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“Deal.”
We walk in step, heading to the booth after I announce a random number. “Are you going to tell me where you learned to cook?”
We arrive at our first stop and I’m ready, curious to see what he’ll pick, but then he’s putting either arm on my biceps, facing my back away.
“Nope. You don’t get to see.” He smirks cheekily. “It’ll ruin the surprise.”
“Fine,” I complain. “As long as you answermyquestion,” I press, turning my head sideways, but he’s righting it forward as soon as I do.
“Shoot.”
“How did you learn to cook?”
I can hear the grin in his voice. “Would you believe me if I told you I cook all our meals for everyone back up at school?”
“Really?” I don’t hold back my shock.
“Don’t sound so surprised,” he digs, pulling out some cash and paying for whatever he chose. “Now pick another number,” he yields after the items are all bagged up.
I do, and then we’re moving to the next area. “Did you lose a bet, or…” I say, letting the question die on my tongue. I am genuinely curious how he got into this.
“I like to blame it on me being left alone a lot. I liked to eat”—I snort, but he ignores it—“so I hung out in the kitchen quite a bit. Learned a thing or two from our chef.”
“That’s…really awesome.” I had no idea.
He eyes me sternly, drawing the point. “This was allpre-Rory moving back.”
I know what he means. We’d talked about this in the past.
Rory was seventeen when she came back and lived with them. His dad traveled a lot for work, but then things shifted once she arrived, like he finally realized where his priorities were.
Abram was home more. They even started having weekly dinners together as a family. They still do, according to Rory too. Only now, instead of weekly, they manage more of a monthly rotation, but still, the tradition stands.
“So, did you quit after that? Learning to cook, that is?”
“Did ittastelike I’d forgotten how to when I made us food at your house?” he teases, overconfident as always. Always so sure of himself.
“Good point.”
“Those are the only kinds I have,” he quips, winking as we reach our next booth. His finger twirls, signaling for me to turn around, his eyes a striking combination of moss and bronze.
“Yes, sir.” I salute, doing as he asks.
Awareness pricks at my neck in the form of goose bumps. His voice silky as he presses his lips to my earlobe. “Good girl,” he praises, encouraging me despite my obvious sarcasm.
I nearly melt into the ground at the compliment, and it has nothing to do with the boiling inferno of the sun.
What have I done? Unlocked.
thirty-nine
Hailey
Wespenthoursatthe farmers’ market. The start was rocky, but after we got over our hiccups, it was a lot of fun.
I had fun and I think Finn did too, until we had to lap the entire place at least a handful of times. It was either because I wanted to go back and look at something I remembered I liked, or I’d thought of a new number, and it was on the complete opposite side.
He’d been a trooper, but once he started complaining his arms were tired, I was quick to remind him this was his idea. Finn was the one who insisted on carrying my stuffandwhat he’d purchased.
