After a moment, he nods. “She is.”
But the way he’s staring at me makes me think he isn’t referring to Oreo at all.
I swallow, shifting from one foot to another. The movement makes me wince, and I grip my water a little tighter in my hand until the plastic crinkles under my fingertips.
He steps forward before stopping himself. His palms clench and unclench at his sides. “Are you all right?”
The panic in his voice confuses me when I look up at him.
Then he says, “Are you hurting from…?”
I gape, my cheeks heating when I realize what he means. He thinks I’m hurting because we had sex. “No,” I say, a little too forcefully. I stand straighter. “It’s not fromthat.”
His shoulders seem to relax. “I’m just making sure. I’ve heard things can be…tender for women their first time. And I could have been gentler. Ishould havebeen gentler.”
“No,” I tell him. “I didn’t want you to be.” I fight the flames rising up my neck and trying to settle into my cheeks when one of his eyebrows arch. “I got my period,” I murmur, not sure how that explanation is any better. “That’s why I’m hurting. I’m fine.”
There’s a bite to my tone that I wish wasn’t there, because it tells him that I’m evidentlynotfine.
Thomas simply nods and says, “Okay.”
He doesn’t push.
Doesn’t say anything to embarrass me.
He still doesn’t ask what all of this is about.
Thomas walks over to a cupboard full of food and ingredients, and I can’t help but ask, “You really cook, don’t you?”
He pauses, glancing at me from over his shoulder. “Doesn’t everybody?”
I shrug. “Does heating up ramen noodles count as cooking?”
His cheek twitches, and I can tell he wants to smile but stops himself. “I’m not sure that counts. That’s like saying you made a cake from scratch when it comes from a box.”
I hum. “I don’t know. If you’re adding eggs and water to the mix and putting it into the oven, you’re still baking a cake. Seems to me like you’re discrediting a lot of people.”
Thomas, despite himself, chuckles. “My mistake. I didn’t mean to offend you, chef.”
My lips lift a fraction. “You still haven’t answered my question. You have a lot of food. I thought you would have done premade meals or hired someone to cook for you.”
He shakes his head. “Nah. I actually find cooking to be relaxing. And when you need to stay in shape, it’s better to make everything from scratch so you know what you’re consuming. Premade meals have too much sodium to make them last. I have trouble tracking intake when I’m in training mode.”
I make a mental note to check the back of the freezer meals next time I go shopping. “My dad used to do most of our cooking, growing up. Kourtney and I usually helped, but I didn’t pick up on the skills they did. When it was just us, we lived on eggs, hamburgers, and whatever else was on sale. Cheap stuff.”
“Makes sense,” he replies easily. “I can teach you, if you’d like. I know how to make quite a few things.”
His offer surprises me. “You’d do that?”
He dips his chin. “Like I said, it’s relaxing to cook. I’ve gone back to Our Open Table a few times and helped Vinnie and Bev get meals prepped.”
My eyes widen. “You’ve gone back?”
Once again, a nod of acknowledgment.
“Even when I wasn’t there?” I prod, trying to figure out why he’d keep going there.
His lips curl into an amused smile. “At first, I was hoping to run into you. But then it became about something else. I don’t always know what to do with my free time—what little I have of it. It seemed like a perfect place to go if I didn’t want to be by myself.”
