Page 62 of Rising Heat

“Wow. Okay.”

I narrow my eyes.

“Why does everybody keep acting shocked by that?”

“Probably because you own three dishes and a candle.”

“Four dishes, thank you very much.”

“My apologies. No judgement here.”

He hands me a bowl, sets a stemless wine glass on the counter in front of me, and pours before grabbing his own. Then he jerks his chin toward the living room, already heading for the couch instead of the little dining nook tucked against the window.

“I actually like cooking,” I admit, following him.

The words come out before I really think about them, but they’re true. Or at least they used to be. Before takeout became easier and every trip to the grocery store somehow turned into a negotiation. Somewhere along the way, cooking stopped feeling like something I enjoyed and started feeling like one more thing to manage.

“I learned out of necessity though, not heritage,” I continue as I set my wine down on the coffee table.

“Nobody passed down sacred family recipes. I just got tired of eating cereal for dinner and developed a concerning dependency on Pinterest.”

Tyler laughs.

“That’s not cooking, that’s gambling,” he teases.

“I’ll have you know I make an excellent French onion casserole.”

“How many Pinterest reviews did it have?”

“Four-point-eight stars.”

We settle onto my couch with the kind of easy familiarity that should probably bother me more than it does. Instead, my cheeks are starting to hurt from grinning.

“You’re very comfortable in other people’s homes.”

He glances over.

“I grew up around this one. Comes with occupational hazards.”

“Is that a firefighter joke?”

“Not a very good one.”

“Still counts.”

His mouth twitches.

For a second, neither of us looks away. We’re sitting close enough now that I can make out the lighter flecks in his green eyes, close enough that looking at him suddenly feels like a bad idea.

I turn away first.

Mostly because if I don’t, I might do something reckless. Like lean in.

Tyler nods toward the television.

“You really rewatching this on purpose?”

“I never finished it the first time.”