Page 105 of About to Fall

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We were making Margaux's favourite dinner—Croque Monsieur—which I thought was simple enough to match Adrian's culinary abilities.

Margaux was standing on her stepstool, carefully supervising Adrian as he attempted to shred the Gruyère. She had warned him off nicking his fingers twice and looked ready to snatch the grater out of his hand.

“You have to go slower,” she instructed with the patience of a saint. “Like this. See?”

“I'm trying,” Adrian said, concentrating so hard on the cheese that his tongue was sticking out slightly, pressing against his lip ring.

I was assembling sandwiches at the counter, watching them with barely contained amusement.

“Have you really never done this before?” Margaux asked, incredulous.

“Nope.”

“But you're a grown-up.”

“A tragic oversight in my education,” Adrian agreed. “My family had a chef when I was growing up. And now I mostly live off takeout and frozen dinners.”

I nearly dropped the wooden spatula I was using to stir the béchamel. “I'm sorry, did you say frozen dinners?”

“What?” He looked up, innocent. “Frozen dinners are convenient.”

“You're an elite Olympic athlete.”

“Exactly. I need convenience.”

“You need nutrition. Protein. Complex carbohydrates. Not whatever processed garbage you've been—”

“Imagine if this got out,” Adrian interrupted, waggling his eyebrows at me over Margaux's head. “The brand sponsorships I could land. Adrian Zhao, Olympic figure skater, fuelled entirely by President’s Choice and DoorDash.”

Margaux giggled. “That's silly.”

“Your brother thinks I'm silly all the time.”

“Nico's not silly. He's very serious.”

“The most serious,” Adrian agreed, grinning at me. “It's one of my favourite things about him.”

I felt my face heat. Margaux looked between us with the knowing expression of an eight year old who'd just figured something out.

“Do you like like my brother?”

Adrian didn't hesitate. “Yeah, I do.”

“Good.” She nodded, satisfied, and went back to supervising his cheese grating. “Because Nico is the best and I like you.”

My chest tightened. Adrian's eyes found mine across the kitchen, soft and understanding.

“Me too, kid. Me too.”

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After dinner, Adrian attempted to help me with the dishes, which he was almost as bad at as shredding cheese. Something fragile clattered ominously against something metal as Adrian swished his gloved hands in the soapy water. Margaux was watching us from her perch on the countertop stool, finger pressed thoughtfully to her chin.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” Adrian asked, swiping his hair out of his eye with a soapy hand. It had grown past his jaw now, the back creeping toward his shoulder blades in cotton candy waves.

“Your hair is so pretty. Can I pretty please braid it?”