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I suddenly feel like I’m starving.
I pull out the chair next to my purse, and Rueben takes the seat directly across from me.
“We named the kitten,” he tells Bishop.
I blink at him. “We did?”
“You called him a tiny tempest, remember? It seemed to suit him, and considering we’re all Tempests supporters here, it seemed appropriate.”
“You’re giving him back when his owner can take him,” Bishop reminds him, a hint of threat in his tone. “Named, or not.”
“I know,” Rueben says. “I didn’t steal him. I’m just looking after him.”
“Well, you can drive out to Cressidan City hospital and let his owner know about that after lunch.”
“After lunch?” Rueben complains. “I’ll miss the start of the game later.”
Bishop shrugs. “It was your idea to bring the kitten home.”
“No good deed goes unpunished,” Rueben murmurs.
“You could just call the hospital and pass along a message,” I suggest, making Rueben’s eyes light up.
“That sounds way better.”
“It’ll save time and gas money.”
“I’ll do that, after lunch,” Rueben agrees.
Bishop shakes his head from where he’s standing over the stove top.
He starts to bring bowls out of the cupboard, and silverware out of a drawer.
It feels weird to be sitting at a table waiting for someone else to put food in front of me.
I’ve been cooking for myself for so long that this kind of feels like being home in Crystal Lake where my mom won’t let me lift a finger.
“Do you always cook?” I ask as Bishop starts putting things down on the table.
Place mats come first, followed by silverware.
“He cooks fifty percent of the time,” Rueben blurts before Bishop can open his mouth. “He gets the rest of us to take turns. I usually just call for pizza when it’s my turn. I can’t cook. I can make a mean sandwich, but that’s about it.”
Bishop puts a plate of fresh bread in the middle of the table, and a slab of butter in a dish next to it.
Rueben goes straight for a thick slice of bread, buttering it up quickly.
“Scout is always trying new stuff he sees online,” Rueben goes on, between bites. “It’s usually pretty good. Gus has a couple recipes he sticks to, so he’s our roast dinner guy, usually. Sometimes he’ll do mac and cheese or lasagne.”
Four guys in a house together, and only one of them can’t really cook.
This is like a dream living situation, for the right woman.
Too bad I’m not that woman.
Bishop puts bowls of soup in front of us.
I smile at him. “Thanks.”
