Page 129 of Saving Sparrow
“Why are you telling me now?”
He frowned. “I don’t understand you; didn’t you just ask me what I was thinking? And now you want to know why I told you?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, but I expected you to lie to me.”
“Well, I didn’t lie.”
“Why not?”
Sparrow sighed. “Because I’m hoping you’re right.”
“I am.”
“We’ll see,” he grouched, shifting topics. “What are you doing here?” He grabbed a blanket and folded it.
“Thought maybe I could work out a little and stretch.”
“Are you hoping I’ll stretch you?” He raised a brow.
I scoffed, then lied. “No.”
“Good, because I have your and Joshua’s mess to clean up in the backyard and chores to do, and I’m already running behind. I’ll be busy most of the day.” He opened a closet door I hadn’t noticed before, setting the blanket on the top shelf before folding the next one and doing the same.
“Will we eat together? Dinner, maybe?”
“Maybe.” He hesitated. “What will you make?”
“Maybe stewed chicken over black beans and rice? You seemed to like that.”
“It was okay.” He scooped up his pillows and walked over to the closet again. It had been more than “okay.” He’d eaten every grain of rice off his plate.
“Maybe I’ll make pasta, then.”
“No, the chicken and rice will do.” He made an effort to sound casual.
“Okay, see you at dinner.”
Sparrow glowered at my smile before leaving me standing there.
After working out, I read for the rest of the afternoon before getting started on dinner. I was halfway through when Sparrow breezed by the kitchen.
“Hey, hold on a second.” I left the extra peppers on the cutting board to hurry over to the stove. “Taste this for me. Let me know if it needs anything else.”
I scooped a spoonful of the stew gravy from the pot, blowing on it before holding it out for Sparrow to taste.
“Can’t you tell if it needs anything yourself?” he grumbled, even while leaning in for the small portion.
“I need a fresh perspective. An objective evaluation. I’m too close to it.”
“It’s okay,” he said for the second time that day. I gave him a look. “Fine, it’s good,” he grudgingly amended.
“Just good?” I pushed, and he returned the look I’d just given him. “I can live with good.” I shrugged.
He glanced over at the cutting board on the island. “Are you going to put more peppers in it?”
“I was thinking about it.” I feigned indecision. “More might be too much, don’t you think?”
“You already know I don’t think that.”
