Page 102 of Red Zone
I hover by the door for a second before finally following him in, my sock covered feet silent against the floor.
He’s already unloading the bags by the time I reach the island.
“Chicken broth,” he says, pulling out the carton and setting it down. “Cup noodles. Chocolate—both bars and some fancy truffles, ’cause I didn’t know which kind you’d want. Ice cream.” He glances up at me. “Cookie dough.”
I stare at the growing pile on the counter, my brows knitting.
“Midol,” he finishes quietly, placing the small blue box on top of the chocolate. Then he brings out five boxes of different pads and tampons. “And these. I tried really hard to remember which kind you grabbed last time, but they legit all looked so similar. I know I got the brand right, but I couldn’t remember the size or whatever.”
For a moment, I don’t say anything. My throat feels tight, my brain stuck somewhere between confusion, shock, gratitude…and the urge to kiss him.
Finally, I manage, “What…what is all this?”
He shrugs, leaning on the counter with his elbows. “Care package. For the girl who refuses to admit when she’s hurting.”
I blink at him, startled.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I murmur, my voice coming out softer than I mean for it to.
“Yeah,” he says, that faint smirk tugging at his mouth, though his eyes stay steady on mine. “I kinda did.”
Something in his voice makes my stomach do this strange, sinking thing that has nothing to do with the cramps.
I hover awkwardly by the end of the island, tugging the blanket tighter around myself as he straightens and starts unpacking the rest of the bags. Like he owns the place. Like he belongs here.
He grabs the carton of broth and the cup of noodles, moving toward the stove without waiting for permission.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my voice a little too high.
He glances over his shoulder at me, unbothered. “Making you something to eat.”
I blink. “I’m fine. You don’t?—”
“Sit,” he says, cutting me off as he sets a small pot on the burner and flicks it on.
My mouth opens to argue—because of course it does—but when I catch the look he gives me, calm and steady and somehow more stubborn than I’ll ever be, the words die on my tongue.
I sigh and sink onto one of the stools at the island, resting my elbows on the counter.
For a minute, the only sound in the apartment is the faint hum of the stove and the clink of him opening the noodle cups and emptying them into the pot.
He works like he’s done it before, quiet and deliberate, his broad shoulders shifting under his hoodie as he stirs.
“You really didn’t have to do this,” I say finally, softer now.
He glances at me over his shoulder, one corner of his mouth twitching up.
“I know, but I wanted to. Prepare to be amazed by my chef skills. I’ve been told I am the best at making ramen a la Hayes.” He places a steaming cup of noodles and a fork in front of me. “Meaning, I can make a thing of instant noodles like nobody’s business.”
I can’t hold back the laughter at that, which seems to make him relax more.
“Thank you, Carter. Really. I appreciate this.”
“No problem, Princess. I gotta run out to my truck really quick, but I’ll be right back,” he says, his back to me as he heads for the door.
“You don’t have to stay if you have other plans. I’m sure there’s a party or something, since we can’t…” My cheeks flush with heat. “You know.”
His smirk is downright criminal as he waggles his brows at me. “Oh, I know. I’m good with a night of ice cream and couch rotting. I’ll be right back.”
