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“Hey,” he says, shock settling across him at the sight of the food. “You’ve been busy.”
I laugh. “Your sister came over.”
He tucks his hands in the pouch of his hoodie, his features tilting to a guilty expression. “That sounds about right. It smells delicious.”
“It is. Here, try this,” I take the spoon out of the sauce and hold it out. I expect him to take the utensil from my shaking fingers, but instead, he wraps his hand over mine, steadying me. The contact of his skin on mine freezes me in place, the only tremor is the involuntary one in my left hand.
He seems totally unaware of his effect on me as he tastes the sauce.
“That’s amazing,” he says, running his tongue across his bottom lip.
All of it together starts a tingle in my thighs that reminds me how attractive he is. Goosebumps spring up along my arms, and I shiver again—not from the cold this time.
“Are you cold?” he asks, and I nod because I’m not going to say,actually, you turn me on.I’m going to have to get this shit under control if I want to build any sort of friendship with him.
“Do you have a sweater?” he asks.
“None that I can wear cooking. They’re all sort of fancy.” My cheeks blaze because around Zeke and his family, all my stupid rich girl phrases seem so absurd. How do I not have a simple sweater?
He pulls his hoodie off and hands it to me. I take it reluctantly and slip it over my head. It’s warm from his body heat, smells like grease, orange soap, and spicy deodorant, and wraps me up like a deep hug. This is not helping.
“You look adorable.” He laughs, grabbing the drawstrings and tugging on them lightly. I stumble into him, bracing myself with hands on his chest. He’s much broader than me, and taller. I’m swimming in the sweater. I can’t respond appropriately because my sense of smell has short-circuited my brain.
“Thanks,” I say like an idiot, dropping my fingertips from the hardness of his chest.
“Anything I can help you with?” he asks, stepping away.
“No, I’m fine,” I start, but when he clenches his jaw and begins to turn away, I grab his forearm, stopping him.
For a moment, we stand there, and I don’t let him go.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I know you’re trying to be helpful. I appreciate it. I do. I just…” I trail out and tilt my chin so I can hide my face. The hood still covering my head shadows my face, and I get why he always has it up.
“You just what?” he shakes his arm from my grip and tips my chin with two fingers.
“I struggle to let people in. This is all so serious. It’s a lot.” I dart around, trying hard not to focus on him.
He slumps against the counter, then hops up to sit on it. “It really is.”
“And I get it. I get why it’s serious, but does it need to be this heavy?”
Tabitha said Zeke is great to have around in times of stress, and I want to understand what that means.
Zeke doesn’t answer me because there is no answer. It is heavy. We’re bringing life into this world.
“I forget what it’s like to have fun,” I blurt, not meaning to, and he startles.
This doesn’t only apply to now. It applies to my whole life. I remember being a kid, laughing with friends, and moving through the world with curiosity. But slowly, these things were stripped away until all I thought about was how I looked and how I moved and who was around me and what people would say.
Zeke hops down off the counter and takes my hand. “I have an idea. Are you feeling okay?”
“Yeah,” I say slowly.
“No,” he starts and then makes a puking gesture. “Like you’refeelingokay?”
I laugh. “I’m good.”
He moves forward quickly, tugging me toward the door.
