Page 28 of Melt the Ice

I smile softly, realizing how natural it felt, like it’s been sitting on the tip of my tongue this entire time. Being here with him strips everything down, the doubts, the fears, the quiet panic that usually hums under my skin when I think I’m not doing enough. With him, it all just… disappears.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “I did.”

Tilting his head until it gently rests against mine, the simple touch allows me to take the first full breath I’ve had in years. We’re not clinging to one another, just existing side by side in a way that feels like something we’ve been denied for a long time. The kind of closeness that doesn’t demand anything in return.

We stay like that for a moment, soaking in the comfort the other provides. I breathe him in, citrus and something spicier fill my nose, and I find myself trying to commit it to memory. Like, I’m not sure I’ll let myself have this again.

All too soon, he slips away, hopping off the barstool and making his way to the fridge. He hums softly, pulling open the door and plopping two different packages of cheese and some butter on the counter.

When he looks at me, a saccharine smile stretches across his face. “Is grilled cheese still your favorite?”

My breath catches. “My mom isn’t nice, either,” he says, his eyes guarded like he doesn’t know how much he wants to share with me.

I flick the top of the water, sending a soft spray of it in his direction, hoping to keep him talking. It works. “Well, she just ignores me. I have to cook for myself and clean everything. Sometimes we don’t have food at home, and that’s hard.”

My smile falls. That doesn’t sound like a very good mom, not that mine is any better. “Can you make grilled cheese?” I ask, eyebrows shooting toward the sky, it’s a total friendship dealbreaker if he can’t.

He nods, and my smile immediately comes back.

“That’s my favorite, maybe we can make it together for lunch!”

I blink rapidly, my mouth hanging open as I slowly nod. He smiles and moves around the kitchen, pulling out a skillet and some sourdough bread.

“I’m not sure if you noticed during your little intruder incident, but Sammy is kind of a diva.” He chuckles, not looking up. “He’s super boujee when it comes to his sourdough, and don’t even get him started on avocado toast.”

He points the plastic spatula in my direction. “Luckily, his sister’s sourdough is freaking stellar.”

I don’t say anything, just watch his forearms flex and twist as he cuts the butter from the stick and drops it into the pan, filling the kitchen with that satisfying sizzle. “My dad used to make these for me, I’m not sure I ever told you that, but he’d sit me on the island and tell me about his day while he made them.”

He pauses, head bowed over the pan. I watch his back expand on his next inhale. He holds his breath for a second before letting it out. “It's usually what I make myself when I have late-night practices, or I can’t sleep.”

I smile as he continues his ramblings. It brings a sense of comfort, knowing that he still feels the need to fill the silence, or maybe it’s the fact that he feels comfortable enough around me to let go enough that he can ramble. I wonder if he does this with his teammates or if it's just me?

He places the bread in the pan, flipping it to make sure the butter soaks both sides, then pulls out four slices of cheese. Once both of our sandwiches are done, he reaches into the fridge and pulls out a jar of pickle spears, putting one on each plate before sliding one over to me.

“Sorry, I don’t have salt and vinegar chips. They’re not on my diet during the season because I can never eat one without eating the entire bag.” His ears turn a light shade of pink as he fidgets with his necklace.

“Y-you remembered?” I whisper, my eyes trained on the plate like it’s something precious instead of a sandwich.

He lifts a single brow as he takes a bite. The crisp crunch echoes through the quiet kitchen. I lift my own sandwich, and the moment the buttery toast hits my tongue, a sound escapes me. An honest to God moan.

I don’t have it in me to be embarrassed. My shoulders slump, eyes flutter closed. “Oh my God,” I breathe. This is indecently good.

When I open my eyes, I catch him staring. His cheeks and ears are flushed the rosiest shade of pink. I swipe a crumb from the corner of my mouth with my tongue, and his gaze darts away.

“I’d apologize,” I say, “but this is so good. Best grilled cheese I’ve ever had. You’ve ruined me for all other grilled cheeses.”

He swallows, throat bobbing. “I’d like to ruin just about everything else for you, too.” He mumbles.

The line should make me roll my eyes, make some off-handed comment about boundaries. It doesn’t. Instead, a smile tugs at my mouth because for the first time in a long time, it registers less as a joke, more like the truth neither of us has figured out how to grab hold of yet.

He clears his throat, breaking the spell we're under before turning away. His back flexes as he reaches up into the cabinet. Broad shoulders, taut muscles, drool pooling in my mouth… But then my eyes catch on what's in the cabinets. Shelves full of electrolyte packets. The brand I drink. The same ones are stocked at my house.

“Do you want some?” He asks, grabbing two waters from the fridge. “I bought them after the other day, just in case you were closer to my house than yours. Or is regular water okay? I can’t drink plain water, so I have to at least put lemon in it.”

His back is still to me, and I’m so thankful that it is because a tear rolls down my cheek. The tenderness of the moment hits harder than anything he’s said since I’ve been back.

It’s not a grand gesture, not a declaration, just… care. I don’t know a single person who would order something just because they knew I liked it. No one ever thinks of me that way. But he does. He always does.