He shakes his head. “My body needs the right fuel to heal.”
I suppress an eye roll. “A supreme pizza has protein and veggies. Sounds healthy to me.”
“Says the woman who thinks a box of macaroni and powdered cheese is good for you.” His tone is snarky, but he’s not smiling.
“Hey now, that’s not all I eat.” I join him by the stove and peer down into the large pot. Aromatic herbs fill my nose as chunks of chicken, carrots, and celery chase after the spoon as he stirs.
“Glad to hear that.” When bubbles break the surface of the broth, Wade pours in a box of elbow pasta.
“Pasta is dried.” I roll my lips between my teeth, trying to contain the giggle welling up.
He shoots me a look so full of disdain, I think the hair follicles on my arms just retracted.
I nudge him aside. “Go sit. I’ll finish this up for you.”
He frowns at me. “Are you sure?”
An exasperated sigh escapes me before I can stop it. “I think I can handle this part.”
After a moment of hesitation, he hobbles his way to the couch. “Thanks. Bowls are on the counter.”
I glance over and note the large Fiesta Ware ceramic ware—one in bright green and the other purple.
Two, of course, because Wade always made it his mission to make sure I ate. “Interesting choice of dishes.”
He grimaces as he lowers himself onto the cushions, then props his leg on the arm of the couch. “Nana ordered them for me. She insisted I have sturdy yet stylish dishes. You still like purple, right?”
A surge of tenderness fills me as I picture him selecting the bowl just for me. I run my finger over the rich indigo shade, which contrasts so well with the bright green, which I know is his favorite. “Yeah, I do.”
His chuckle seems to lighten the mood somewhat. I can only imagine how frustrated he must feel, having to miss games and practices for at least a week. When Elias brought me Wade’s keys and told me what happened, I wanted to race to the locker room, but Elias said Ethan was taking him home.
I want to ask Wade for details because I understand the ramifications of a groin pull turning into a tear if a player pushes too soon to get back into the game. And I know the looming question in every player’s head that comes with an injury—will it be a career-ender?
Once I confirm the noodles are done with a taste test, I ladle soup into the green bowl, cradle it in a napkin, and take it to Wade, along with a spoon.
He thanks me as I return to the pot to fix mine. Since he has his leg stretched out on the couch, I settle into the chair off to the side of the sofa, folding my legs underneath me, and sample my first bite. A flood of memories hits me as the savory chicken and broth-soaked pasta hit my tongue, transporting me back to his grandmother’s kitchen.
“Is this Nana’s recipe?” I stir my spoon through the soup.
“Yeah, I texted her for it.”
I take another bite and hum with pleasure. “Well, you nailed it.”
He grins. “Make sure you tell her next time you see her.”
My stomach hollows out at the thought. That would mean returning to Texas, and I’ve no intention of doing that anytime soon. The more distance I can keep between Chase and me, the safer I feel. At least until I know he’s lost interest in making my life a living hell.
“What’s that?”
“What was what?”
He points at me with his spoon. “That look of dread on your face.”
I kind of forgot how Wade could always read me. I stare at my soup, scrambling for some excuse to circumvent having to tell him the truth. “There’s celery in here.”
First, he rolls his eyes, then dons an expression that says he’s on to me. Because, of course, he is. This is Wade.
“You don’t hate celery that much.”
