“Yeah. How else do you think Miles and Xavier get fed?” She snorts, and I slide the chicken back into the oven, turning down the temperature. “You can help with the pasta sauce if you want.”
“After the cannoli disaster, I’m not sure I should be anywhere near this.” She gestures to the kitchen and the ingredients I already have laid out.
“You can’t be that bad.” I grab two aprons from where they hang beneath the kitchen counter, wrapping mine around my waist before hooking the loop of the other one over Scarlett’shead. She giggles, turning around, and I tie it at the back, even making the bow look pretty.
“You better be prepared for disappointment,” Scarlett says when she spins back around to me.
“Disappointed? By you? Impossible.” She twists her mouth to the side in the most adorable way, folding her arms against her chest. I can’t help myself. I lean forward and press my lips to hers, satisfied when she sighs into my mouth. She tugs on my apron, pulling me in closer and I gasp when her hand travels lower. I grip her wrists between one of my hands.
“Hey, no distracting the chef,” I mutter into her mouth. She pulls apart from me, wiping the corner of her mouth seductively, and I groan. “Let’s get started.”
“Yes, chef.”
I very quickly learn that Scarlett absolutely cannot cook. We argue over techniques even though she’s not in the position to tellmewhat I’m doing wrong. I let her correct me just because it makes her laugh and we turn it into a competition on who can make the best sauce. From the way she frowns when dinner is ready and her sauce looks nothing like mine, I can tell who won. I don’t say that, though, and I offer her some of mine and we share the plate I made, eating over the kitchen counter.
After, I give her a quick tour of the house, showing her to the guest bedroom she’s going to stay in. I try to tell her where she can put her stuff and how to control the heater, but by the time I turn around, she’s already fast asleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: EVAN
Scarlett has been here for three days, and I don’t know how I haven’t freaked out yet. Having her here feels normal. Natural. It’s like this is the place we’re supposed to be together.
Her spirits have definitely lifted over the last few days. I don’t know if it’s because she’s done nothing but watch movies while I’ve been endlessly bringing her plates of food. She tells me more than once that she likes my cooking and I joke that she must be coming down with a cold. Compliments from her don’t feel like they do with everyone else. They feel different. Special.
Or maybe it’s because of the three-hour-long phone call she had with Wren and Kennedy yesterday, talking about what happened at Christmas and how she’s feeling.
Maybe it’s because I found some paper and sketching pencils in the storage room, and she’s spent most mornings sketching designs at the dining table. The house feels like it’s full of loose paper now, pencil shavings piled neatly beside her stacks of paper. It looks like she’s putting together a good portfolio, and even though I’ve only managed to sneak a few glances, I can tell they look incredible. Now that she’s no longer doing the line for Voss, I don’t know what she’s putting them together for, but it’s keeping her happy and that’s all that matters.
Maybe it’s because there’s still something unsaid between us. The line we keep crossing when we make out instead of watching a movie, exploring each other before getting too far and stopping. I feel like a teenager all over again. Those same nervous and excited feelings bubbling up in me whenever shetouches me or kisses me quickly before pulling away and going to her own room.
Maybe it’s because she’s gettingslightlybetter at being my sous-chef and we managed to make an incredible lasagna for dinner tonight. After dishing up our plates with a side of garlic bread, we made our way through the house to the back porch.
We’ve spent all of our evenings here like this, sitting by the large table with the built-in fireplace and a blanket, watching the stars appear in the sky. It’s quiet out here. Nothing but the sound of trees rustling, the occasional bunny or squirrel scurrying across the yard. We don’t have any neighbors, so I play a Sade vinyl at high volume from the living room, keeping the door slightly ajar so we can hear the sounds of her soothing voice carry through.
Scarlett adjusts the blanket in her lap, pushing her empty plate toward the middle of the table. “Don’t ever quote me on this, but I think I could live here forever.”
My heart stutters in my chest. “Yeah?”
“Don’t get me wrong, I love my parents’ house, but this . . . This is cozy. Warm. Safe.” I nod, turning to her, and our eyes snag. There’s a slight twinkle in her eyes, a shine that isn’t covered in sadness. It’s like there’s hope swimming in there. “Is this the house you grew up in?”
“Yep,” I say, popping the ‘p.’ “My dad never wanted to leave, even after my mom left.”
Scarlett nods, shuffling closer to me and dropping her head to my shoulder. She’s been doing that a lot over the last few days. It’s a simple, sweet exchange that says ‘I’m here. I’m listening.’ It makes my heart race every time.
“You never talk about your mom.”
“There’s not much to say—she left when I was a kid and we don’t talk much anymore. My dad is still in contact with her, but I’m not interested in having a relationship with her.”
“Is it better for you that she’s not around?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“I can imagine a little you running around here,” she says, laughing softly.
“You can, huh?”
“Yeah, but not for long. I take it you didn’t like being outside much as a kid.”
“Yeah,” I say, chuckling softly. “My dad has always been an outdoorsy person. I think it’s why he loves Vermont so much. I couldn’t deal with all the activities he’d rope me into as a kid, but in high school I joined the track team, and I fell in love with running and being outside. Gyms have always freaked me out, but being able to run in the open air is something I don’t take for granted.”
