“Damn right,” I say, switching Evee from one arm to the other. “I could hold both of you all night without even breaking a sweat.”
“With how much you apparently hit the gym, I would hope so,” she teases, reaching for Evee again. This time, I relent, passing her daughter to her, even though my arms feel like a part of them is missing the second she’s gone.
“Are you one of those metalheads that listens to that screaming music while you lift weights?” she asks as I wash my hands under the sink, switching spots with Rumi and taking over the batter.
“Do I seem like the type?” I ask while I finish folding in her insane amount of chocolate chips.
She eyes me up and down. “I could see it.”
“Then, sure. Let’s go with that.” I lean down to grab some parchment paper, pulling out enough to line the tray I set out earlier.
Rumi switches Evee from one hip to the other. “That doesn’t sound convincing. Don’t tell me you’re one of those psychopaths who doesn’t listen to music at the gym. I’m still not over that you don’t like sweets.”
“I liked the blueberry muffin you sent me home with after I fixed your door,” I say, grabbing some cookie dough and rolling it in my hand to place on the tray. “I finished the whole thing.”
Her jaw drops, but the corners of her lips are curved. “Oh my gosh, you are. How can you not listen to music while you work out?” She looks at Evee, grabbing her little hand and bouncing her in her arms. “Did you hear that, lovebug? Our new friend hates chocolateandmusic.”
“I don’t hate music, but I don’t listen to hard rock or screamo when I lift either,” I explain, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed. “I listen to—” I pause before finishing, “rap.”
She cocks her head, her eyes roaming down my face until she’s staring at my throat. “Then why is your neck all red?” she asks, and I look up to find her head cocked as she observes me.
“It’s not.”
She scoffs. “It is. I’m staring right at it. It’s your tell.”
“It’s not a tell. It’s a?—”
“It’s a tell,” she finishes for me. “I noticed it the first time when you barged into Honey’s.”
“I wasn’t lying when I came into Hey Honey’s that day.”
She laughs. “It’s not a tell for lying, firefighter. It happens when you’re embarrassed.”
My eyes slightly widen at her admission, her perception of me almost as accurate as mine of her, like we can read each other without any words between us and have been doing so since we met.
“And you don’t have to be embarrassed that you’re a grump who hates sweets and music. It fits with that brooding image you go for.”
“It’s not an image, Rumi. It’s just how I am.” I’ve been called grumpy, mean, standoffish—almost any other word you can come up with without saying “asshole”.
“I think youwantpeople to think you are, but you’re really not.” She looks at Evee whose eyes go from me to her mom before they go back to me again. “Or at least not with us.” Her small smile, the way her eyes soften, is enough to make me melt.
“Okay, fine.” I feel more blood rush to my neck as I busy myself with rolling more balls of cookie dough, her correct assumption that I’m an ass to everyone but her and Evee hits too close to home, making me feel even morethingsI shouldn’t be feeling about my friend. “I listen to Megan Thee Stallion when I work out.”
I’d call her music my guilty pleasure, but there’s no part of me that feels guilty for needing her music to get in a good run or lift. The embarrassment comes from the “hot girls lift heavy” playlist I found on Spotify that had all her songs.
The first time I clicked on it, it was an accident.
But now, I can’t listen to anything else when I’m at the gym.
What can I say? I support women’s unapologetic confidence and female strength and sexuality.
The moment of warmth dissolves when Rumi tilts her head back and lets out a laugh. “Not atallwhat I expected you to say when you said ‘rap’.” She shakes her head as she smiles, her laugh making Evee clap her hands and giggle too. Rumi looks at me, her eyes going from my throat to my eyes. “And no need to be embarrassed. I think more men should appreciate women and their voices to modern feminism.” She reaches toward the bowl as I roll another piece of dough and steals some for herself.
“What kind of music do you listen to?” Her hand reaches toward the bowl again, but I move the bowl just out of her reach, earning a playful slap on the arm.
“My ex was a huge country fan, so I always made sure that’s what I had playing at home or in the car,” she says—more information about her shitty ex that I file in my brain for later. “But since moving out, I rediscovered my love for boy bands. One Direction, Backstreet Boys, and *NSYNC are my go-to’s.” She reaches past me to grab more cookie dough for her and Evee, lifting some to Evee’s mouth. Evee shakes her head once, her little fists coming up to her face and rubbing her eyes just before she rests her head on her mom’s shoulder.
My eyes go to Rumi as she brings her fingers to her mouth. I can’t look away as she sucks the cookie dough off her fingers, watching as she licks some melted chocolate off her lips—the thought of being the one to taste it runs through my brain.
