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“You love them?”
“Of course. They’re assholes sometimes, but they mean well.”
“I’m not sure you’ve ever admitted that.”
“It’s between us.”
“Of course. My, uh, my hair this morning is between us too.”
“It looked good.”
I shake my head. “It was a mess. It’s still a mess. And it’s practically platinum.”
He gives me a long, slow once over. “Looks good on you.”
“Oh. Thanks. But I… uh… I prefer the lavender. Platinum is kinda trashy.”
“Looks punk rock on you.” He brushes a hair behind my ear. “Guess I should be used to that by now, Punk Rock Princess.”
My blush spreads to my chest. “You, uh… what kind of stir fry are we making?”
“Craving anything?”
You. “Ginger. Like last night.”
He nods to the fruit bowl. “Grab it for me.”
I do.
He shows me how to peel the ginger with a paring knife. How to grate it into tiny pieces and warm it with the oil.
How to chop carrots and broccoli and set the pan at just high enough to cook without burning.
How to test the shrimp is done, drain it, add it to the pan.
We add rice vinegar, garlic, fish sauce, sesame oil, scallions.
I don’t hate it.
Not even close.
Then we bring the plates to the table, and we taste our perfectly imperfect dish, and I fall completely in love.
With cooking.
And with Ryan too.
Chapter 20
Ryan
Finishing Leighton’s website takes until nearly two a.m. Not that we’re on task. We spend half our time talking about nothing. Or teasing each other. Or trying to prove some point about each other’s cover model worthiness by doing mock-up after mock-up.
I nail her bright smile.
She nails my “broody blue eyes.”
She drags me to the couch to watch Gone Girl, spends the entire movie talking about how the cheating husband got what was coming to him, and falls asleep in my lap.
