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“I did,” he grunts, appearing inconvenienced. “I’m going to take a shower.”
He stalks off down the hall, leaving me staring after him, wondering what his problem is. I shrug our interaction off and pull my attention back to the painting.
“Dinner will be ready in thirty minutes,” Milo announces a little while later.
“Do you want me to tell Sam?” I ask him.
I assumed he was only preparing food for my roommate, not me. After all, Sam is the one paying him.
“Sam told me what time he wanted to eat dinner today when we first spoke,” he explains. “And he had me make enough for two. In fact, I’m stocking the fridge with way more than Sam can eat in a week, per his orders.”
I arch a brow. “Have you seen him eat?”
Milo chuckles. “I know all about how much athletes eat. Trust me, this food is for you both.”
“Oh,” I say, resting the tip of the paintbrush between my lips for a moment.
So, the second spot at the dinner table is for me? I was supposed to eat with Eliott tonight. I was planning to talk about us finally. I didn’t realize I was included in dinner plans here.
“So, there’s enough for me?”
“Yes. There’s enough to feed an army.”
Milo has a funny grin on his face, like he can’t figure me out. Or maybe he doesn’t understand the dynamic between Sam and me. I should tell him not to try to make sense of our friendship because it changes minute by minute anyway. It’s a little love and a whole lot of animosity mixed together.
I put the paintbrush down and lift my phone from the side table. I send a text to Eliott.
Me: I need to cancel tonight. Something came up. Can we get together tomorrow night instead?
His response comes through ten minutes later.
Eliott: Sure. I need to study anyway. What came up?
I stare at the screen for a few minutes before I put the phone down rather than answering him. I’m not sure what to say.
Sam paid for a personal chef who is making this incredible meal that I just found out I’m included in, so I’m bailing on you for a better offer.
Somehow, I don’t think he’d take that well. And I don’t want to lie or make up another excuse. So, I leave him on Read instead.
But even I know I need to stop drawing this out. I’ve never been good at confrontation or uncomfortable situations, but I’m only making this worse for both of us when I already have one foot out the door and he’s making plans to meet me at the end of an aisle in some church.
I get lost in my art, which is the one thing that has always been able to sweep me away, like a good book can for others. I’m making headway on the sky as Milo continues to prepare food behind me. The glowing sunlight from before that drew me into the room is now fading behind the clouds, so I turn the overhead lights on. There’s something cozy about it all, the smells emanating from the kitchen and the warmth of the apartment right now. Sharing the space with another person while knowing Sam is also a room away. The vibe of the apartment is night and day different from when I first moved in. It’s comforting and … homey.
“You’re just in time,” Milo announces when Sam walks back into the room. He removes the filets from the oven where they’ve been cooking after searing the meat on the stove.
Sam’s hair is still wet from the shower, and he smells clean like soap when he walks by me. He’s wearing sweatpants that are slung low on his narrow hips and a T-shirt with the Hawks logo on the front. He walks over to the fireplace, hits a few buttons, and the flame ignites.
“I’m starving,” Sam admits, and he seems to be in a better mood now. His tone is better at least.
Maybe he washed his bad attitude down the drain.
Milo plates the steaks, then adds garlic mashed potatoes, roasted carrots, and asparagus next to them. He sets everything on the table, detailing everything he made for the meal before excusing himself. He gathers his things, shrugs on a jacket, and is out the door before we’ve sat at the dining table.
“This looks amazing,” I say, practically salivating all over the food before I’ve even tasted it. I take my seat. “The smells have been driving me crazy all afternoon.”
“Was it the food or Milo you were drooling over?”
My eyes whip to Sam’s as he lowers into his chair, but he isn’t looking at me. “What?”
