Page 58 of Dandelion Sighs

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I know.” He opened the cupboard in front of him. Pots and pans. I’d like to keep most of those, but I didn’t want him to move farther away from me. That would be the better idea, but he was here. What did it hurt to have him stay? I knew where I stood, and I should embrace the freedom in that. “I need one of each type of pan. Anything else can go.”

“Got it, boss.”

I smiled at the moniker. I had missed it. Before, I had clung to it as the reminder it should be. But Jasper would move on. Hell, I might have to too.

“What were you partying to when I arrived?”

I took a drink of the ale. “Whatever was upbeat and summery.”

“No depressing winter music, got it.” He took out his phone, linked to my speaker, and “Beach Cowboy” filled the air.

“That’ll do it.” On impulse, I held my beer out. He tinked his can against mine and we kept cleaning.

Jasper

I climbed down from the counter. Since I was tall, I had cleaned out all the upper cabinets after I was sure Sheridan wasn’t going to drive me off. When my feet hit the floor, my stomach rumbled. She had moved to the pantry, cleaning out the expired food and preparing a box to donate of everything she refused to eat that was still good.

I nudged the trash bag out of the way of the fridge. “Hungry?”

“Starving.” She was holding a box of macaroni and cheese. “It expired six months ago. Want to try it?”

“In my college days, that would’ve been a resounding yes.” I stretched my back after being cramped between the counter and ceiling to clean above the fridge. “My tastes are more refined now. What do you have in the freezer?”

“I haven’t bought one thing to put in there.”

I opened the fridge and checked out the dismal offerings. Only a pack of opened lunch meat looked appetizing. “Sheridan, have you been living off sandwiches?”

“I lose half my paycheck to the restaurant.”

To her own restaurant. She didn’t even give herself a discount. The woman was hardcore about that place. I admired it.

And I could’ve married her.

The sudden weight on my chest made drawing a breath a struggle. To cover my discomfort, I opened the freezer. There was a bag of shrimp and a package of chicken thighs. The fridge had butter, and I had just combed through the seasoning cupboard. “I’ll save the pasta from that box.”

“You don’t have to cook.”

“We have four beers left.” I took out the ingredients I planned to use. She was on the other side of the island, still holding the box of mac ’n’ cheese.

She scrutinized my finds. “Shrimp and chicken? And pasta?”

“I told you I can cook.”

She chewed her bottom lip. “I actually can’t.”

“What? Cook?”

She bit down on her lower lip, sheepish. “Why do you think the restaurant is so important to me?”

Suppressing a laugh, I grinned. “You do favor it.”

“Because I can’t boil water.”

“Betcha you can.” I spun around and grabbed a pan from the first cupboard I went through. I handed her a pot big enough to boil the macaroni in. “Fill that, please.”

“Are you giving me lessons?”