By the time I get home from work, the apartment smells like garlic, and something slightly burned, which immediately puts me on alert.
Kayla is standing at the stove when I walk into the kitchen. She’s wearing silky shorts and one of those oversize sweaters that looks like it belongs to someone else. Her hair is piled on top of her head in a messy knot.
She doesn’t notice me at first. She’s too busy poking at something in the pan, like she’s negotiating with it.
“Is the kitchen on fire?” I ask.
She jumps slightly. “Jeez, Sawyer.”
“That’s not an answer.”
She turns toward me and gestures at the stove. “I attempted dinner.”
“Attempted?”
“Cooking is a learning experience.”
I glance at the pan. “The garlic definitely lost this fight.”
She narrows her eyes. “You cook breakfast a couple of times, and suddenly, you’re Gordon Ramsay.”
“I didn’t burn eggs.”
“Low blow.”
Kayla turns the stove off and slides the pan to the side. “Relax. I already ordered takeout when I saw it going south.” She motions to the food on the counter, “This food is officially not salvageable.”
“Strong recovery.”
She grabs two plates from the cabinet, then pauses when she notices I’m watching her. “You keep doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Looking at me like you’re solving a problem.”
“I’m observing.”
“That’s the same creepy excuse you used last time.”
“I stand by it.”
She hands me a plate. “Hold this.”
I take it as she reaches across the counter to grab the bag of takeout sitting near the edge. Her sweater sleeve slips down her arm slightly as she does.
The movement is small, but for some reason, my attention locks on to it immediately because my attention catches on the movement immediately and refuses to let go.
Kayla glances up, catching me looking. She smiles slightly. “You’re doing it again.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.”
She sets the food on the island and starts opening containers. “You get this look when you’re overanalyzing something.”
“What look?”
“Theintimidating billionairestare.”