Page 34 of Sparrow

“Are we having sketti? It smells like it in here,” she asks.

I laugh. “Close. We are having baked pasta with garlic bread. It’s like spaghetti, only even better.”

“Cadence, Amelia is a chef.”

I shake my head. “No. Not even close. I just like to cook is all.”

“Maybe you’re not a chef professionally, but you went to school for it. You have your degree and all your training, so at the core of it, you’re a chef,” he explains.

“Well, is this pasta almost done? All that park time made my stomach emppppttttyyyyyy,” Cadence says.

***

(Grayson)

“You don’t have to clean up, Gray. I can do that,” Amelia says from behind me.

“Absolutely not. You cooked for us. My mama would tan my hide if I made you clean up too.” I laugh.

“Still the same Cora, huh?” She smiles.

“Always will be.”

Dinner was a great success. It was delicious. So much so that Cadence ate seconds, which never happens, then promptly went into a food coma on the couch.

I moved her to her bedroom and snuck into the kitchen to begin cleaning before Mills could do it.

“Can we compromise? You wash, I’ll dry?” She has moved to my side by the sink.

“Well, if you’re going to twist my arm.” I toss her a kitchen towel from the drawer next to me.

This is so easy. It’s like breathing. Like it was always meant to be this way, but we both used different detours to get here. She belongs with me. I belong with her. It’s just fact. Peas and carrots. Gray and Mills.

When we’ve put the last of the dishes away, we migrate back into the living room and onto the sofa.

She sits facing me, her legs folded under her and her arm resting across the sofa back.

I rest my head back on the cushion, but tilt it so I can see her face. She’s so goddamn beautiful.

“Didn’t your mama ever tell you staring was rude?” She rests her head on her hand. Her accent is slowly creeping back out. It’s sexy as fuck.

“Yes, but my mama also taught me to admire beauty without remorse.”

“Smooth, Gray, real smooth.” Her cheeks flush a bit.

“Come here.” I reach across to take her by the arm, pulling her closer to me.

She slides across the cushions until she tucked under my arm, her head resting against my shoulder.

“Is this okay?” I ask.

“More than okay.” She tips her head back so she can see me.

“Mills, may I kiss you again?” I cup her cheek, sliding my thumb across her bottom lip.

“May you? I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

She barely has time to finish her sentence before I’m silencing her with a kiss.

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