She squeezes her eyes shut, then blinks as if they’re dry.
“Sorry,” she says, fanning herself. “It’s hot in here, huh?”
Oh.
This makes sense now. I’m shirtless. Most guys she’s around wear collared shirts buttoned to the top. My tattoos are new to her.
I keep walking. Shower. Dress. Assure myself I am overthinking this.
When I get to the dinner table, she has created a feast. I look at the sink and I am sure she used every kitchen gadget. Mom would’ve been proud, but I tense, because it’s both invasive how much she’s done, yet a welcome relief.
“Damn, this is amazing.”
“Yeah!” Tommy agrees. “Amazing.”
She sits across from me, looking bashful.
“Thank you,” she murmurs modestly.
I notice her pray silently before digging in. It’s kinda cute, but of course, I don’t join in.
I say nothing the entire meal. I devour it. I haven’t had this kind of home-cooked meal in ages.
When I finish, I set my fork down and lean back. I just stare at her for a while. The space feels fuller.
She catches my gaze and smiles nervously.
“Morgan, this was incredible. I fucking needed that.”
Because I feel so much better.
She bites her bottom lip and blushes, then smiles. Real this time. “My pleasure.”
She gets up to clear the table, but I stop her.
“No, no, no. You’ve done enough. Tommy and I will get it.”
We grab plates, but my phone rings. Noel. I glance out the window. It’s getting dark.
“Are you coming home?” I answer. “You have school tomorrow.”
“I know, I know. I wanna stay at Liam’s. We’re at an important part in this game, and his mom says she’s too tired to drive me home.”
“Let me talk to her.”
“She’s like showering or something.”
“Noel, don’t lie.”
“I’m not!” he whines.
Then Liam’s voice sounds in the background.
“She is. My mom’s showering.”
At least he’s really with Liam.
“Have her call me when she gets out,” I persist.
