already walking toward Gio. My whole mood lightens as I reach him.
"So…what are we making?" I ask, sliding up behind him. He smirks over his shoulder. "Pasta al forno." My eyes widen. "Ohhh, I make that too in Canada. Only when I manage to make it home with all the ingredients inside the bag and not rolling down the street!" He turns fully this time, brows raising. "You cook?"
I gasp, hand to my chest. "Excuse me?Of course I cook. I've been living alone for four years. I have to survive somehow?!"
He chuckles. "I just, I don't know, I pictured you living on takeout and sad sandwiches."
"Wow." I blink, offended.
"My lasagna is world-class. Competition level."
He snorts. "Right. And I'm sure you didn't almost set your kitchen on fire once or twice?"
