“Okay, I lied. I was actually checking out your calves, and how one of them is slightly bigger than the other.”
I shove her gently between the shoulder blades, nudging her into the kitchen and toward the fridge.
Once our ingredients are lined up on the counter, it hits me.
“Hmm, so full disclosure. I’ve actually never made lasagna before. Have you?” I ask.
“This is unreal!” She starts rifling through the cupboards. “You invite me to dinner, and I have to cook my own meal?”
I clear my throat. “So, is that a no? Neither of us know how to make this shit?”
She sighs. “Google is your friend.”
I fumble with my phone, swiping through the recipes until I find one with five stars. I pull up a playlist, turn up the speakers, and head over to the sink. Carrie has slipped a hideous apron on over her dress and nearly stabs me in the eye with a carving knife when she catches me trying to grab a photo of her. We work in comfortable silence, moving in time to the music, reaching past each other for onions and passata, our fingers brushing, our sleeves rubbing, and when one ofmy favorite songs comes on, I grab her hand, feeling the sauce squelch as our palms meet.
“If you like piña coladas, and getting caught in the rain…”
Carrie narrows her eyes. “I hate this one. You’ve got a guy who’s bored of his wife, just because they’ve been together for so long. Basically, a prime asshole.”
“Hey, come on!” I protest. “His wife put an ad out looking for an alcoholic to elope with!”
“Uh—duh?” Carrie widens her eyes at me. “She’s living with a guy who doesn’t give a shit about her anymore! What do you expect?”
“That’s such a cop-out. Did you forget the part where they realize they’re still in love at the end? And then they decide to go drink piña coladas in the rain?” I smirk. “I guess the moral of the story is that the perfect girl might just be right there in front of you all along.”
She stares at me.Shit, was that too direct?I wish she’d say something right now—anything would do. The silence is freaking me out.
She tilts her head. “You reallyhavechanged, haven’t you?”
I suppress a sigh. She’s just not getting what I’m hinting at, but I swallow my frustration. There’s still a whole evening ahead of us.
We slide the dish into the oven and stand back, taking in the trail of destruction we’ve left behind us in the kitchen. I glance over at Carrie. I can’t take my eyes off her. The way she’s standing there like that, bent over the counter…
Fuck it. I’m done pretending I don’t want her.
Since the subtle approach doesn’t seem to work with her, I decide to tackle this head-on, and before I have time to second-guess myself, I skirt around the kitchen island. When she straightens, I put my hands on her hips.
“What are you doing?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.
“Remember why we slept together that first time?”
“Vaguely.”
“You had all this pent-up tension,” I remind her, stepping a little closer. “And I was feeling generous.”
She snorts.
“?‘Generous’? You just needed to get laid, dude.”
“Great!” I say brightly. “So, youdoremember.”
“And?”
“And so why did we stop? We were good together—I don’t get why it ended.”
She ducks under my arm before I can block her escape.
“You were learning to be the perfect boyfriend. Don’t overthink this.” She takes a step back, putting space between us. “And you’re kinda slacking off lately. Sure, things didn’t work out with Cheyenne—I get that. But that doesn’t mean you give up. Find a new girl and get back out there.”
