Page 152 of On the Breakaway

I told myself I didn’t care if she showed up tonight. Maybe this was her way of cutting me loose.

Another five minutes pass.

I push off the couch and grab my keys from the counter. Once they’re in my hand, irritation settles into something familiar. I cross the living room, unlock the front door, and yank it open before stopping in my tracks.

Avery stands on the other side holding four grocery bags.

We just stare at each other.

Her hair is pulled into a messy ponytail. She’s wearing leggings and one of those oversized hoodies she practically lives in.

Considering I overheard a conversation that circled topics like dumping me, I thought she might seem nervous or apologetic. Instead, she has the audacity to look annoyed.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

She shoves one of the bags into my chest. “Move.”

I blink. “What?”

“Move, Grayson.”

Then she physically shoulders past me. I stumble backward into my own entryway while she marches straight into the house like she owns the place.

“What the hell is happening?”

She disappears into the kitchen, and I follow her.

“I’m cooking you dinner,” She says, rolling her eyes as if I’d just asked the dumbest question in existence.

The grocery bags land on the island, and she starts unloading them. There is not a frozen ingredient in sight, which is when I realize that she means actual cooking.

“You’re cooking?” I ask, picking up the box of pasta and cloves of garlic.

“That’s what I just said, Grayson,” She bites out.

“Avery. Things got kind of tense earlier–”

“No.” She points a carrot at me.

I cross my arms. “No?”

Avery has lost her mind. It’s the only reasonable explanation.

“We’re going to eat dinner,” she snaps, her blue eyes narrowing when she finally looks up at me. “And then we’re going to finish fighting.”

I run my hand through my hair, looking around as if there might be someone to explain what the hell is happening right now.

When I don’t say anything, she nods once. “Good. Glad we’re on the same page."

I lean against the island, watching her aggressively dice vegetables and stir sauce. It’s messy and loud, the entire thing feeling strangely threatening.

Warmth blooms in my chest because she’s cooking for me, knowing exactly what that kind of gesture means to me. It’s the last thing I expected from the night.

“So, just to be clear,” I say, unable to stop my lips from twitching. “You’re not here to dump me?”

Her hands stop as she turns toward me. “I’m cooking for the first time ever right now. I think you should be more worried about me accidentally poisoning you than dumping you."

I huff out a laugh despite myself.