Page 133 of Coco and the Misfits

That rollercoaster doesn’t serve me well as I prepare dinner, of course. I burn the burgers and over-smash the potatoes so that they are practically fried mash.

A sudden desire to cry comes over me, but I fight it.

What am I hoping for, to get Ryder to fall in love with me through my cooking? If he doesn’t want me, no number of perfect dishes will help. And if he’s upset about my cooking, then he has no place being by my side.

Still, the urge to order some pizza rides me—ha!—until Ryder arrives, twenty minutes after my disastrous dinner attempt is set in the oven to keep warm.

Twenty minutes of doubt and nail-biting.

Then my phone dings and there is his name. ‘I’m right outside your apartment door.’

Little piggy, little piggy, let me come in, I think and giggle inanely to myself, all nerves. Or else I’ll huff and puff and blow your door down.

But when I open the door, he looks nothing like a wolf. All in black, in a sleek shirt and black pants, his golden eyes sparkling, he looks like a young god of the underworld.

The bouquet in his hands is pink orchids and black dahlias, as unique and arresting as he is.

He thrusts it toward me, his faint smirk holding that same edge he always carries about his person. The edge that cuts me and makes me swoon. “Good evening, my pretty.”

“Come in.” I have my arms full of bizarre flowers—hey, the only normal flowers are roses, right?—and I walk backward, feeling a little like a flowering bush. “You know the way.”

He chuckles, a delicious sound as I bump into a wall, then manage to find the kitchen door and step inside, finally able to turn around.

“I’ll just put these in a…” I glance around. “Um…”

“No free vases,” he says from the living room. “Too many flowers in here.”

“Right…” So I dump the pretty bouquet on the kitchen table and lift my chin. “Right. So I hope you’re hungry.”

Because I made my childhood comfort food and I have no wine, and how did I plan tonight’s dinner so badly? What an idiot.

“I’m starving,” he calls out. “Been waiting for days for your message.”

“And you ate nothing all those days?” I mutter distractedly, getting the food out of the oven, then screaming when I turn around and find him lounging against the kitchen door. “God, you scared the shit out of me.”

“Let me help you.” He makes a grab for the dish and I stumble backward. “Coco?—”

“It’s hot.”

“I like it hot.” He grabs a towel. “Let me.” He wrestles the dish with the burgers off my hands and waits until I grab the potatoes. “To answer your question, I didn’t eat much since I was last here. I was… anxious.”

I glance at him as we make our way to the dining table to catch his expression and I almost stumble. He looks… rueful. Pained. Painfully honest.

I feel the stupid urge to apologize, and it spills out of my mouth before I can stop myself. “Sorry for the humble fare. I wanted a taste of my childhood tonight. You’re probably used to a finer cuisine.”

“You think I grew up rich?” He sets the burgers on the table and takes a seat. “I could eat mac-and-cheese every day. The cheapest brand. You know the kind.”

“I do.” I’m smiling very big now. I serve him and take my seat across from him. “So this is okay?”

“I love what you cooked. And above all…” He takes a huge bite, swallows, and smiles. “I love that you cooked for me. It feels… like a hug.”

On impulse, I get up, rush around the table and throw my arms around him. He gets up, letting out a surprised breath, then grabs me and wraps himself around me.

“Candy girl,” he whispers, a little choked. “Fuck’s sake. You’ll make me cry.”

“That’s fine,” I sort of wail. “You made me cry, too.”

“Shit, I’m sorry, princess. I’m unforgivable.”

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