Page 12 of Sinful Sharing

Inside the warm kitchen, I make quick work of assembling two pulled pork sandwiches. Taylor claims a stool at the breakfast bar, watching me. For a while, neither of us says much. It’s not uncomfortable, just unfamiliar. This is the longest we’ve been alone since he got here. Usually, Roman is around, or we’re busy working.

“Tell me about San Francisco,” I say.

“It’s loud.”

“So helpful.”

Taylor laughs. The sound catches me off guard. It’s warmer than I expected. It warms my insides. I like how it feels.

“Fine. It’s crowded,” he supplies. “Expensive. Traffic is always a bitch.”

“Sounds awful.”

“It kind of is.”

I slide a plate toward him. “You have a girlfriend, right?” I already know the answer. I heard them arguing on the phone last night.

“Celeste.” The response comes quickly, as if he’s reciting a fact instead of talking about someone he misses. I wait for the fond smile, for a spark in his eyes. Nothing.

Interesting.

“How long have you been together?” I ask.

Taylor glances toward the ceiling, creases appearing on his forehead. “Four months?”

I smirk. “You’re asking me?”

He shoots me a dry look. “Four months.”

“Do you love her?”

His hand stills around the plate. Only for a second, but I notice. “Yeah.”

An uneasy sensation settles on my chest. “Roman told me you graduated from college a few months ago. What do you plan on doing next?”

“I’m heading to law school next year. Stanford.”

That earns him a whistle. “Damn.”

“Yeah.”

Again, I see no sign of emotion. No pride, no excitement. I’m not getting the vibe that law school is a milestone he’s looking forward to. I could be wrong. Leaning against the counter, I fix him with a probing stare. “Are you sure you want to be a lawyer?”

“Of course.”

The answer comes way too fast. I raise an eyebrow. Taylor sighs. “Okay, maybe not, of course.”

A momentary pause ensues. I patiently wait for him to go on.

“I mean...” He rubs the back of his neck. “Law school has always been the plan.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

His gaze drops to the sandwich. For a moment, he seems more youthful, less polished, less... certain. He then looks back at me, throwing me off with an unexpected smile. “I’d rather talk about you now.”

I groan. “No.”

“Come on.”