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Cal bowed his head.

“Father, thank you for this food. For this day. For the company.” A pause. “Amen.”

He heard her soft, “Amen” a half-beat behind his own. It bloomed inside him like something sacred. This was the first time she’d said it with him. He let the feeling sit there, powerful and warm, before he picked up his sandwich.

She took a bite of hers.

Her eyes closed.

"Oh…Oh my God.”

Cal looked at her warily.

“Mmmm”

"It's a sandwich."

"It is absolutely not just a sandwich, what is — is that prosciutto? Is that real prosciutto? And what is this bread⁠—"

"Focaccia. Made it this morning."

Sage stared at him, sandwich paused halfway to her mouth. “You made…bread.”

Cal looked uncomfortably at the table "Had time.”

“Of course. Of course you did. Why wouldn’t you? Bust down the door last night to save my fat ass, fix the door this morning, in between making fresh focaccia , and then make gourmet sandwiches for lunch.”

She took another bite and let out a low, involuntary moan that hit him like a live wire — warm, throaty, and about fifteen percent more enthusiastic than any sandwich had a right to earn. The sound went straight down his spine and settled somewhere dangerous.

He watched her do it. Watched the small smile at the corner of her mouth that said she knew exactly what she was doing.“It’s not fat.” Shit. Why did I say that?

She froze, staring at him mid-bite. Her face suddenly was expressionless, and her eyes were bright. She carefully put her sandwich back on the plate, looked at him and then calmly asked, “What is it then? My ass, that is?”

Now he froze mid-bite as he stared at her. She stared back, her eyebrow arched as if challenging him.

“Umm…it’s…not fat.”

She nodded her head slowly, clearly trying not to laugh, as she said, “Yes. We’ve established that.” Sage tilted her head slowly smiling. “You haven’t told me what it is, though.”

“It’s…I…” he felt that familiar heat on his neck.

“Hmmm?” She said sipping her lemonade, her black lipstick leaving a smudge on the glass as she watched him.

“It’s … going to snow later.”

He took a long sip of lemonade and looked out the window.

You are in so much trouble.

"Okay. Fine. I’m gonna let this one go,” she announced with a bratty smirk . “But we’re gonna talk about it again, just so you know". Then she wiped her face and said,“I am, however, calling Mary Sue. I'm going to learn how to cook."

He looked at her.

"I'm serious. I can't keep burning things and eating your food forever. I need to — I want to learn." She was already sitting up straighter, the idea visibly taking hold, bright and real in her expression. "Do you think she'd mind? Teaching me? Is that a weird thing to ask?"

He reached into his pocket. Set his phone on the counter and slid it across to her. Mary Sue's Diner, right there on speed dial, third contact down.

Sage looked at the phone. Looked at him. Something moved through her expression — warm and slightly undone, there and gone.