Page 25 of Falling For Us Again

"Thanks," I reply, my voice a little breathless. "I hope you like it. I’m not that much of a cook.”

“Oh, I know.” He chuckles.

I roll my eyes at his jab. Dylan was the one who taught me the few things I know how to cook. He was always an amazing cook, and his dream was to be a top chef, much to the disappointment of his mother who thought he’d follow the family tradition of going into medicine.

We sit down, and for a few moments, we eat in comfortable silence. The aroma of the food mingles with the scent of clean linen and soap, creating a cozy atmosphere. The food is warm and satisfying, and I can see the appreciation in Dylan’s eyes as he brings a forkful of pasta to his mouth.

"This is really good, Jenna.” He looks at me. “It’s so funny that you still make your pasta the same way.”

A small smile envelops my face, feeling strangely satisfied by his compliment. "That’s the only way I know how to make pasta.”

“I thought about taking a cooking class, but I don't have much free time on my hand.”

“Yes, busy author. You were always determined to make a better life for yourself. You did it.”

I pause. I can't tell if it’s another jab at me or if he’s being sincere.

I don't respond, and we lapse into silence again, but this time it feels charged, as if both of us are acutely aware of the unspoken feelings hanging in the air. I can't help but steal glances at Dylan, noting the way the light catches the contours of his face, highlighting the strength of his features.

He reaches across the table to take the carafe of water, his fingers brushing against mine. The touch is electric, sending a shiver down my spine. Our eyes meet, and for a moment, it feels like the rest of the world fades away, leaving just the two of us in this intimate, suspended moment.

Neither one of us makes a move to pull away; the air between us is thick with unspoken desire and memories of what once was. The tension is almost unbearable. I snatch my hands away from him.

What is going on with you, Jenna?

Chapter 8

H.O.T

Jenna

I try to focus on the food, but I can feel Dylan's eyes on me, studying my every move.

"Jenna," he begins, breaking the silence. "Are you really sure about selling the house?

His question catches me off guard, and I welcome the surge of irritation rising within me. Anything to distract from the feelings he stirs in me.

Plus, the last thing I want to discuss with him is my family or the house.

I take a deep breath, trying to keep my emotions in check. "It's my decision, and I don't need to justify it to anyone."

He leans back in his chair, his gaze unwavering. "I get that it's hard, but this is your home. Your parents’ home. Don't you think it's worth reconsidering?"

I look away, my jaw tightening. "I said I don't want to talk about it. Can we just enjoy the meal?"

For a moment, the only sounds are the clinking of cutlery and the soft whir of the refrigerator. I can feel the weight of Dylan's questions threatening to unravel the fragile peace we've managed to establish.

But Dylan isn't one to let things go easily. He puts down his fork, his expression a mix of frustration and concern. "Jenna, why are you so mad at me? You were the one who shut me out of your life."

“Oh God.” I press my lips together. I stare at the meal in front of me, the once tempting aroma now completely unappealing. My appetite has vanished, replaced by a rising bitterness. I push the plate away, my hands trembling slightly.

“What? Does the subject make you uncomfortable? Well, you should be.”

“You don’t need to be spiteful.”

“Me? Spiteful? Nobody knows how to be spiteful better than you.” You don’t get to try to use that against me."

His words ignite a fire within me, a deep-seated bitterness that I've tried to bury for years. I slam my fork down, the clatter echoing through the quiet room.

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