“They’re good dudes. Mark makes great brownies.”
“They’re all gluten-free, just for your information,” Tucker says with a teasing glint in his eyes.
“No shit?”
“Yeah shit.”
I can’t help but laugh. Perhaps River was right. Once Tucker settles down and feels comfortable, he’s funny and likes to talk. Maybe I intimidated him a little, but the more I can make him feel comfortable with me, the more he’ll open up.
“So, your knee?” Tucker asks with a sympathetic smile.
“My knee.” I smile at Tucker’s eye roll. “I’d torn my ACL in college, so it was already in tender territory. Just bad luck in the final run during my final Super Bowl. My team won, but I kind of lost.”
“Not really.”
“Oh, why?”
Tucker winks. “You’re here with me.”
Again, I can’t help but laugh. What a one-eighty he seems to have done. Maybe the walk in the rain helped, maybe it was a wish on the sunrise earlier in the week, or maybe it was just the comfort of someone going through the trouble to make a meal that won’t make you ill.
Tucker clears his throat after he finishes his pizza. I watch as he delicately wipes his fingers off on a napkin, seeminglyforming a very complicated thought, if the upturn of the corner of his mouth is any indication.
“Sometimes there’s a bonfire on the other side of the island, near the Roberts’ house. Those are River’s parents. A bunch of our friends from high school are coming. It’s tomorrow night if you’d like to join.”
“Let me check my calendar,” I reply sarcastically.
Tucker chuckles, but a blush forms on the apples of his cheeks still. “They’ll probably make me play guitar. Gilbert usually asks me to play old-school grunge or something new like Nolan Hastings.”
“Oh, I love Nolan! His new album post hiatus was amazing. I saw him at a dive bar last year and the place was fucking packed. Got to meet him too.”
“I toured with him a few years ago,” Tucker says nonchalantly, like he’s not dropping the most epic bomb of all time.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, the Notorious Eclipse tour. He… wasn’t really okay during that one. It was the one prior to his relapse and stint in rehab.”
“He seems better now though.”
Tucker smiles, eyes lost in a memory again. “Yeah, we keep in touch a bit. He’d asked me to join him on the most recent tour, but Anthony, well.” Tucker stops himself and rolls his lips into his mouth. I try to wait him out, but nothing ever comes.
“There will be more tours.”
“Maybe,” Tucker hesitantly agrees. He sits back in his chair, tangling his fingers over his stomach, and eyes me curiously. “Do you have anything for dessert?”
“I bought some ice cream. Double-checked it’s celiac safe.”
Tucker tilts his head curiously. “What flavor?”
“Vanilla. Bought some cookies to crumble into it.”
“Now you’re speaking my language.”
I stand to take the plates into the kitchen, but Tucker holds on to his and follows me to the sink. We wash our plates separately, then I load them into the dishwasher while Tucker pokes around. He finds two bowls and two spoons, setting them down on the island with an expectant air. He’s cute. I return to the island with the ice cream and cookies, letting Tucker inspect them before fixing our desserts. Once they pass approval, I scoop us some ice cream and crumble some cookies onto mine. Tucker copies me and crumbles his cookies into the ice cream with a childish grin that makes my heart skip a beat.
“S’good,” Tucker says around a mouthful of ice cream.
I just nod instead of replying. A crack of thunder fills the air and Cupcake howls like she usually does. Although she’s not terrified of storms, she believes she could fight them and win. Tucker smiles toward the sound and licks his spoon. Jesus. This is going to be difficult. He stands and heads toward the sink.
