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He caught Cass’s gaze and tried for a smile, which actually wasn’t as hard as he expected. “So, what now?”

“Now . . . we cook?” Cass half grimaced and then shrugged. “Super exciting afternoon, I know, but it’s sort of tradition.”

Ash laughed lightly. “Didn’t you cook yesterday?”

“I did,” Cass confirmed. “I made a whole Thanksgiving spread, and we’ll have leftovers for a week. But”—Cass tipped his head toward the kitchen, indicating for Ash to follow—“my mom’s absolute favorite food is this creamy turkey barley soup that her mom always made after every Thanksgiving. And so, now we make it, too. Or, well, I’m making it, I mean.”

“For the first time?”

“No, the second time. Last year was the first. But I used to help my mom make it every year when I was a kid, and I love to cook, so it’s not hard.”

They passed through an entryway and stepped into a small kitchen. A dining table surrounded by four chairs barely fit along one side of the room, and the old countertop and cupboards showed their age but looked well cared for, much like the rest of the house.

Cass moved to the fridge, opened it, and started taking out containers of broth, turkey, and veggies. Ash followed and found a spot next to the stove where it didn’t look like he’d be in the way. He leaned back against the counter.

“Your dad doesn’t cook?”

Cass huffed a laugh and shook his head. “Nope. Well, he can, but he doesn’t like to, and he tends to overcook or undercook or, uh, over-season . . .” He set the ingredients on the counter on the other side of the stovetop. “It generally doesn’t turn out great.”

“Ah, I see.”

“But, as I said, I love to cook, so it’s okay. As long as you’re not going to be too bored right now. It’ll only take a few minutes here to get cooking and then it just simmers for a while.”

“I don’t mind. I actually like to cook, too, but I learned from my dad, not my mom. My mom burned anything she tried to cook. Actually, she somehow set the kitchen on fire once trying to make taco shells.”

Cass laughed again and grabbed an onion from a bowl sitting on the counter. “Let me guess, started heating the oil, left the kitchen for some reason, and—”

“—forgot about it, yup.” Ash grinned, because it was one of those memories he’d never forget, even if there was now a sadness attached to it. “She, uh . . . I mean, my sister . . .” He let out a breath. “Can I help you chop those?” He indicated to the onion, carrots, and celery Cass had set out next to a cutting board.

Cass seemed to hesitate for a second, and Ash glanced up. Cass’s eyes were filled with kindness and concern and some deep, gentle understanding. “That would be amazing, thank you,” he said, and he reached over, pulled a knife out of the block on the counter, and handed it to Ash.

With a slow breath, Ash started talking as he chopped, and Cass began heating some butter in a large pot on the stove.

“My sister was usually this ray of sunshine—always happy and energetic, always looking at the positive side of everything. This one day, though, when we got home from school—I think we were twelve or thirteen? It was middle school, but I’m not sure if we were in seventh or eighth grade—anyway, she went straight to her room and shut the door and wouldn’t come out.” Ash finished chopping the onion and moved on to the carrots and celery as Cass added the onion along with some garlic to the pot. “I’d had a kinda bad day myself,” he continued, “and so I just went and shut myself in my room to do homework. When my mom got home, she checked in with me and then Ashlynn, and then she went to make dinner. A few minutes later, I heard Ashlynn crying—our bedrooms were next to each other, and the walls were pretty thin. I tried to go talk to her, but she’d locked her door and wouldn’t let me in. I was really worried, since it was so unlike her. So I went to tell my mom. She’d just poured a bunch of oil into a pan, and she was going to fry the tortillas in it to make homemade taco shells. I guess maybe she thought she wouldn’t be long? She got Ashlynn to open the door, and they ended up talking for a while. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I heard Ashlynn crying more. A little while later, my mom walked by my room and thanked me for telling her something was wrong with Ashlynn, and she went into her room instead of back to the kitchen. Ashlynn came in and apologized to me after a bit, said she’d just had a really bad day and wasn’t sure how to deal with it. Something happened with a friend of hers, I guess—I can’t really remember exactly what now. We talked some more, and she was about to grab her backpack so we could study together when I smelled smoke. The smoke detector went off right after that. Mom cursed—” Ash laughed and shook his head. “My mom never cursed out loud unless she thought we couldn’t hear her. Anyway, she said something like ‘Oh shit!’ and rushed out into the kitchen. My dad had just walked in the door. He grabbed the fire extinguisher, yelled at me and my sister to stay back, and he put out the fire. It didn’t spread from the stove, but the walls and ceiling were all black, the pan was ruined, the whole house smelled bad.”

“Oh wow. That could have been so much worse,” Cass commented.

“Definitely.” Ash nodded as he finished chopping the celery. “Ashlynn started crying again, and my mom started crying, but my dad, he just shook his head, went over to the sink and sort of casually washed his hands, and then said, ‘Guess we’re going out for dinner. Who wants burritos from Casa Durango?’ And that was it.”

Cass laughed lightly. “Honestly, that sounds like what my dad would have said in the same situation.”

“He was pretty laid back about most things,” Ash said. He set down the knife and lifted the cutting board. “All of it in?”

“Ah, yep. I think I need a little more butter, too.”

Ash carefully added the celery and carrots he’d cut to the pot while Cass added another dollop of butter. They continued cooking in silence for a few minutes. Cass stirred the veggies, added some flour and then several cups of chopped turkey and two large containers of turkey broth he’d prepared the day before, along with some spices and half a cup of barley pearls.

“There we go. Now, we’ve got about a half hour,” Cass said as he took out his phone. “Setting an alarm, so I don’t forget.”

“No kitchen fires.”

“Nope.”

After clicking a few buttons on his phone, Cass stuck it back in his pocket and then looked up at Ash again. The expression on Cass’s face was nothing short of joy and adoration; even with his level of relationship inexperience, Ash could see that perfectly well. He held Cass’s gaze for several long seconds, feeling his cheeks flush with heat.

This was real.

Now.