Page 34 of We Can Stay
“More? Like this?” She crushes her lips to mine, and we’re kissing like it’s second nature. There’s no hesitation, no debating. Instead, we meet like we’ve done this a thousand times.
And even if we had, I’m sure it would be just as sweet. Just as special.
Too soon, she breaks away. “As much as I want to continue this, dinner just came out of the oven, and I’m so hungry there’s no way in hell I’m eating it cold.”
Chuckling, I wrap my arm around her from behind and walk her forward. “Then please lead the way.”
In the kitchen, the table is set with care—fancy plates, a lit candle in the middle, actual cloth napkins folded into neat triangles. A roast chicken with vegetables awaits us, the aroma of rosemary and lemon filling the small space. My jaw drops. “I didn’t know you were such a great cook.”
“You haven’t even tried it yet. How do you know I’m any good?” Her tone is mocking, but she can’t hide her pleased smile.
“I don’t need to try it. Not everyone can roast a chicken.” I walk to the sink and quickly wash my hands, the lavender soap she keeps there a stark contrast to the barn smell I’m carrying. Then I take a seat and spread my cloth napkin across my lap, feeling oddly formal and domestic all at once.
“It’s not that hard.” She’s still wearing that pleased smile, though, and I make a note to compliment her cooking again the next time she makes dinner for us.
“Where’s Cat?” I ask.
“Who?” Expressionless, she cuts into her chicken with precise movements.
“Cat. You know, the kitten who lives here with you.”
“Oh. You mean the little monster who shredded up a roll of toilet paper this morning and then got ahold of a roll of paper towels a bit later?” She shakes her head, but her eyes are soft. “Last I saw her, she was doing catnip in the living room. I’m starting to think she has a real problem.”
I snort—and notice that Flick didn’t correct me when I said that Cat lives with her. I’m still searching for a forever home for the kitten, but my suspicions that she’s already found it are growing stronger by the day.
“What’s in the bag?” Flick nods at the gift bag on the floor, which I wasn’t even aware I carried in here with us.
“Things for you.” I pick it up and pass it across the small table. “Since you’ve said your chest muscles have been hurting from work, I made you this care package.”
Her jaw drops. “What? Really?”
“Yeah.” I nod at the gift bag, encouraging her to go through it.
Her smile grows larger with each item she takes out. “Sebastian...this is so nice and thoughtful. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I say, finally satisfied that I picked the right objects. The worry that’s been gnawing at me all afternoon—that I was overstepping, being too much—finally eases.
“What’s in this?” She pulls Hannah’s box out of the bag.
“I don’t know. It’s from Hannah. I stopped by Knit Happens because I was on the block and I thought you might be there, and she gave me that.”
Her face falls.
“What?”
“Oh, uh.” She shakes her head. “You just reminded me that I forgot to text her about my shift tomorrow.”
“Do you want to do it now?”
“No. It’s okay. Let’s enjoy our dinner.” She opens the bottle of wine between us and fills our glasses with a generous pour. “Um, is the horse okay? The one you went to see today?”
“Yes, she’s fine. Pregnant, is all.”
“Oh, wow. Gotcha.”
“Tell me about it. The owner had no idea. Apparently, there was a stallion visit she’d forgotten about.” I take another bite of chicken, surprised to find I’m already halfway through my plate. It turns out Flick’s cooking tastes even better than it looks—the meat tender and flavorful, the vegetables perfectly roasted.
“How was your day?” I ask. “Besides cooking this amazing meal?”
