Page 142 of Breakaway Hearts

I don’t call him, but I do decide to make plans every night from now on, real or imaginary, so Jason doesn’t feel the need to stay home and keep me company.

The last thing I want to be is a burden, but so far, Owen is making it seem like he really wants to spend all his time with me. He finds me when I’m working in the library, texts to see if he can come over as soon as he finishes practice…tonight, he invited me to be a part of their ‘dinner and a movie’ night.

“When you said we were having lasagna…” I say when I walk into the kitchen and find Owen in an apron with the counter full of ingredients.

“You wrongfully assumed it was a premade, store-bought thing we’d pop in the oven and forget about?” Owen asks with a knowing smile.

I want to roll my eyes at his cockiness, but I’m too busy smiling back.

“Or that Miss Mabel brought it over,” I defend myself.

“You wound me, but I’ll forgive you,” he assures me. “This is a secret Glass Family recipe, passed down through generations.”

“I’d marry him for it,” Colt says, walking behind Owen to get an energy drink from the fridge. I arrived at the tail end of their lawn workout session, so everyone is a sweaty mess, but Owen said he’ll shower once the lasagna is in the oven.

“I can always teach you,” Owen offers.

“Does it involve boiling water?” Mike asks with concern on his way upstairs. Colt mocks him as he goes, but it seems to be a universally accepted fact that Colt can’t cook.

“Won’t you have to kill me if I see the recipe?”

“Or marry you,” Colt says, then chokes on his drink when Owen elbows him in the ribs.

“The secret part was a bit of a stretch,” he tells me, then turns to Colt. “And it’s actually pretty easy.”

“I wouldn’t want to burn the house down,” Colt argues.

“It’s one of the first things my dad taught me how to make. I think I was six or seven at the most.”

“Don’t worry,” I tell Colt when that doesn’t convince him. “Adding spices to an oatmeal cookie mix and reheating leftovers is the extent of my culinary abilities.”

“We know,” he assures me with a smile, and for a second, I wonder if Jason complains about me and my cooking to them in the locker room, but I quickly realize he just shares the cookies. Which makes sense, when I give him the entire batch, minus one or two taste-tests for myself.

“Come on, we’ll make it together,” Owen assures me.

“No, that’s—” I don’t know if I’m more reluctant to be roped into cooking, or that Colt is joining as well.

Turns out, Owen is excellent at teaching incompetent sous-chefs how to cook. It would be cheesy and romantic how he dances around and is singing along to a playlist from twenty years ago – food tastes better when made with love by happy people, apparently—but with Colt there it turns into lighthearted fun. Which should be weird, but I feel so fucking safe and comfortable. My instinct is to close myself off or run, but then Owen twirls me or Colt tosses me the end of the cheese he was grating, and it feels…like home. Not quite mine, but it’s warm and happy and I can’t stop smiling.

Once the lasagna is in the oven, I follow Owen upstairs, where he kisses me like I’m the most important thing in his world and he can’t believe he’s mine.

“I’d better go shower,” he says when my phone rings.

“Just give me a minute and I can get you sweaty first,” I offer.

“That sounds like heaven, but I’ll be quick. I’m sure your mom wants more than a minute with you.”

I’d offer to join him when I’m done, but then I’d have to address why I’m not taking off my full coverage sports bra. And it’s not like he asked me to.

“Hey, Mom!” I put on my best happy voice for her.

“Sweetheart!” She sounds surprised, which instantly makes me feel guilty. I’ve been sending lots of ‘call you later’ texts. “Are you in the library?”

“Just about to have dinner.”

“With Jason?”

I don’t know why I don’t tell her about Owen. Or maybe it’s too many reasons. I don’t know if she’s noticed that I haven’t dated, or even talked about boys since high school. Maybe she thinks I just don’t share what I’m up to. But like any mom, she’ll ask questions. She’ll get excited. She’ll want to meet him. Which I don’t think I would hate now as much as I did a few weeks ago. But she’ll also, inevitably, compare him to Trevor, or at least mention ‘that nice boy you were seeing in high school’ and I couldn’t stand that.