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It didn’t seem possible before, but now it’s clear as day.
His eyes bore into mine. “You okay, Leigh?”
“Tired. I sat too much. I should have gone for a run.” Or we could go to your room and get our hearts pumping the fun way.
“Not too late.”
“I don’t have my stuff.” My cheeks flush as my eyes meet his. A giggle rises up in my throat. I try to distract myself by grabbing the cutting board, but I’m a nervous school girl. All thumbs.
“Maybe I should lead.”
“Good idea.”
“Hang back and watch.”
I nod sure.
Ryan fills a small pot with water. “Easiest way to cook frozen shrimp is by boiling.” He sets the pot on the stove, turns the burner to high. “You want to cook them until they’re a light pink.”
“How light?”
“Like a flamingo.”
This could be our life—the two of us making dinner together, relaxing in our apartment, fucking in our bed “They eat shrimp, right?”
“That gives them the color, yeah.”
“Oh. Duh.” I trip over my tongue. “We… uh… we need rice, right?”
“Yeah. You need a play-by-play for that?”
My cheeks flush. He’s teasing me. I feel it everywhere. “No. I know that much.” I find the rice in the pantry, scoop a cup into the rice maker, add two cups of water. “I used to cook for my mom.”
His voice softens. “Yeah?”
“Well, cook isn’t the right word. I’d make her TV dinners. Or sandwiches. I got about as far as mac and cheese. But not the stovetop kind. The microwavable kind.”
“You still fed her.”
“I guess.”
“Don’t guess. You did.” His eyes meet mine. “You were a kid. You weren’t responsible for taking care of her.”
“It felt like it. It has since I realized how out of it she was.”
“But it wasn’t.”
I bite my tongue. “I didn’t do a great job. We ate like shit.”
“That why you love junk food?”
“No.” I press my ass against the counter. “I hate junk food. It tastes like wondering why my mom wasn’t there. I guess that doesn’t make sense.”
He shakes his head it does. “Still can’t eat penne arrabiata without thinking of Penny.”
“Penny making penne. That’s—”
“It’s Penelope now.”
