“K. Love you.”
“Love you.”
Cam takes off and I soak in the shower until the water runs cool. Slipping into a pair of spandex shorts and an old varsity T-shirt Mason tried to toss out, I make my way to the kitchen.
My stash of meals isn’t exactly low, but I’m in the mood for something fresh, so I drop onto the couch, deciding to text Noah.
* * *
Me: my freezer sucks right now.
* * *
I set my phone on my chest and begin scrolling through the new movies on Prime. A couple trailers in, my phone beeps.
* * *
Romeo: Running low, are you, Juliet?
* * *
Me: I’m running on empty…
* * *
Romeo: Taking it back?
* * *
Me: That’s the great thing about music, Romeo. It’s timeless.
* * *
Romeo: Kind of like Shakespeare?
* * *
I can’t help but laugh.
* * *
Me: Yeah, Noah. Just like Shakespeare.
* * *
I wonder if he knows how twisted the real story of Romeo and Juliet is?
* * *
Me: I happen to have the necessities to make college girl spaghetti. Meaning I have a can of cheap sauce, meat, and noodles. Want to come over and make sure I don’t burn the place down?
* * *
I bite at my lip. He could have plans and that’s totally fine.
Maybe I should have asked what he was doing before I invited him over?
Maybe he’s with a girl.
Maybe… he’s with Paige.
I frown but shake it off when my phone beeps again. I squeeze it, but now I’m too nervous to look at the screen.
“Screw it.” I hop up and make my way back to the kitchen, deciding even if he can’t or doesn’t want to come over, I’m cooking. It’s not like I don’t help Cam make stuff for the boys a lot, usually I’m the utensil grabber or box opener, the stirrer and stuff, but still… I help. Plus, Noah’s taught me some basics, so yeah. I can make it by myself.
Only, I don’t want to make it by myself.
Once I have everything lined up on the counter, I flatten my palms and stare at it for a while. With a heavy huff, I pick up my phone to check his message. Instantly, my smile breaks free.
He’s on his way.
Less than thirty minutes later, we’re settled in my kitchen as a nice little change.
“Why are you doing that?” I stand on my toes, trying to peek over Noah’s shoulder, making him laugh. Turning slightly, he gently moves me aside, so he has room to bend his arm.
“You put salt in the water to help season the noodles.”
“That makes no sense. It’s in water.” I hop onto the counter next to the stove. “Won’t it wash away or dissolve or something?”
“Or soak into the noodles themselves,” he teases as he sets the spoon down next to me.
I roll my eyes playfully, pick up the spoon, and place it on the small saucer meant to hold it.
Noah turns to the bag he brought with him, pulling out a can of olives, fresh mushrooms, and something green.
He looks at me and grins. “You can turn a dollar can of sauce into something worth eating with just a few extra ingredients.”
I watch him prepare it all and stir it into the simmering sauce. “Another tip from your mom?”
He nods, and while it takes him a minute to share more, he eventually does. “We didn’t have a lot of extra money, but she always found a way to make cheap taste expensive.”
“How do you know what tastes good together?”
“Google.”
A laugh spurts from me, and he chuckles, continuing with his instructive cooking.
I love how he talks me through each step.
“You should always start the sauce before the noodles, the longer it simmers, the more the flavors come out, but we’re doing this the quick way.”
I tuck my hair behind my ear, watching him. “You know I meant what I said before about the chef thing. I really think it’s something you’d be great at.”
Noah glances up at me a moment before looking back to the pot. “I appreciate that.”
“Did you really cook dinner with your mom all the time?”
“Every night.”
“Yeah?” I grin, resting my elbow on my knee, my chin on my palm.
“Yep. I’d go home after practice or after games, and she’d be getting home from work right about the same time, so we’d make something together. Sometimes it was nothing more than grilled cheese, and other nights we’d ruin a couple batches of risotto until we got it right.”
“So, on game nights, instead of going out with your friends after, you’d go home and make dinner with your mom?” I ask, my voice giving away my thoughts with my stomach full of flutters.
That’s the sweetest thing.
“Don’t get me wrong, I went out.” He chuckles.
“But after dinner with your mom.”
“Yeah, after that.”
Even though he’s not looking at me, I nod. “You were good, though, weren’t you? You were a good kid?”