Page 51 of Down Bad

I look at him at once, like he just shocked me or something.

He looks back, appearing just as startled.

Our bodies are close again.

Unless he’s counting on something happening out here in this cute little greenhouse of his, he’s got to be less reckless about where he puts his hands and how close he gets that face of his.

“Minestrone’s ready,” he says.

I nod, eye contact not breaking.

It seems difficult for him to pull away from me. But he does. I give Rapunzel another look—Oh, right, the vines are like long hair, like Rapunzel’s—then follow him back to the house.

Cut to the two of us at a small table. Too small. He sits on one side. Me, the other. But there’s barely any space between us, we might as well be sitting in each other’s laps.

The aroma of the soup hits me like I haven’t eaten all day.

Come to think of it, I haven’t.

Skipped lunch, it having rained the whole damned day and all.

“Focaccia,” he explains with a gesture at the plate of bread in the middle of the table between our bowls. “I made it. Soup, too. Italian grandparents, mom’s side, I was doomed to inherit recipes. Thanks, Nonna,” he adds with a cute shrug.

I can barely hold back a second longer before I take a whole mouthful.

Next second, I’m coughing and hissing as it scalds my tongue.

He chuckles at me. “Should’ve blown on it first.”

“Who’s got time for that? I’m hungry.” But when I go for my next bite, I take his advice.

He watches me for a moment, a little curl in his lips, before he starts to enjoy his own bowl. This is some seriously tasty soup.

I shift my foot, about to tell him how damned tasty this is—and accidentally step on his.

He notices, flinches, then says, “Sorry.”

Of course he’d apologize when I was the one who stepped on his foot. “It’s fine,” I mumble, confused.

At least I’m just in my socks. Could’ve been my big-ass shoes squashing his undefended toes.

Then I realize he hasn’t pulled his foot away.

Neither have I.

“You seem less angry this evening.”

I look up at him, almost dropping my spoon. “Huh?”

“Calmer,” he clarifies. “You seem … calmer.”

His foot gently moves.

Stays next to mine.

My heart does something funny. “It’s the soup.”

He lifts his eyebrows, waiting for more.