Page 46 of Siren's Heart

I shrug off my shoes, and he takes my hand, leading me right to his kitchen. I like his flat. It's a lot darker than mine, with dark gray accent walls and furniture. It’s not perfect, but it definitely has more character than my apartment. When we walk into his kitchen, I notice that the color is very prominent there as well.

Aside from one lonely sunflower sitting in a way too little glass on the counter. Curiously, I step closer and look at him with a grin.

“Is this a beauty and the beast situation where it slowly loses petals and something happens once they’re all gone?”

He chuckles and shakes his head at me. “No, it’s so I know when to ring Jade.”

“Jade?” I tilt my head at him. He says it like the name should tell me something, but I have no idea who he’s talking about.

“Asher’s mother,” he clarifies as he comes closer, stopping right behind me to look at it over my shoulder. “She owns a flower shop and has the most beautiful sunflowers. But I might be biased. I’m keeping one so I know when to get you new ones.”

I turn around and my heart melts. Oh my God, that’s so… I don’t even have the words for it. All I can do is look at him with my mouth agape, tears stinging in my eyes.

Then I notice where the lovely smell is coming from and shake my head as though I’m waking up from a dream.

"You cooked?" I tilt my head and eye the counter with a bunch of differently-sized containers on it, quickly changing topics before his sweet thoughtfulness brings me to tears.

"I ordered," he admits sheepishly and heads to his fridge, but not before dropping another kiss on my temple, making the smile on my face widen. "If I cooked, there'd be mac and cheese or maybe a grilled cheese."

"Nothing wrong with cheese," I say with a shrug and peek around the food. It looks like he's ordered..."Ramen? I didn't even know you could order that."

"Well, now you know," he chuckles and shoots me a wink. "What would you like to drink?"

Both of us settle on wine, and he opens a bottle while I take two glasses out of the cupboard he points at.

"God, this looks amazing," I tell him as I sit down. "Way better than the instant ramen that I make when I'm too lazy to cook."

While we eat, we talk about work the past few days. And he laughs at me when I struggle to eat with chopsticks. I deny his offer for a fork, though. It might take me a bit, or maybe a few hours, but I’m determined to eat this meal the right way.

He tells me about the Walker siblings and how they're bashing in their heads during practice games and maneuvers. From what I’m hearing, they must really have it out for each other, but everyone always assures me it’s just a sibling thing. Then I tell him about the interviews.

"Poor Kayla, she got a lot of questions about Asher and their relationship," I tell him with a sigh and his brows furrow. "I swear she was seconds away from exploding. We were so excited to talk about the match and maybe our tour, but the reporters didn’t care at all. It sucks when all your hard work is minimized to who you're going out with."

"I don't envy you two," he admits empathetically and reaches for my hand, giving it a soft squeeze. "That must suck."

"It does," I sigh deeply, trying to capture one of the last noodles in my bowl with the chopsticks. "And I'll never get used to it, but I guess I need to accept that's just how it is. There’s no use getting angry about it." I finally get the noodle and smile at him triumphantly when I put it in my mouth.

He stands up to put our empty bowls into the sink, then walks over to his fridge to retrieve something I can’t see. My eyes go wide, and a giddy feeling settles in my stomach when he returns with two plates and a bunch of cake on each of them.

"Well, that helps with not being angry," I look at him with wide eyes.

He absolutely knows the way to a woman's heart, and the way to mine is definitely through my stomach. I grin at him the whole time I'm eating; it's like the corners of my mouth have a mind of their own. They just won't drop. Which makes him smile wider in return. There are four different kinds of cakes, and we sample our way through all of them.

"My favorite is definitely the strawberry," I say once I've had a taste of each. They’re all amazing, but only strawberry made me dance in my seat.

"Chocolate," he says matter-of-factly, pointing his fork at the piece. "Wonderful, that means we won't have to fight over cake."

"It's got to be fate," I giggle and reach over to the plate sitting in front of him for another piece of the strawberry cake.

"Yeah,” he says, an unreadable expression dancing in his eyes. “It really has to be fate," he repeats, sounding profound. Not like he's talking about cake.

I want to ask him if he's thought about us. Where he sees this going? If he's willing to commit despite the chaos that comes with dating me.

But I'm too scared.

I want to know his answer, my fingers itching with the need to know, and at the same time, I feel like running. As long as I don't know his answer, there's a possibility. There’s hope. As long as I don't have his reply, I can dream about our future, picture us together with a white picket fence house. And I'll take every minute of hope and dreams that I can get.

Before I know it, all the cake is gone–he ate the rest of the chocolate cake. I annihilated the strawberry cake, and we shared the red velvet and lemon.

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