“What are you making anyways?” Aspen asks. If anyone in this group got the domestic genes, it’s her and Rowen.
“I’m attempting to make spaghetti with meat sauce. That is if I don’t burn the garlic bread that goes with it.” Rowen snorts.
“Maybe you should have started out smaller, like say, Hamburger Helper.” That’s what Peyton says. I give her the finger through the screen.
“Whatever. I’m going to rock this shit. Have some faith, will ya.” We all shoot the shit, Rowen and Peyton talking about the leaves changing this fall and what everyone is doing for Thanksgiving. When I called my parents to let them know what happened at school yesterday, Mom invited Ryder and me up to Virginia for Thanksgiving weekend. I warned her that I’m not sure what the plans were, but if Ryder was busy, I’d still come. Family is important, and since it would suck to leave Aspen here, she already said she, Jasper, and Jasper’s mom would be making the trip too. Now, I just need to bring it up to Ryder. Mom even extended the invitation to Melody, Sienna, and Tanner too. My family is freaking amazeballs, even if my father, uncle, and cousin Bridger are a pain in my ass in the best of times.
“You will, though something tells me even if your dinner does suck, Ryder would eat it.” Peyton wiggles her eyebrows.
“That reminds me, how’s Chance?” I bring this up anytime I can. Peyton won’t admit it, but she has the hots for her boss. The way she mouths off back to him is telling. It’s definitely a defense mechanism to fight him every step of the way. If she’d just tell him how she feels, it might make her life a hell of a lot easier.
“Out of town. I’m not sure if it’s something to be thankful for or not.” I look at the screen. My once vibrant cousin looks worn out and tired.
“Good gravy, you need a vacation, and stat. Peyton Marie Jennings, has your momma seen you lately?” I call her out.
“I’m going on one the week after Christmas. Promise. It’s why I’m putting in so many hours right now. I don’t want to leave Chance with a mess or come back to a nightmare. Trust me, I’ve done that once, and that man blew my phone up the entire time. Remember our last girls’ trip?” she reminds me.
“Okay, but take care of yourself. I’m getting off. If I keep talking, I’ll really burn dinner. Love you!” I say. They respond, and then I click off my phone, find some classic rock, and get to stirring the sauce, watching the noodles. Literally, my eyes do not leave the stove. Which is why when the smell of smoke starts permeating the kitchen, I’m at a loss.
“Shit, shit, shit.” I turn the oven off and open it. Smoke is billowing out, causing the smoke detector to go off. Obviously, this is the time Ryder walks in, seeing me throwing the burnt garlic bread in the sink to run cold water over it.
He’s laughing his ass off, legit holding his stomach and laughing. I return to the stove and turn it all off, not even caring if the noodles are done. “I give up. Peyton was right. Toast is not my friend. Clearly, anything of the toasting variety won’t work for me. This is what you’re going to get in your future, Ryder.” I’m on the verge of laughing hysterically.
“And I’ll love you no matter what, Berkley. Maybe leave the cooking to me?” He wraps me up in his arms.
“You love me? Really?”
“How could I not love you, Berkley? It’s in the little things you do, the way you look at me, the way you take care of not only me but my family. Fuck yeah, I love you.” His hands are at the nape of my neck, tipping my head back to look into his eyes.
“I love you, Ryder. I’ll never be more thankful for meeting you that first night, even if it took us a month to re-connect.”
“Fuck yes.” He takes my mouth. The kiss is deep, soul fulfilling, and has me curling my toes in response.
“About dinner,” I mumble against his lips.
“Yeah, let me see if it’s salvageable. Then I’ll take out the trash. Maybe pour yourself a glass of wine and keep me company?”
“You have yourself a deal.” I clean up the burnt garlic bread by throwing it in the trash can. Thankfully, I put aluminum foil underneath it, or I’d be throwing away a baking sheet too. When that’s done, I pour us both a glass of red wine, sit back, and watch my man work his way around the kitchen. The way his body moves, muscles flexing, that tongue that comes out when he’s deep in thought or looking at me. Yep, he was made for me, and I was made for him. And I know just how to show him my appreciation tonight.