Page 109 of Halo

She crosses her arms. “Nick—”

“Doctor's orders.”

“But you don't know where anything is.”

“I think I can find my way around your kitchen.” My hand lands on a drawer.

“Wait, Nick, not that one—”

I open it.

And pause.

Then I die laughing. “Leah, do I need to stage an intervention?”

Warmth spreads across her cheeks. “Listen, I can explain—”

“Explain why you have enough peach rings to survive a natural disaster.” I snort, hefting the five-pound bag from the drawer. “Forget king size; you went straight for bunker size.”

She giggles, covering her face with a hand. “I swear I'm not eating that many at one time. They were cheaper this way.”

“Ah, of course. Gotta get those essentials in bulk. Toilet paper, laundry detergent … high fructose corn syrup …” I test the bag's weight in my palm. “Call it a hunch, but I'm guessing this is less of a snack and more of a dietary staple.”

Her smile lingers for another second as she picks at her nails. “Something like that. It's—” she shakes her head—“it's silly.”

I turn to face her, leaning my hip against the counter. “Try me, silly.”

She chews the inside of her cheek. “So … when I was going through chemo, I lost my sense of taste. I mean, not completely. Things either tasted like absolutely nothing, or they tasted—” she scrunches up her nose—“horribly wrong. Chicken was often metallic-y. Bread tasted like sour soil. Water, which has no taste, suddenly had a taste, and it was far from pleasant.” She nods at the candy. “But peach rings … man, they still tasted like peach rings. So, I always kept them handy.”

“How's your sense of taste now?”

She forces a smile. “It's better. I'm grateful to have some normalcy back.” She shrugs. “I guess I wish I had it all back, y'know? Like if I had known the last time I had my mama's chicken spaghetti was going to be the last time it tasted that delicious, I would've slowed down. Savored it a little bit longer.” She lets out a quiet laugh. “My sister-in-law's pregnant right now, and she's obsessed with all things chocolate, so when we get together, there's always something chocolatey: brownies, cake, pie. And I … gosh, what I wouldn't give to enjoy chocolate again—at least the way I remember it.” She glances at the bag in my hand. “But peach rings? They never let me down.”

“Well, then.” I slip the bag back into the drawer and quietly close it. “I'm a giant asshole.”

She giggles. “Stop. I never told you. And it is pretty weird.”

“Nah.” I shake my head. “Everybody's got a comfort food. Yours just apparently requires its own zip code.”

“So what's yours?”

“Hrm.” I turn the stove back on.

“You're not going to tell me?”

“I'll do you one better: I'll make it for you.” I grab the pan and start wiping out the burnt butter. “So go give that velvet hippo some love. I'll bring you both breakfast in a little bit, okay?”

She doesn't respond.

“Lee?” I peer over my shoulder and catch her staring at me—well, at my chest. “You okay?”

She blinks, smiling sheepishly. “Huh? Yeah, I'm just … watching you cook.”

Giving her a lazy grin, I shamelessly flex. “Enjoying the view?”

She snorts, shaking her head. “You're ridiculous.”

“Hey—” I teasingly hold up my hands, turning back to the stove. “You were staring first.”