Page 27 of The Odds of Happily Ever After
“I can handle it. It’s just me for dinner anyway. I’m the party.” I laughed.
He didn’t hesitate. “Then you’ll have one thing less to worry about.” He pushed his sleeves up to his elbows and began stacking dirty bowls and assorted utensils.
“Gabe, seriously, it’s fine. I’m sure you have places to be.”
“Your water’s boiling.”
A glance at the stove told me he was right. Hurrying to the pot, I put pasta in with some salt and set a second timer. Then I opened the oven, gave the ham a final glaze, and put it in for five more minutes.
When I checked on Gabe, he was elbows deep into the sink. I gasped, moving to his side. “You’re going to ruin your sweater!”
“It’s just soap water and food particles,” he said as he continued scrubbing a mixing bowl.
“But you’re wearing white.” I’d bet the fabric was cashmere too.
“I’ll put it in the wash when I get home.”
“Seriously, I can finish that,”I told him.
He placed the bowl on the drying rack and picked up a spatula. “I’m almost done.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “You’re being suspiciously nice. Did you lose a bet to Ate or something?”
“She just asked me to deliver the gifts.”
“Uh huh.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I cocked my head. “So what’s with the dishwashing?”
He spared me a quick look. “I can’t help you?”
A snort escaped me. “C’mon, Gabe. You only help me because of Ate. She’s on the other side of the world, so you don’t need to pretend.”
“I told you. You cooked. You shouldn’t have to clean up too.”
“I do it all the time.”
“Not this time. Take a break.”
Maybe it was the fact that it was Christmas and that he’d played deliveryman for my family. Or maybe it was me longing not to be alone on the night when most everyone had someone. Whatever it was, I ended up saying, “You know that rule only applies if you eat what I cooked, right? So since you washed, you should join me for dinner.”
He turned to me. “That’s not?—”
“Do you have other plans?”Please say no so I won’t embarrass myself.
“No, but?—”
“Fine, if you don’t want to stay, I’ll pack some food for you.”
“That’s unnecessary.”
“It’s how my lola trained me. You’re not going to dishonor her memory, are you?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Resorting to emotional blackmail?”
I shrugged. “Whatever works. Think of it as payment for delivering the gifts.”
“You don’t have to pay me for that,” he grumbled.
“Just give me a couple minutes to finish cooking, and I’ll pack?—”
