Page 116 of Matchmaking On The Menu

“Whatever’s going on in the kitchen smells amazing.”

He lifts his glass slightly. “Beef stroganoff. Ready to heat when you’re ready.”

We sit, the chairs angled just enough that we’re facing each other properly. The candlelight softens his face, making it a little too easy to just look at him. Which I definitely don’t do. Consistently. At all.

I set my glass down, my fingers lingering on the stem.

“I did something today,” I say, because I’ve decided to lean into this whole honesty thing.

He leans forward slightly, his attention settling on me and only me. “Yeah?”

“I finished that piece,” I say, my voice quieter now. “About everything. And I… posted it.”

His eyebrows lift just slightly. “You posted it?”

“On the community board. And I put copies in all the menus at the diner.”

His mouth curves, like he’s trying not to laugh but also kind of impressed. “Of course you did.”

“It felt like a good idea at the time,” I say.

“It still is,” he replies easily.

I look at him, caught off guard by how certain he sounds.

“May I read it?” he asks.

My grip tightens slightly on the stem of my glass. “You already read most of it. You got the exclusive preview.”

He smiles at that. “I want to read the finished version.”

My stomach flips, but not in a bad way.

“I could always go to the grocery store and read it there, if you prefer.”

The breath rushes out of me. I’m being silly. Obviously.

I hand him my phone anyway, immediately conscious of how exposed that feels. Here are my thoughts, please don’t ruin me with them. Sitting there while he reads feels like a terrible plan, so I clear my throat.

“Do you mind if I wander a bit?” I ask, gesturing vaguely like this is a museum and not his home.

“Not at all,” he says, already focused on the screen.

I move through his space slowly, mostly so I don’t hover over him like a nervous hawk waiting for a reaction. Also because I’m suddenly very aware this is his place, his things, his life, and I didn’t really take any of it in last time I was here. Last time, all I was focused on was sex and writing.

Huh. That could be a band name.

The books are stacked in a way that suggests he had attempted to organize it but gave up halfway through. Framed photos catch the light at just the right angle, not arranged so much as placed where they landed. It doesn’t feel styled. It feels lived in.

Which, annoyingly, makes me like it more.

I pause at a shelf, pretending to be very interested in something that is definitely not as interesting as what he’s reading behind me.

Do not turn around, do not check his face. Do not.

I turn. He’s still reading, but there’s no visible reaction on his face. This is worse. I turn back quickly and keep moving. I find myself in the spare bedroom, where Teddy had set up his workspace.

That’s when I see it.