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This is the first time Drew and I have been alone in the house, but it feels oddly normal. For weeks now, we’ve seen each other in passing but we’re never alone. The girls are always around. But still, it doesn’t feel that strange to be here in the kitchen with him.

Drew holds out a white apron that matches his own and gestures for me to take it.

I raise one eyebrow sardonically. “Really? Matching aprons?”

He shrugs one of his broad shoulders. “I had a second one lying around.”

I slide the apron strap over my head and feel something scratch on my neck. Bringing my hand up to discover what the problem is, I clutch the price tag still attached and pull it off.

I smirk at Drew, and he wrinkles his nose.

“Okay, you got me. I bought you one yesterday.” He chuckles.

Unsure what to think about him buying me an apron that matches his, I change the subject. “So, what are we making today?”

He rubs his large hands together. “Well, first, I want to teach you how to use the grill. It’s pretty easy, and doesn’t heat up the house.”

I grimace. “You’re trusting me with an open flame?”

“You’ll be fine. I’m just showing you some basics.”

Before getting started on the meat, he takes me to the back patio and instructs me on how to turn on the propane and get the grill heating up.

When we step back into the house, he opens up a package of chicken breasts.

“Grilling chicken is super easy and also pretty healthy. You can basically choose any flavor you want to add to it: honey-mustard, lemon pepper, BBQ, whatever you feel like.”

Drew lines up the sauces and lets me choose. He’s standing close enough to me that when I reach out to select the BBQ sauce, my arm brushes against his. My heart rate speeds up at the touch, but he doesn’t seem affected at all. He hands me a silicone brush to coat the chicken, like his skin touching my skin is no big deal at all. I inhale a quick breath and brush the chicken in BBQ sauce.

Once that’s done, we chop some red potatoes, season them, and toss them into the air fryer, then chop and steam a few heads of broccoli.

Once everything is cooked, we have a small, but delicious-smelling feast before us. And if I’m being honest, it was all really simple to make.

We sit together at the dining room table and devour the delicious lunch we created. Drew lets out a small moan, obviously enjoying the meal. But the sound does something funny to my insides.

“See? That wasn’t so hard.” He gestures to his plate. “Protein, carbohydrate, vegetable. Easy peasy.”

Grateful he’s not moaning anymore, I answer quickly, “Yeah, it actually was really simple. My mom always made cooking seem really complicated—but she can make anything seem complicated.”

Drew eyes me with a contemplative expression. “Yeah? Aren’t you close with your mom, though?”

“I mean, I love my mom, and I don’t know what I would’ve done without her help these past few years.”

I look down at my plate and think about what I want to say before continuing. “Growing up, I took the ballet classes and French lessons, but it just wasn’t me. The path I chose wasn’t what they wanted… marrying a soldier, getting a degree in education. I know my parents just want me to be happy, but they think a privileged lifestyle will give me that. Money has never been my motivation in life.” I smile wistfully. “My mom has never understood my desire to do things differently than they did, and that can be frustrating.”

I glance back up at Drew to find him watching me intently. He’s looking into my eyes like he can see straight through to my soul, like he somehow understands me in a way my parents never have. Several seconds pass, but he doesn’t look away.

His gaze becomes too much for me to handle, so I try to lighten up our conversation. “One time, my mom tried to show me how to make flan. It was a disaster.”

Drew blinks a few times, making me wonder if he was just as affected by our eye contact as I was.

He smiles and responds, “You know I love your parents, but your mom is intense.”

One side of my mouth pulls up in a smile. “She definitely can be.”

“So, did Sam do most of the cooking then?”

I smile. “Yeah, when he was home, he did. He loved to cook.”