He laughed. “And you love it, cutie pie. Talk to you later.”
I ended the call, slipped the phone into my pocket, and dug through my bag again for regular glasses. Once I replaced my sunglasses, I set my bag beside the door and took a look around. Calvin had made decent headway on unboxing all of our belongings and turning the place into as much of a home as it could be with next to… no furniture. I thought that was all supposed to be delivered today?
The immediate area was mostly broken-down boxes and trash bags of packing material, but eventually it’d be a little eating nook. Down the hall to the right was an afterthought of a kitchen where the delicious aroma seemed to be originating from. Straight ahead was the living room, with big bay windows that overlooked the street below. Calvin had installed the blinds and hung curtains, which was sweet of him. The stairs on the left led to the loft bedroom and bath.
“Calvin?” I called, heading down the hall.
Dillon raised his head from where he lay on the floor. His tail thumped happily against the hardwood, but a few glances from me to what was happening in the kitchen told me he was very busy eyeing food that wasn’t his.
I peeked around the corner. “Did you order lasagna?”
Calvin looked up and smiled. He shut the oven door. “I made it.”
I stepped into the barely-big-enough-for-two kitchen and wrapped my arms around Calvin’s neck. “You made lasagna?”
“I know you like vegetable, but I stopped at Rico’s Corner on the way home from the Emporium, and their produce are shit on a good day, so it’s chicken.” Calvin put his hands on my hips and gave me a light kiss on the mouth. “I only bought enough for dinner—wanted to test the oven.”
“I’m really into you making lasagna.”
“I figured you would be.”
“We’ll have to invest in more kitchen supplies,” I continued, letting go of him and taking a step back.
Calvin nodded. He moved to the counter and picked up his tablet. “I was searching for more dinner recipes and got a bit off track.” He turned the screen to me and held it out. “Interested in donuts?”
I took the tablet but stared at Calvin. “Homemade donuts?”
“Yeah.”
“Is this a trick question?”
He smiled and took the tablet back. “I’ll look into getting some baking tools.” Calvin leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. “It’s a bit of a novelty to have a real kitchen again. Between college and the police academy, my service years, and that studio I had for half a decade….”
“I’m excited for you to start cooking,” I said.
Calvin raised his eyebrows.
“Really,” I insisted. “And more than because I like food.”
He chuckled. “Why, then?”
“You said yourself that you find cooking relaxing. You deserve that. And you need a hobby.”
“How sweet,” he said dryly.
“That didn’t sound rude in my head.”
Calvin reached out and took my hand. “I know what you mean.” He squeezed and let go. “My therapist will undoubtedly like hearing it too.”
Calvin hardly ever talked about his therapist or their sessions together. Not that I expected him to. It was his journey. So long as he sought discussion with someone who would guide him to discovering self-forgiveness and healthy coping mechanisms, I didn’t care if he never shared a word. But sometimes, hearing subtle assurances that he was comfortable with her and taking their conversations into serious consideration was a relief.
I went to the fridge and found a few bottles of beer had been picked up with the lasagna ingredients. “Drink?”
“I was waiting for you.”
I popped the tops off two bottles and handed one to Calvin. “To our first homecooked meal in our new home.”
Calvin tapped the neck of his bottle to mine. “Cheers.” He took a sip and then moved to check the lasagna again. “Were you talking to Aubrey when you got in?”
