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Cole:
I KNEW you’d eat the rest. OK see you later. Be ready to impress me
Me:
Oh I will
Throwing my phone down next to me, I leaned back against the headboard. Now I just had to work out how to cook an edible meal in the four hours before Cole came home.
Yeah. I was fucked.
10
COLE
When I entered the house, I could hear what sounded like the banging of pots and pans coming from the kitchen, accompanied by several swear words, all set to the soundtrack of “Bad Place” by The Hunna. Huh, Huxley liked that song too, did he? I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. It fit his general vibe, if that made sense. I took the opportunity to head upstairs to shower off the grime of the Tube and London’s streets, dropping my bag in my bedroom.
When I was changed into comfortable grey joggers and an old, faded green T-shirt, I made my way back downstairs. Huxley was next to the oven with his back to me, plating up something that smelled good into two pasta dishes. I forced myself to look away from him, instead focusing on the kitchen table where he’d laid out two place mats and cutlery.
I cleared my throat to give him some warning that I was there. “Hi.”
I wasn’t looking at him, but I still heard his sharp intake of breath over the music, telling me that he’d been surprised by my presence. “Hi.”
“Want a drink?” Keeping my voice casual was more difficult than I thought it would be, mostly because I hadn’t seen him since our unexpected hug in the early hours of the morning. I was one hundred percent certain that something between us had changed, but I was also very fucking sure that I wasn’t going to bring anything up unless he did first.
There was a minute of strained silence, and then he said, “Yeah, okay. There’s beer in the fridge.”
Glad of something to do, I went to the fridge and grabbed two cans of beer, decanting them into pint glasses. I carried them over to the kitchen table and took a seat, fiddling with my phone while I waited for him to finish dishing up the food. Something told me that he wouldn’t appreciate me offering my help.
He eventually approached the table with the two pasta dishes, steam wafting from the top of them. When he set them down, I got my first good look at what was in them. Egg noodles, chicken, what looked like green peppers, and maybe spring onions? I was impressed. This was already much better than I’d been expecting.
“It’s a stir-fry. Uh. Sesame and soy sauce and honey. With chicken and peppers. And, uh, spring onions.”
A smile tugged at my lips. “It looks good. Smells good, too.”
When I darted a glance at Huxley, he was clearly tense, his mouth twisting as he eyed his own bowl of food. “It looks good,” I said again, softly. His gaze flew to mine, and he breathed out heavily, before nodding.
“Yeah. I make this all the time. One of my, uh, favourites.”
My tiny smile widened into a grin. He was clearly nervous and exaggerating about how often he made this, and it was so fucking cute—
No. It wasn’t cute.
I picked up the chopsticks that had been laid next to the fork beside my dish and shoved them into the noodles. The chicken and sauce clung to the noodles as I brought them to my mouth, and I made sure to force my face into a neutral expression as I chewed.
It wasn’t even necessary. Okay, if I’d been in a criticising mood, I might have said that the egg noodles were overcooked, as was the chicken. But honestly, it tasted good despite that. And even better for the fact that he’d voluntarily invited me to share his meal with him.
“This is good,” I said around a mouthful of food, and instantly wished that I’d waited to swallow before speaking.
He smirked at me, seeming to relax. “Yeah? I told you I was good.”
“You did.”
His eyes met mine, deep blue depths that I knew I could easily get lost in, and I couldn’t look away. Something was happening here, and it was making a combination of dread and excitement pool low in my belly.
“Have you, uh, spoken to your dad?” Changing the subject was probably the best idea.
He shrugged, his smirk falling away to be replaced with a frown. “A couple of times. I haven’t told him about the accident, and I don’t want to.”
