Page 18 of I’ll Find You

There’s a short pause before his tone turns serious. “Alright,” he says. “But Alex?”

“Yeah?” I say, already exasperated.

“You might want to tell your parents before they hear it from someone else.”

I know he’s right. And I know exactly who that “someone else” might be. Aunt Evie. I end the call and slip the phone back into my pocket.

For a moment, I stand there, staring at the door. A smile spreads across my face because, for now, Rose is still my secret.

Chapter

Thirteen

Rose

When Alex returns from the bedroom, I can tell there is something on his mind. It’s in the way he avoids looking at me and the furrow permanently etched into his brow. I busy myself wiping down the counter. It gives my hands something to do until he’s ready to sit. He pulls out a chair at the island. I set the pot on the stove before reaching for a plate, but I only see one. I blink and check the cabinet again, then open another one. Still nothing. A glass. A set of coffee mugs. But only one plate. I frown at it, like maybe another one might magically appear. It doesn’t.

“Well,” I mutter.

Alex leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching me with mild amusement, and definitely not sitting.

“You own exactly one plate,” I say.

His mouth tilts into a crooked smile. “Technically, that’s all I needed.”

I shake my head and pull the drawer open beside me. Two forks. “At least you have those,” I say. I scoop the spaghetti onto the single plate and place it between us on the island. Alex pulls out the stool beside him for me before settling onto his own.

“Shared plate,” I say gruffly. “Don’t get territorial.” I plop my elbows out to create some distance, but the feel of him makes me move them away just as quickly.

He chuckles, muttering something under his breath as he picks up one of the forks. For a moment, we simply stare at the plate before digging in. It's strangely easy. Our forks weave around each other in an unspoken rhythm, occasionally brushing when we reach for the same bite. The scrape of his fork fades until all I notice is the slow, even rhythm of his breathing. Somehow, it makes the silence between us feel less empty. It should feel awkward, sharing a meal from the same plate with a man I barely know. Instead, it feels...natural. Alex eats like he's starving, and despite myself, I keep stealing amused glances in his direction.

“You’re inhaling it,” I say jokingly.

“You made it,” he replies, slurping up a stray noodle before licking his lips and glancing at me, like that is his sole reason for his hunger.

“That doesn’t mean you have to annihilate it.”

He grins. “You’re watching me.”

I huff. “I’m not watching you.”

His eyes sparkle with mischief. “You are.”

I roll my eyes and take another bite. I twirl my fork again, and I do it with a little more force than necessary. He’s wrong for calling me out. But he isn’t wrong that I was watching him. And apparently, I can’t stop either. When I twirl more spaghetti onto my fork, the noodles pull from the pile, and suddenly, they’re attached to his. The strand is still hanging between us.

Alex tilts his head slightly. “You could let go.”

“Why don’t you?” I shoot back before I can stop myself.

A slow smile spreads across his face. “You first.”

I sigh, playing into this ridiculous game, and lean forward to bite my side of the noodle. At the same moment, Alex leans forward too. For a second, we both hesitate, but neither of us pulls back. The noodles shorten between us.

My breath catches. Closer. The strand disappears between our lips, and suddenly there’s no pasta left between us at all. My mouth brushes his. It’s barely a touch. Soft. Warm. The instant our lips meet, every nerve ending comes alive.

Time stops. I freeze.

Alex doesn’t move either. His breath mingles with mine, warm against my skin, lips flush against my own. Everything else fades until we’re just there, suspended in this moment. I'm close enough to see the amber light from above reflected in his dark eyes, softening their usual intensity. His pupils are blown wide, his gaze locked on mine with a heat that makes my pulse stumble. The way he searches my face makes it seem like he's weighing a decision before he slowly leans back. The air between us feels different now, colder. He clears his throat, picking up his fork again, as if nothing happened.