“Do you want to help me make dinner?” It was something we used to do. Before the overdoses. I missed having him in the kitchen with me.

He thought about it for a second or two and then nodded.

“Yeah, sure.” I went to Rory’s fridge and looked through it to see what she had. Slim pickings, that’s what. I searched for something I could make into a complete meal and couldn’t find much. Guess they hadn’t had a chance to go grocery shopping in a while. Resorting to the pantry, I found some soup and bread in the breadbox. They had some crappy processed cheese that I normally wouldn’t be caught dead eating, but I was going to suck it up.

“This okay?” I laid out the ingredients.

“Whatever,” he said. I didn’t like this side of Ryder. He’d gone back to not giving a shit.

“Or I could just let you starve,” I said.

He scoffed. “I know how to make food for myself.”

“Prove it.”

“Oh, you think I can’t heat up soup and make some sandwiches? How moronic and inept do you think I am?” I knew he could do both. Hell, I’d almost trained him as a sous chef. But I missed having this easy banter with him. I liked it a lot more than the yelling.

“Nope. I bet you can’t.”

He rolled his eyes. “Watch me.”

Oh, I watched. I watched as he got down a pan, and I watched as he opened the can of soup, and I watched as he put the sandwiches together and buttered them, just like I taught him. I watched his body move around the kitchen and just appreciated the view.

“Did you miss me?” I asked as he handed me a glass of wine. He poured water for himself.

“What do you think?” he asked as he adjusted the flame on the burner so the bread didn’t burn.

“I think I’d like to hear you say it.” I sipped my wine and leaned against the counter.

He looked over his shoulder at me. “You know I missed you.”

“Good.”

“Do you think April will be okay?” he asked.

“I really don’t know. I can’t imagine what she’s going through right now,” I said.

We both thought about that for a moment and the mood turned heavy.

He flipped the sandwiches so they could brown on the other side and pressed them down with the spatula so the cheese would melt. I was so proud.

“So, did you miss me?” he asked, batting his eyelashes and changing the tone again. I picked up a napkin, balled it up, and threw it at him. He caught it in midair.

“I missed certain things. I didn’t miss your fucking drama.” Oops. I couldn’t stop saying the wrong things, could I?

“What did you miss?” he asked, throwing the napkin in the trash with perfect aim.

“I’m not going to give you a list,” I said, starting to feel self-conscious. Ryder always put me on the spot.

“Then give me two things.” He stirred the soup then poured it into two bowls.

“Your tattoos, for one,” I said. I didn’t want to tell him what I really missed.

“Oh, of course,” he said, rolling his eyes as he plated the sandwiches and cut them in half. He slid the bowl of soup over to me then the plate with the sandwich on it.

“And . . . the way you say my name.” That wasn’t too weird, right?

“The way I say your name?” he said, picking up half of his sandwich and dunking it into the soup before taking a bite. “I don’t get it.”

Tags: Chelsea M. Cameron Erotic
Source: readsnovelonline.net