Page 36 of On the Line

“I’m guessing you didn’t?” Ozzy asks from over his shoulder while adding butter to the hot pan on the stove.

“I didn’t,” I answer with a small victorious smile. “Moved out the same day … that was five months ago.”

Turning back to face me, he watches me with an expression I can’t quite place. “Good for you,” he says, smiling. Sprinkling some shredded cheese directly onto the pan, he then folds the tortillas in half, and places them into the now sizzling pan.

“Thank you.” Picking at my nails, I add, “It’s been … hard.”

He laughs but it’s not quite teasing. “I’m sure.” Flattening the quesadillas with a spatula, he asks, “So what was the major worth giving all of this up for?”

Swiveling around, he leans on the counter beside the stove, waiting for my answer.

“Fine arts. I’m a painter.”

His eyebrows jump up but he quickly schools his expression.

I burst out laughing. “Was that … shock, salad boy?”

He snickers as if caught, rubbing his hand over his chin. “I just wasn’t expecting that, I guess.”

While he flips the tortillas over, I tease him some more. “Isn’t that a tale as old as time? Spoiled rich kid gives up everything to follow their artistic passion?”

“Touché,” he responds with mirth. “You see that?” he says, referring to the quesadillas, “See how the shredded cheese is now the perfect crunchy crust? You’re gonna love it.”

“That sounds amazing,” I answer genuinely, perking up. I’m salivating at the thought … but there’s also something quite touching about watching him put so much care into such a simple thing as feeding me a late-night snack. But it’s not just that. The conversation itself feels like a balm. It’s effortless and easy-going, and Ozzy seems genuinely interested in what I have to say.

Those small, innocent moments are not lost on someone like me.

Someone so used to words likehardandcomplicated.

When the cheese is properly melted, he slides the plate of quesadillas across the island, handing me a fork and knife.

“Thank you …” I stare down at the food before catching his eye. “This was really nice of you.”

He gives me a small nod, his gaze warm. “Careful not to burn your tongue, princess,” he says while wiping his hands on the rag still over his shoulder. Then, his cocksure smile widens. “I’m pretty fond of it.”

I snort a laugh, followed shortly by a hum of delight, my mouth now full of melted cheese, which only makes his smile even brighter. Looking at the time on his phone, his gaze glides back to where I’m sitting and he gives me an apologetic press of his lips. “Anyway, I need to go find the guys, the van is leaving soon.”

“Okay, no worries,” I answer quickly, a twinge ofdisappointment squeezing my heart. “I’ll uh—I’ll see you at work.”

He pauses. “Where’s your phone?”

“Upstairs.”

He shoots me a quick eye roll as if I’m inconveniencing him. Then pushes his phone over to me, his screen open to his contacts but doesn’t say anything.

I let out a small teasing laugh. “Is this your way of asking for my phone number?”

“Something like that,” he answers with a shrug, trying to look casual but his eyes glimmer roguishly.

Trying not to overthink it, I add my number to his phone and give it back. He pockets it with a smile. Turning serious, he asks, “You sure you’ll be okay tonight?”

I give him an assured nod and wave him off.

He mirrors my nod and sends me a quick salute. “See you soon, sweetheart.”

15

OZZY

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