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“How’d you know the secret ingredient?”
I narrow my eyes at him. He breaks and laughs.
I notice his backpack by the door. It’s all he arrived with—one backpack of clothes. I always expected him to live lavishly, unable to survive without all of his small comforts. As it turns out, Jason is more of a minimalist than I am, and is perfectly content to live out of a backpack.
He sees the trail of my gaze and clears his throat. “I’ll be out of your hair after breakfast. Just wanted to make sure you ate something.”
There’s a pang in my chest. I realize quite suddenly that it’s been nice to have someone else in the house. Something living. Someone who cares about taking my shoes off before I sleep and makes sure I put something on my stomach in the morning.
This, of course, I can’t confess to Jason. Instead, I tell him, “You know, if you wanted to stay a little longer, I’d be okay with it.”
Jason’s eyes go wide. “Are you sure?”
“Don’t make me regret it—“
But he already does when he scoops me up in a tight hug.
