Page 135 of Spicy Ever After
We sit on the steps side by side, and when I take a bite, a little bit of my hope is restored.
Yes, I fucked up my Cobb salad plans, but all is not lost.
Maybe I won’t starve when I live on my own.
Beck laughs. “Of course you won’t.”
Oops.
“Didn’t mean to say that out loud,” I mutter around a mouthful.
Beck munches quietly beside me for a moment. “You know you don’t have to check your thoughts with me, right?”
Breath leaves me in a rush.
I peek at him. Those amber eyes of his are the warmest things I’ve ever seen.
“Maybe… maybe I do know that.” I gnaw on my bottom lip because this is new and untested. I feel like the first person stepping out onto the Grand Canyon Skywalk. “I’m just not used to it… Sharing what I really think gets me into plenty of trouble.”
Beck narrows his eyes and growls menacingly, a threat to anyone who’d hassle me. I bust out a laugh. Then he does too, those adorable sunshine footprints squeezing tight.
He grins before taking another bite and nods approvingly at the burrito. “Mmm. This is really good.”
I roll my eyes. “Thanks to you.”
“Nope. I wouldn’t have thought about putting all the veggies in it. Cutting all that up takes time and I’m always in a hurry.” He holds up his half-eaten burrito like a trophy. “This is a lot healthier than our usual lunches. And that’s thanks to you.”
It shouldn’t, considering the mess I’ve made of his kitchen, but a little flush of pride climbs my cheeks.
“If my mom had walked in and found her kitchen in the state yours is in, she would lose her shit.” I wrinkle my nose. “It’s probably why I’m so bad at cooking.”
He leans over and bumps his shoulder with mine. “You’re not bad at cooking.”
I give him a dry look. “I triggered the smoke alarm. My bacon was carcinogenic.”
Beck stifles a laugh, but I don’t stop there.
“Your ailing father fled for his safety.”
This time he cracks, shaking his head through his laughter. “The fresh air is good for him.”
“Especially when the air inside is toxic.”
Beck coughs through another laugh before clearing his throat. “You just need practice. Everyone needs practice when they try something new.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I just feel bad that I made such a mess.” Then I give a shrug in concession. “The burritos are pretty good.”
Beck pops his last bite into his mouth, chews, and swallows, watching me silently the whole time.
Then he clears his throat. “You know the funny thing about messes? You can clean them up. No big deal.”
My eyes almost bug out of their sockets. “WHAT?!”
I’m half-joking. But only half.
Silent laughter dances in his eyes and sexy parentheses bracket his mouth. Damn. What a smokeshow.
I lower my voice like I’m sharing a state secret. “Cleaning up—for someone with ADHD and the tisms—is a very big deal.”
