We walked toward home, our shoulders bumping in the cold. When we reached the bakery on the corner, Nico opened the door without even looking at me.
“Two chocolate croissants and a lemon tart,” he told the woman at the counter.
I smiled. “You didn’t even ask.”
“You always order the lemon,” he said. “And you’ll eat it as soon as we get home.”
“And you’ll steal a bite, so?—”
“So I know what you’ll taste like when I kiss you later.”
I laughed. “That’s the worst excuse I’ve ever heard.”
“You love it.”
I did.
Sure enough, I polished off the tart as soon as we got home. Nix took his bite, then kissed me and said the taste wasn’t so bad after all. I kissed him a few more times to make sure he meant it.
We spent the afternoon packing for the roadie and reading in the living room. By the time the sun went down, my stomach was growling.
Nix looked up from his tablet. “Ready to cook?”
In the kitchen, I turned on the oven to preheat while he grabbed things from the fridge. He pulled out his phone and read me a news story as I rinsed the vegetables.
“Are Brussels sprouts okay?” I asked, already trimming the wilted leaves.
“As long as you’re roasting them. I?—”
“Hate them any other way,” I finished for him. “I know.”
“Great.”
He kept touching his pocket, as if he were checking for something. Every time I looked over, he was watching me, but then he’d glance away.
I arched an eyebrow. “You good?”
“Yeah. Need some help?”
I arranged the sprouts on the baking sheet, and when I turned to grab the olive oil, Nix reached for the pan but dropped it. Brussels sprouts rolled across the counter and fell to the floor.
“Shit.” He crouched down. “Sorry, babe.”
“No worries.” I held the colander while he picked up the sprouts. “Nervous about the road trip?”
“No. Just distracted.”
After I rinsed the sprouts again, spread them on the baking sheet, and added oil, he offered to put them in the oven.
“Think you can get them there this time?”
“For sure.” He held the pan with both hands until it was safely on the top rack.
I leaned against the counter and crossed my arms. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.” He gave me a peck on the lips. “Promise.”
While I seasoned the chicken for the grill, I said, “Believe it or not, my brothers want to meet up when we play Montreal in three weeks. It’s funny how they finally want to get closer.”
