I nod. “That makes sense. Though I’m still shocked you keep sugary cereal here. You strike me as a guy who opts for the healthier stuff.”
“Cereal is where I draw the line, and I might have a bit of a sweet tooth.”
You taste like vanilla cupcakes, Sunny.
Uh, yeah. I remember.
I clear my throat, shoving away the memories of him tasting me last night. “Cereal in bed it is, though you really should hit up a grocery store every now and then. Learn to cook, even if it’s just the basics.”
“Are you going to teach me?”
He’s not even trying to be flirty. It’s a genuine question, and my instant reaction is to say yes, because what kind of chef wouldn’t want someone else to fall in love with cooking?
But then I remember how we’re not supposed to be doing this—whatever this is—which means we definitely aren’t supposed to be making plans together.
“We’ll circle back to that,” he says at my pause, moving toward the pantry. He opens the door and looks back at me over his shoulder. “Now, do you want Froot Loops, Lucky Charms, or Cinnamon Toast Crunch?”
Five minutes later, we’re back in his bedroom, under the same sheets we were tangled in last night, each of us holding a bowl of too-sugary cereal, the TV playing quiet reruns ofThe Officein the background.
I know I should probably check my phone and get hold of my dad, but I’m too content right now. I’ll do it later. He’s a big boy and can take care of himself for one night.
“God, I forgot how good this was,” I say as I shovel a bite of Cinnamon Toast Crunch into my mouth. “I don’t remember the last time I had it.”
“It’s my second favorite. I’m still a Froot Loops kid through and through. My uncle was about as skilled in the kitchen as I am, so I ate a lot of it growing up.”
“Is he how you got into hockey?”
“Sort of?” Ezra shrugs. “I mostly got into it because it was something to do. My uncle worked hard to keep a roof over our heads, so I was often alone. There was an after-school program at my local rink, so I’d go there and watch the kids skate. I was mesmerized by it. I’d never watched hockeyor anything until then, but it looked fun as hell. One day a coach saw me and asked if I wanted to give it a go. I didn’t have equipment, but they found me some, pushed me out onto the ice. I didn’t love the skates at first—way too unreliable—but once I actually gave it a real shot, I was hooked.” He grins. “They would have to practically drag me from the rink every night because I never wanted to leave. It was like being in a different world. I was no longer just the kid who lost his parents. I was someone else. I was ...”
“Free?” I finish for him, unable to contain my own smile. He looks so happy talking about the game, and though I know he doesn’t want my sympathy, it still makes me feel so bad that he lost it.
“Yeah, that. How’d you know?”
“Because you get this look on your face when you talk about hockey, and it’s the same look you have when you’re speeding down the road. It’s ... peaceful. And kind of beautiful. Terrifying when you’re doing a hundred, but still beautiful.”
He laughs. “I wasn’t doing a hundred.”
I raise a brow at him.
“It was 105, thank you very much.”
“Yes, because that’ssomuch better.” I roll my eyes.
“Hey, it’s the closest thing I can get to an adrenaline rush these days, thanks to my hip. I’ll take the win where I can get it.”
“Is that why you drive a manual? I can’t imagine that’s easy, given your restricted range.”
“Yes, that’s why. And it can be uncomfortable, but it makes me feel useful again.”
I want to say so many things about that—like how he’s still useful even if he isn’t who he used to be—but I don’t. That’s too heavy a topic for us. Instead, I take another bite of my cereal that’s starting to get soggy. I chew, then swallow.
“I forgot how quickly this gets mushy,” I say, pushing the pieces around in the milk.
“Yeah, that’s the only downside of cereal. You have to eat it fast.”
We finish off our bowls, and Ezra takes them, setting them on the bedside table.
It makes me smile.
