“You need more stuff,” she says absently. “Groceries, bathroom supplies, a garbage can. Did we even pack a spatula?”
“Do I need one?”
“Jesus, Jesse.” She runs a hand through her hair. “Yes, you need a spatula. And a lot of other things.”
He chuckles. “I’ll figure it out.”
Natalie narrows her eyes. “No, we’re going to Target.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now. Before I go home and you decide that eating out of takeout containers is a sustainable lifestyle.”
Jesse sighs dramatically, but there’s no real protest. She grabs her purse, shooing him toward the door.
CHAPTER 2
NATALIE
Natalie hovers over the stove in Jesse’s kitchen, the sky outside dim with early light. It’s far too early for anyone to be cooking, let alone simmering tomato sauce like it’s Sunday dinner, but doing something familiar keeps her from thinking too much.
She moves onautopilot, chopping fresh basil and stirring the rich, red sauce that bubbles on the stove. Nearby, garlic sizzles in olive oil, the first step in her mother’s chicken parmigiana recipe, a meal she used to make for Jesse and Natalie on special nights, when the world felt a little softer.
Natalie doesn't need a recipe. Her hands remember, even when her heart feels far away.
Jesse wanders in, shirtless and bleary-eyed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Are you making chicken parm?”
“Yep,” Natalie says, sliding the chicken into the pan. “And after this I’m going to prepare some eggs and veggies. If I don’t stock your fridge and freezer, I’m afraid you’ll live off protein shakes and takeout.”
“Facts.” He leans against the counter, watching her. “Smells like home.”
“That’s the idea.”
Their mother had been Italian, and growing up, their cramped kitchen pulsed with life. Long before she could read a recipe, Natalie learned to cook by watching her mother move around the crowded countertop, rolling pasta dough paper-thin, watching garlic until that precise golden moment before adding tomatoes. By the time she left for college, her mother had armed her with more than family recipes; she'd given her the instinct to cook with love, to use food to bring people together.
Now, in Jesse’s apartment, she carries on those lessons, pouring a piece of their mother into every stir.
Jesse is quiet for a moment. “You’re the best, Nat.”
“I know, right?” she replies playfully. “Best big sister around. I also called and set up the cleaning service that the team recommended. The woman’s name is Marta. She’ll be here once a week on Tuesdays. I put it in your calendar.”
“You always take care of me.”
“That’s what family does.”
“No, Nat.” He meets her gaze, a quiet weight in his eyes. “I’m serious, thank you.”
She grips the wooden spoon a little tighter. “It’s no big deal.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “If a week’s worth of mealsqualifies as ‘no big deal.’”
She chuckles, putting the chicken parm in the oven. “Just eat it and be grateful, brat.”
Jesse grins, swiping a banana from the counter. “That I can do.”
“What time is training?” Natalie asks.
“Ten. I’ll be out all day.”
