It’s because it’s temporary.
Yeah, sure.
11
willa
With his permission toput things anywhere, I do exactly that. It’s not so much fun in the fridge with the limited options and space, but in the pantry, I go hog wild.
Not only are the shelves neatly organized by size and shape—ironically, not alphabetical—but there are multiples of each item all sorted neatly into plastic bins. For such a small area, it would have to be efficient to fit all this stuff.
I don’t move anything that’s already in a place, but I don’t match the new stuff into his organizational pattern.
A can of black beans? Fit in with the boxes of pasta.
A box of cereal? Next to the flour.
Hot cocoa Oreos? Hidden behind the bags of chips.
Good luck finding those before the holiday, Beckett.
I’m surprised he purchased store-bought cookies. After his “it’s cheating to bake brownies from a box,” I would assume the same goes for cookies. Though I suppose Oreos aren’t something people make from scratch. Still, a total conundrum.
I smile as I recall how his expression softened when he mentioned his mother. Same thing when we discussed his niece and sisters the other day. I’m a little downhearted I’ll probablynever meet them, to see how he fits in, where his personality comes from. From what he’s said about them all, it would be entertaining.
“Groceries disseminated. What’s next on my agenda?”
Music plays low from a speaker on the far counter. Should I feel guiltier he chose secular music for my sake?
“Rice or noodles?”
“Noodles.”
“Are you capable of boiling water?”
I forgot we talked about my inability to cook. Based on his smirk, he’s getting a lot of pleasure from rubbing my lack of skills in my face. Not sure I blame him. I am pretty pathetic.
“Yes, wiseass. I can even add the noodles to the pot and set a timer for when they’re done.” I grab a bag from the pantry. “And I can pour them into a strainer.”
His expression serious, he sets the spatuladown on the spoon rest and slow claps. “Color me amazed.”
The thing is, two can play his game.
“Which pot do you want me to use? Going out on a limb here when I say you have a specific one.” His mouth opens, but no words exit. “Not so condundrumy now, eh?”
“Oh, fancy author, making up fancy words. Is that how you get all your accolades? You take real words and make them into not-real words?”
I gasp, hand to heart to exaggerate it. “You’ve uncovered my secret. Whatever will I do now that you know?”
Beckett returns his attention to the stove, gives whatever he’s got in the pan a stir before casting aside the spatula. His moves are practiced and full of ease, whereas I’d probably drop the utensil into the pan, panic while I figured out a way to get it out, and burn the ingredients in the meantime. I’m not jealous or anything, but damn this man.
“You ever have a one-night stand?”
I’m not expecting his question. While it processes through my mind, he moves my way.
“What?”
“A one-night stand,” he repeats like I didn’t hear what he said. Not the problem so much as the timing and implication of it.
