Page 110 of The Chance

Tearing my sight away from him, I stare into the bowl and have to will myself not to fucking cry over mac and cheese. That Jordan cooked. Just for me. While he eats rabbit food.

It might be a simple box of noodles and flavored packet. Something as easy as boiling some water and making sure the pasta part doesn’t turn to mush. Yet, I can’t help but feel like my heart is ready to burst out of my chest and present itself to him right here on the couch.

“This is the first homecooked meal I’ve had in over a year,” I mutter, and it comes out thick as shit.

I think he nods, but I’m too afraid to look.

Blinking hard, I finish the whole bowl.

It’s the best fucking mac and cheese I’ve ever had.

And when I scrape the last bit of cheese sauce from the sides of the ceramic, Jordan offers to get me more.

Sniffing, I let him take the bowl and set both on the coffee table next to his hat when I shake my head.

He scoots close enough that his knee grazes mine.

“All it took was a hotdog.”

When I swing my furrowed brow on him, he nods to the curled-up creature in my lap.

“She was hanging around outside and I was worried she’d get hit by a damn car. So, I coaxed her with a hotdog.”

If I wasn’t worried I’d scare the shit out of the cat, I’d let the laugh that bubbles up out.

“Sometimes it’s that simple,” I murmur, and it cracks.

“She doesn’t normally like other people,” he half blurts out and I’m not sure why, but that makes me feel good. Like I’ve been chosen or some shit. “She only tolerates me because I feed her.”

His chuckle is all air.

And it sends a spike of warmth down my spine.

“I’m only tolerating you because you fed me, too.”

The responding laugh is deep and reaches somewhere in the depth of my soul and pets it like I’m petting his cat.

“Are you … Do you want to watch a movie?”

Chapter Sixty-Seven

Mac

The new Mark Wahlbergmovie is queued up before I can rationalizenotwatching one with him and I don’t have it in me to walk out now that it’s started.

I also have no clue how the fuck I managed to get here to begin with, but there’s something in me that’s latching onto the feeling swirling in my gut the longer I sit here. It’s confusing, yet warming. Terrifying, but not. Like I’m somehow making the right decision about something I didn’t even know needed deciding.

Is it intuition or am I just crazy?

And suddenly, I feel like I’m staring into a cracked bathroom mirror with a single phrase rolling through my head.

Take the chance. It’s yours.

“I don’t have any snacks. Sorry.”

“S’okay,” I manage and force myself to watch the action on the screen. It’s a good movie, one I didn’t have the heart to tell him I already watched, but it isn’t keeping my attention like the films with the hot actor normally do.

I blame the cat. Yep. It’s definitely Cookie’s fault for being so damnsoft.

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