Page 37 of Emil

Get halfway decent. I’ll be there in five.

“Skipping dinner isn’t part of your job description,” I said by way of greeting when Anders answered my knock. He stepped aside and let me through the door, then tried to take the bags from my arms. I shifted away so he didn’t have a chance and set them on the counter. “Nope. You worked late and skipped eating. You’re not fixing dinner too.”

“I don’t mind helping,” Anders said hesitantly. Calvin’s warning about not making a potential boy earn his spot echoed in the back of my mind.

“You’ve done enough today.” I put the bags down on the counter, making sure they were out of Anders’s reach, and started pulling out our dinner. On the spotless counter, I laid out the ingredients for tomato soup and grilled cheese. “Go sit down. Let me wash my hands, and I’ll get started. It shouldn’t take too long.”

Anders knitted his eyebrows together. It made me feel some kind of way that he didn’t know how to let himself simply exist without doing something for someone. His fingers literally twitched as he watched me prep dinner.

“You aren’t used to doing nothing, are you?” I tried to keep my voice conversational because I wanted Anders to feel like he could talk without having to hedge anything. I hadn’t done a good job of it, though, because he remained silent. “What do you like to do in your downtime?”

“Downtime?”

“You know, the time when you’re not working. When you’re just sitting at home doing nothing except that thing you do in your downtime?”

“I’m not sure I’ve ever really had that.” He sounded genuinely confused at the idea of not having something to do, which was wild to me.

“Like drawing or coloring or gaming or watching reality TV. Anything?”

“Sorry. I’m usually busy working. Or…stuff.”

When I heard the defensiveness in his voice, I realized I’d screwed up. My questions didn’t sound like interest. They sounded like an accusation. And probably a judgment. Fuck.

“I have a little hobby, but you have to promise not to laugh.”

While we talked, I buttered bread and heated the soup. Talking appeared to distract Anders from the fact that he wasn’t doing anything.

“I would never do that. Probably,” Anders said.

He sounded genuinely shocked, but when I gave him a quick glance, I saw the smile just barely tilt up the corners of his mouth.

Anders was teasing me. Him letting his guard down that far sent me flying higher than anything had in recent memory. I flashed him an answering grin before I slipped the buttered sandwiches into the skillet I’d brought with me.

“I like miniatures.”

“Miniatures?”

“Uh, yeah. It’s my sister’s fault.”

“How is your hobby her fault?” Anders’s fingers stopped twitching when he asked the question. Maybe distraction was the key.

“When she was little, she was obsessed with fancy dollhouses but had no patience to actually paint or put them together. I did, and…” I lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I liked it.”

“Why?”

“Because it forces me to divide my concentration. When I have a problem that I need to pick apart thread by thread, I immediately head to my workroom. I paint and think, and it helps.”

I flipped the sandwiches and grabbed the plates. Anders moved to get off his chair, but a raised eyebrow and a nod toward his seat were enough to get him to sit back down. With efficient movements, I poured his soup into a bowl and plated his sandwich.

“Here, I can get that,” he offered.

“Sit down, and I’ll bring it over.”

Obediently, he returned to his spot. I set the plate in front of Anders, then returned to the kitchen to get cutlery and a glass of water.

“Thank you for fixing me dinner. I appreciate it.”

“You’re very welcome. No more skipping meals, all right?” Anders froze at the directive, but it wasn’t fear that clouded his eyes. It was something different, but I couldn’t gauge it. “I mean it. It’s now a rule.”