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I crack a smile. “Hey, I’m sure many delicious dinners were made that way.”
“We have the essentials in the cabinets already anyway. Olena did some shopping for us earlier.”
“Well, I’ve never made this kind of pasta before, so let’s see how to prepare it.” I pull aside the bag of carrots and the fresh loaf of Italian bread. “We’ll definitely use these. I’m thinking maybe pasta primavera. That’s a good ‘throw it all together’ kind of dish.”
He slides a container of freshly grated parmesan cheese across the counter.
“Thank you. Did you happen to get peas?”
He grabs a bag of them and slides it to me.
“Nice. You did really good for a spoiled rich boy who’s never cooked a day in his life,” I tease.
He smirks, abandoning the bag and coming over to wrap his arms around me from behind. “And how was your day?”
My heart skips a beat. Of course he would stand behind me—where I can’t see his face—to ask about my day. “Not bad. Yours?”
“It’s better now.” He kisses my neck. “What do you need me to do for dinner?”
“Um… You can put a pot of water on to cook the pasta. Have you done that before?”
He lets me go and heads to the cupboards, opening a couple before he finds the one with the pots. “Nope.”
“Make sure you salt it.”
“Salt what?”
I crack a smile. “The water.”
He reaches into the upper cabinet for the salt. “Are you enjoying your new psych class?”
I pause since he’s now indirectly referencing the class he made me drop with Professor DeMarco. “Yeah, it seems good so far.”
He’s salting the pasta water, so his back is still to me.
“Did anything else happen today?” he asks idly.
My stomach rocks. Is this it?Didhe hear the call and now he’s fishing for me to tell him about it?
“Um… I don’t think so, not really.” I clear my throat and shuffle ingredients around on the counter, then I look over at him again, but he’s putting the freaking saltawaynow so I still can’t see his face.
When he finally turns, he leans against the counter and crosses his arms. He’s watching me, but I can’t read his expression. I can’t tell if he’s shielding something, or there’s just nothing to shield. “Nothing else?”
I lick my lips. His words carry the weight of expectation, so I’m braced for him to say something about it.
He watches me, waiting. When I don’t say anything, he says, “You didn’t get any… strange follow requests?”
What?
Then it hits me.
I was so preoccupied with my thing, I completely forgot his mom followed me on social media today.
Well, that settles it.
He hasn’t had a chance to review his tapes or whatever. He doesn’t know about the phone call.
I feel strangely relieved. The bulk of the anxiety melts out of me, and I smile, triggering an answering smirk from him.
