Page 14 of The Snowball Effect

Calmly, Regan pulled out her chair and sat before gesturing to the seat opposite her at the small table. “I had some extra time on my hands today. I promise you that having a meal with medoesn’t mean I’m going to be giving you a homemade friendship bracelet.”

Though, Regan had been absolutelyincredibleat making friendship bracelets back in the day. She bit back that fun fact.

“Good, because I’ve never really been one for friendship bracelets.” Consideringly, Emma nodded. She carefully set her bag on the ground before walking toward the table.

Regan could feel her excitement mounting as Emma sat down across from her.

Be cool. Be cool.

She waited as Emma picked up her fork and poked curiously through the dish – which was, admittedly, very simple. Rice, broccoli, chicken, and sauce. Apparently, it passed inspection, though, and Emma took a bite.

No matter how much she silently chanted it to herself, Regan couldn’t help the broad smile that overtook her face when she watched Emma’s eyes slowly close as she chewed, a soft sound of enjoyment escaping her.

When Emma looked back up at her, Regan was still smiling. “Good?” She asked, as chill as possible.

“Delicious, actually,” Emma answered after she swallowed, studying Regan carefully. “I feel like I haven’t seen you cook that much since I moved in?” She held Regan’s eyes as she deadpanned, “Other than whatever it is that you’re doing in the kitchen at night when I can hear pans clanging together.”

Regan shrugged, ignoring that last part, as she used her own fork to slide her food around as she answered, “Oh, that’s because I kind of haven’t done much actual cooking in the last few weeks?” She felt the ramble coming but couldn’t tamp it down in time before it came spilling out, “The thing is, I really hate cooking meals for myself. It makes me so… sad. You know?”

Emma’s simple, arched eyebrow reflected to Regan that no, she did not know.

“It’s so much work,” Regan explained, gesturing around the kitchen. “To get all of the ingredients and then spend all of the time prepping and cooking, and then the cleanup – all to, what? Sit here and have dinnerby myselffor twenty minutes?”

It was one of the things she was struggling with, in having Emma as a roommate.

Even though she wondered if she should stop her ramble – feeling like the vibe was a higher frequency than a three – Emma took another bite and seemed to be listening to her, giving Regan her famous thoughtful attention, so…

“But, maybe, if you like my cooking – I’d totally be happy to make something for the both of us a few times a week,” she offered eagerly. “We could chat a bit and maybe start to wipe our slate clean? I think it could be good, you know. For the both of us. Since we’re here together, and we used to have Sutton to hang out with, and now it’s the two of us.”

She stared expectantly at Emma, waiting for an answer.

Instead of giving her one, Emma stared down at her plate, her fork frozen in her hand as she started breathing more heavily. She sounded almost… pissed off?

Regan slumped down in her chair. What could she have possibly donenow?! Like, honestly?

“Emm–”

“What did you put in this?” Emma demanded. She was breathing even heavier as she dropped her fork and looked up at Regan.

Regan blinked at her in confusion. “Huh? I told you what it was.”

“Did you use some kind of nut?” Emma asked, putting her palms flat on the table.

“What? No. Why?” She was shaking her head before she remembered. “Oh, well, I did use almond flour to coat the chicken. We had a ton of excess at the café, and it was the wrongorder, so I was able to get it for free, and… what is going on with you?” She asked, concern curling through her as she stared at Emma.

Whose breathing could only be defined as labored, now.

“I’m allergic to almonds.” Emma’s voice was tight, and she squeezed her eyes closed as her cheeks started to pink. “Regan, I know youobviouslydon’t pay attention to anyone but yourself. But I’m going into anaphylaxis now, and I need you to get my EpiPen.”

Regan’s hands fell to her lap with a heavy thump as she stared, her blood rushing through her ears. Everything in the world turned motionless.

Before Emma took a loud, gasping breath and that shocked Regan’s system back to the moment.

“What do I do!” She shouted as she jumped up, her chair clattering to the ground behind her.

Emma’s breathing continued to labor – onlyworse, by the freaking second, it seemed.

“In my bag. Front… pocket,” Emma managed, pointing weakly toward where she’d placed her bag in the doorway.

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