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Cole:
I’m not convinced
Me:
You won’t regret it. I’m good
Cole:
Big words. OK let’s see if you’ve got what it takes to impress me. Should be back by 6
I glanced down at my tray of food, another small, unexpected smile tugging at my lips.
Me:
Bring strawberries
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.
11
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.
