Page 77 of To All the Guys I Killed Before

“Thank you.” I smile at her. She smiles back. We stand on opposite sides of my front door, smiling at each other.

“I’m not staying,” she tells me again.

“Okay. Do you want some stew?”

“Okay.” Her gaze doesn’t leave mine as she crosses the threshold and steps into my entryway, which is when I remember I took my glasses off for Quinn’s visit and have been making love-struck eyes at her without that extra layer of protection. Thankfully, she walks past me without comment, letting me snatch them off the table as I stalk after her. Good thing I was already in the cardigan.

“Don’t hover. Sit.” She points to the island when I join her in the kitchen. “I didn’t interrupt my sleep schedule to make sure you survived the night on Friday just to let you overexert yourself today.”

I sit. Getting bossed around never held much appeal, but I’m starting to rethink my stance on that.

She busies herself at the stove and turns with a steaming bowl in each hand, setting one in front of me and sliding onto the other stool with her own serving.

Before her spoon hits the creamy orange liquid, she leans into me.

“How are you feeling?” Her eyes search my face. “Headaches okay? Sleeping enough? Staying off your screens?”

“Neighbor girl,” I say with a laugh, “will you shut up and eat?”

She blinks, then laughs and digs in. Once she’s made some progress, I answer her.

“Headaches are minimal. Sleeping okay. No screens. Bored to death. That’s Quinn’s grandma’s chicken paprikash.”

“Good,” she says. “And so is the paprikash. Is Quinn a chef?”

She wraps her pretty pink lips around a spoon I’ve used many times and may use exclusively henceforth.

“Kind of. She’s a chemistry professor at Barrow University.”

Rue’s brows lift. “Chemistry? Interesting.”

“It is?” It’s useful for the Gomez side of me, but I’m curious what’s got Rue so intrigued.

She wrinkles her nose and laughs it off. “Impressive, I mean. Especially given…”

When she doesn’t finish, I help her out. “Given her clothes, her hair, her height, her gender, and her sunshiny personality?”

“Of course not,” she says. “I had all kinds of professors in college. I was just thinking about how bad I was at organic chem.”

“Same.”

We smile at each other again, then her eyes drop as she swirls her spoon through her stew. “So she’s the scientist you told me about? Your girlfriend?”

I’m exquisitely aware that Rue asked the question casually, but her shoulders are tense as she waits for my answer. Those tight muscles are the most captivating thing I’ve encountered in ages.

“She’s my oldest friend. Only a friend, always,” I say firmly. And fuck if those tense shoulders don’t relax at my words.

“A friend,” she repeats. “That’s good.”

“Why is that good?”

Please say it’s because you don’t want me to have a girlfriend. Please say it’s because you want to be my girlfriend.

“I dunno.” She drags her spoon around some more as she considers her words. “I guess if some night I just… don’t come home, I’m glad you’ve got someone to check on you. Bring you food.” Her eyes flick to me. “Make sure you get properly teased about being so tall.”

I’m slow to process what she’s saying. “What do you mean if you don’t come home?”

“Oh.” She blinks and offers me a weak smile. “The downside of my job. You start thinking about car crashes or freak accidents.” She shifts on the stool, lifting one shoulder and letting it fall. “Sometimes people just don’t come home.”