Page 77 of Roommating

When we’re all back at the table, we raise our glasses.

Marcia says, “To Sabrina, for making this delicious meal.”

“Maybe you should try it first.” I squirm. If Carley were here, she’d tell me to cut out the self-deprecation. I sit up straighter.

“I’m sure it’s wonderful and can’t wait to find out,” Marcia says.

“Even if it’s just north of edible, it’s still a big deal and you should be proud,” Adam says.

My head swings his way, expecting to see a cocky grin or smirk, but his eyes are soft. It’s not exactly a glowing prediction, but he’s giving my effort more credit than I expect under the circumstances.

“Thanks.”

We all drink.

Adam licks his lips. “I needed that.”

“Rough day?” I joke. As far as I know, he was either on the couch or spying on me for most of the afternoon.

He leans back in his chair. “Yeah, actually. I changed the filter on Gram’s vacuum cleaner and cleaned all the attachments. They were full of hair and other debris. It took over an hour, but it works like new now.”

Marcia looks absolutely delighted by this. “I don’t think the filter’s been changed since I bought the thing years ago! Sabrina tried to do it and couldn’t figure it out. Right?”

I take another sip of wine. “Right.”

“Glad I could help.”

I feel him looking at me but refuse to give him the satisfactionof gloating. Instead, I gesture to the food on the table. “Help yourselves.”

I let them each take a piece of garlic bread and spoon portions of salad and lasagna onto their plates. While they take their first bites, I fill my own plate to avoid watching their first reactions. But I hear the crunching of the bread, the clanking of utensils, and chewing and swallowing.

It’s only when Marcia says, “This is delicious, Sabrina!” that I dare to look. She’s beaming at me.

“Really?”

She nods enthusiastically.

I break into a huge grin. “Yay! Carley deserves some of the credit too. It’s her recipe and she walked me through the entire process.”

“But you made everything yourself. Take the credit,” Marcia insists.

Her soft and encouraging tone reminds me of Nana Lena’s when I was little and helped her make latkes at Hanukkah. Even after I got potato pieces all over the floor and cut myself while grating, she said I was the best sous chef ever. “I’m trying to compensate for all my previous failed attempts to prepare anything that requires more than a can opener.”

“And it shows. Thank you.” Marcia smiles.

I notice Adam hasn’t said anything. I dare to look at him.

He meets my gaze and keeps it there while he chews and swallows. I stare back while squirming on the inside. I shouldn’t care what he thinks, but I do. Marcia watches the exchange with amusement. Even she can see he’s toying with me.

He’sstillstaring me down as he wipes his mouth with a napkin then finally drops it to his lap. “It’s good.”

There’s no exclamation point at the end of the most anticlimacticphrase in history, but I’ll take it. I’m about to thank him with the same level of enthusiasm when he says it again.

“It’sreallygood, Sabrina. Well north of edible.”

I smile cautiously at him, afraid he’s toying with me. His sincere comments mixed with reminders that our competition is still alive and kicking, not to mention the suffocating sexual tension, is making me dizzy.

He winks.

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