“Come in,” he greeted Max belatedly, when he was already halfwaythrough the door. “Take your coat off, make yourself at home.”
“Thanks,” Max murmured, shy as ever once he was outside hiscomfort zone.
Connor was hoping to work on that. He wanted to be a part of Max’scomfort zone.
“Something smells amazing,” Max added a moment later, hanging hiscoat on a free hook.
“I haven’t had an excuse to roast my own chicken in a while,”Connor said. “So I figured I’d take advantage of you being here. I also havepotatoes and homemade garlic bread.”
Comfort foods, Connor had decided. Simple, familiar things thatwould, hopefully, leave Max full, happy, and relaxed.
“Do you drink?” Connor asked as he headed over to the kitchen,hearing Max’s footsteps behind him.
“Uh… I’ve never really been able to afford to,” Max responded.
A lump formed in Connor’s throat at the honesty. Sadness, for Max,that he couldn’t do normal young people things, but also joy that he waswilling to justtellConnor that, instead of trying to talk around it.
They were getting somewhere. He could tell Max was really startingto see him as a friend.
“Okay, let me rephrase: do you want a glass of wine? I can pourlightly, and you don’t have to drink it if you hate it.”
Max wet his lips. “Maybe?”
“Maybe’s good enough. Try a sip, and I’ll finish yours if youdon’t,” Connor said.
“Okay,” Max agreed.
Connor’s stomach clenched with excitement. Max trusted him.
It was like having a wild animal approach and take food out of hishand. A genuinely magical moment.
“Take a seat, make yourself comfortable. I figured we could eatwhile we talk. That’s the casual part.”
Max chuckled at that. “I was wondering what part of a full roastdinner you consideredcasual,” he said.
He didn’t seem upset about it, though. Maybe even a littleexcited?
That might have been wishful thinking, but if the way to a man’sheart was through his stomach, then Connor was planning on making a seriousplay for Max’s affection tonight.
Platonic affection.
He knew Max wasn’t interested, and that was fine.
“My view of what is and isn’t casual has been warped by the numberof weddings my clients haveinsistedwere casual, but then demandedformal ten-course meals at,” Connor said, smiling wryly. “Not that I personallydo the catering, but… that’s a helluva menu plan that makes anything less feela little inadequate.”
“Yesterday, the only thing I ate was a free donut and mac ‘n’cheese out of a box,” Max said. “So I’m working from a completely differentbaseline.”
Connor made a soft, sympathetic noise, opening the oven to pullthe chicken out. The juices ran clear when he stuck a knife into the thigh, buthe shoved an instant-read thermometer in anyway, wanting to be sure he’d cookedit through.
It couldn’t hurt to check, and he really didn’t want to cut into ahalf-cooked chicken in front of someone he was trying to impress.
The thermometer beeped, showing a perfect internal temperature,and Connor smiled. The garlic bread and potatoes looked perfect as well.
He’d pulled this off, even though it’d been a long time since he’dcooked for anyone other than himself.
“You know, if… I mean, if youwanted, I really don’t mindcooking for two more often.”
“Dude, you’ve cooked for ten,” Max said, staring at the dishesConnor was pulling out of the oven.
