Page 123 of Last First Kiss

“You’re sick.”

Jamie squints at him like he’s overstating the obvious. A fair point.

“I wanted to make sure you’re okay,” Jordan says. “And to help.”

“Help?”

Jordan lifts the canvas bags higher. “I brought supplies.”

He steps over empty water bottles en route to the kitchen. The marble island is primarily clear. Jordan unpacks the bags there: vegetables, herbs and spices, boneless chicken, a packet of his favorite soup mix, a carton of orange juice, day and night cold medicine, cans of ginger ale, and vapor rub.

Since Amy didn’t specifywhatJamie’s illness was, Jordan decided to play it safe.

From the sofa, Jamie says, “You’re cooking?”

His body’s twisted sideways, legs tucked under him as he watches Jordan rummage through the cabinets. Remarkably, he finds a pot big enough for what he’s planned. It’s brand-new, like Denz or Jamie forgot about it or bought it by mistake.

“I am,” Jordan verifies.

“You…cook?”

Jordan laughs lowly, unearthing a cutting board. “I do.”

“I didn’t know that.”

At this, Jordan pauses. It’s not something he does often.Certainly not with any witnesses. Anytime he and Jamie have hung out here, they’ve ordered delivery.

A realization hits him: Jordan’s never cooked for anyone outside of Cheryl and Tevin.

This is another first. With Jamie.

He decides not to think about that.

“I had to learn,” he admits, chopping the garlic. “My mom was always working late. Tevin too. We ate a lot of takeout. Sometimes, Auntie Leena gave me a bunch of prepared meals after Sunday dinners.”

Jamie smiles softly, knowing exactly how thoughtful Denz’s mom is.

Jordan moves on to the onion. “But I wanted the dishesIloved. So I watched videos. Learned a bunch of recipes. I’d give my mom a list of groceries, then I’d cook. By myself.”

There’s a slight burn behind his eyelashes. It’s the onions. He starts on the corn next.

“How old were you?” Jamie says.

Jordan pauses to think. “Twelve? No, thirteen.”

“Damn. I was learning how to use deodorant and not freak out about all the hair growing on my crotch at thirteen.”

Jordan laughs. “Oh, I was doing that too.”

He adds the onion, garlic, and corn to the pot of water along with the chicken, some thyme, salt, and allspice. He cranks the heat. Sets a timer.

“I wasn’t very good back then,” Jordan confesses. “But I’m decent now.”

Jamie smiles weakly. “Decent?That’s not a word in Jordan Carter’s vocabulary.”

With a chuckle, Jordan flips him off. But he ponders Jamie’s words. There was a deeper, inadvertent reason he didn’t cook for others: Jordan wasn’t great at it. He doesn’t let others see his flaws. He refuses to give anyone a reason to not like… him.

His eyes slide to Jamie. Sniffly, exhausted Jamie, who never finds a reason to hate Jordan. To use his flaws against him.