Page 69 of Verses

And that was what I wanted too—but I’d been derailed with Kyle. Maybe now…

Although I knew I didn’t deserve any better, I had to try. Wolf had made me wonder if there were other possibilities.

When he got back in the truck, he asked, “Are you warm enough?”

“I’m fine.” Fine enough anyway. I was feeling chilly, but I’d be okay once we got to his house. Once he started driving down the road, I said, “So tell me what makes your steaks so special.”

Slightly turning his head, he grinned. Even barely lit, thanks to the dash, his smile was disarming and infectious. “It all starts with the grade, so I always buy prime. You pay a little more for it, but there’s no denying the taste.”

“Well, then I probably can’t learn anything from you. I can barely afford hot dogs.”

He laughed. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t live on steak. I just enjoy it once in a while.” He was back on Main Street, heading toward the state highway that would take us to Coal Hollow.

“Okay. So what else?”

“I marinate the steaks first. Then I sear them—and once they’re good, I turn down the heat. And I rely on a meatthermometer to make sure they’re done the way I like. How do you like your steak cooked, by the way?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, feeling stupid. “Like grilled or—”

“Like rare, medium, well.”

“Oh. I’m not sure. I don’t want it bloody or anything.”

“So not rare. I tend to usually like my steaks medium or medium well. Not bloody. A little pink, but the flavor is pure perfection.”

Wow. He was pretty serious about his meat—and I was suddenly hungry. Finally, we were heading south toward his place, a few more minutes away.

I found myself wanting to talk more about food. “So do you eat it by itself?”

“Yeah. I would never ruin a perfect cut with steak sauce.”

“No, I don’t mean that. I mean do you have other things on the side?”

“Sure do. I’ve already baked some potatoes and I made a salad. So if you’re not a huge meat eater, there’s other stuff.”

Normally, I wouldn’t have said a word—but I’d never felt judged by Wolf. It wasn’t that I cared what other people thought, especially because their thoughts probably revolved around the image I projected, but Wolf somehow saw through all the bullshit.

He sawme.

But he also seemed to care—so I was going to tell him the truth. “I’ve only ever had steak once or twice.”

“What did you think?”

Ah…my test question had gone fine. He hadn’t asked why, even though it would have been a legitimate question—but he probably already knew that growing up in a poor, unstable family meant steak was considered a luxury. And the one time we had it was when my mom finally signed up for Food Stamps.

I could hear her voice in my head:It’s not called that anymore. It’s calledSNAPnow.

“It was kind of dry and chewy. I didn’t see what the big deal was. And the only way I could choke it down was with steak sauce.”

“Sounds to me like the person cooking it didn’t know what they were doing.”

He had that right.

“It was a t-bone, and it took up most of my plate. After all the hype, I was excited—but ultimately disappointed.”

“I promise you will change your mind after tonight.”

A few minutes later and he was pulling his truck into the garage. By the time he made it to my side of the truck, I was already sliding off the seat and placing my feet on the running board. He held out a hand that I took, even though I didn’t need it.

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