Page 51 of The Roommate Subtext

Next to her at the counter, he rubbed the end of a stick of butter across the griddle’s surface. “Don’t ever use cooking spray on it. Bonds to the molecules and messes up the nonstick coating. Butter and oil are both fine.”

Maggie had to smile. Only Blake would be talking about molecules while still drunk. “Sure you weren’t a chemistry major? All this about molecular structure?”

Blake ducked his head and smiled, too, a light blush coloring his cheeks in the dim light from the stovetop lighting. “Definitely botany. But I took some organic chemistry.”

“Mhm. Hence the sweater vest.” Unable to resist, she reached out and gave his shoulder a gentle poke.

He groaned. “I knew you were going to make fun of my sweater vest! I thought when I put it on, I thought, Blake, Maggie’s going to get on you about this, and here you are.”

She grinned and turned on the burner. “Better late than never.”

While the griddle heated, she mixed the batter, more relaxed with a task for her hands to do and Blake out of her immediate personal space. “My dad used to make the pancakes when Cora and I were kids.” Maggie watched the whisk sliding through the batter as though it were someone else’s hands, suddenly back in childhood. “It was a big thing, Sunday morning pancakes. He used to announce it like it was brand new and like he’d never done it before, and it always made us laugh.” She laughed once, although more from shock than humor. “I haven’t thought about that in, like, ten years.”

Blake leaned on the counter. Even though she was facing the stove, she could see him at the edge of her vision, his attention focused on her to the point that it felt like physical warmth. “It must have been hard,” he said.

She had told him the gist of what had happened to her parents, a cursory comment or two early in their days living together, but they’d never talked specifics. They’d also never talked feelings. Maggie nodded to his comment, because what else did you do but nod? “Hard for both of us, me and Cora. It’s not new, obviously, but you know sometimes you lose somebody and you think it’s fine, but then it hits you … bam, out of the blue like that, like being bowled over out of nowhere. Like turning your back on the ocean.” She swallowed around the words and fished around in the drawer, fingers fumbling on silverware. “You’ve got an ice-cream scoop, right? It’s easier with an ice-cream scoop.”

“Here.” He scooted closer again, his side pressed against hers, and fished an ice-cream scoop from the back of the drawer.

“Thanks.” She wet her fingers with water from the faucet and sprinkled it on the griddle, which wasn’t yet hot enough to cook on.

“What about the rest of your family?” Blake asked. “Are there more of you? Aunts, uncles, cousins, anybody you’re still in touch with?”

“Only on social media.” Maggie stared at the griddle, like that might make it heat up faster. “We’re not close. I think maybe that’s easier, not having to keep up those connections.” She laughed again, hearing the words come out of her mouth. “Maybe I’m a sociopath.”

“You’re not a sociopath.” His voice was unbearably gentle, the kind of gentle that made Maggie’s heart ache, and oh, shit, she did not want to develop feelings for her roommate, but when he spoke like that, a tiny voice whispered maybe.

The griddle still wasn’t hot yet, so she made herself face him. “You said you and your family aren’t close. You want to talk about it? Are there any you are close with?”

“I was close with my aunt. The one who died and left me the condo.” Blake sounded cautious. “The rest …” He hesitated. He seemed a lot more sober now.

“It’s OK if you don’t want to talk about it. I was just curious.” She wanted to know, but she didn’t want to make him uncomfortable.

“My immediate family is all very religious and conservative, and I’m not. I had a falling-out with my parents about it when I was in high school, and my aunt took me in. She didn’t share their beliefs.” He moved in once more, stepping close, and Maggie’s heart did something medically concerning as he reached past her to hold a hand over the griddle’s surface. “I think this is ready.”

She dripped more water on it, and the water jumped off the surface with a popping hiss. Thank god she could turn her attention to the pancakes. She dropped scoopfuls of batter onto the hot griddle. “Are you still estranged? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“Not really. My parents moved to Florida after they retired, and it became easier to keep the peace. I see my sisters occasionally, but we don’t have a lot in common. They’re both doing the whole career and family thing beautifully, and I’m not. I’m the only one not in a relationship.”

Maggie looked back at him over her shoulder. “Does that bother you?”

“Of course.” He laughed and took off his glasses, folding them neatly and returning them to their case. “I don’t know if I’m not trying because I’ve given up, like I tell people, or because it’s easier to pretend I’ve given up than admit I can’t find someone. I haven’t been in a real relationship in …” His voice trailed off. “I don’t know. Over a year.”

“Yeah, well, I haven’t had sex in years.” As soon as the words were out, Maggie wanted to pull them back in. She shook her head. “That’s embarrassing. Forget I said that.”

“It’s not embarrassing.” His voice was too kind, too sympathetic, and Maggie brandished the spatula at him. “OK! I won’t bring it up.” He laughed. “Don’t hit me with that.”

Maggie looked at the spatula held aloft, remembered the Pimpernel asking her to spank her clit with a ruler, and all the words vanished as her face got burning hot. She tried to cover it with a laugh but it came out all weird. She tried to cough, but that came out equally as weird. And the pancakes still weren’t ready to flip. “I don’t really like sleeping with strangers.” As she said it, she wondered if it was true. Maybe the Pimpernel didn’t count as a stranger anymore. “Even though Phoebe says I would feel better if I got laid. But it would be nice if I liked the guy. I don’t need to be in love with him. I just want …” She trailed off, looking for the right words. “I just want to feel seen.”

“I know what you mean.” Blake’s tone softened, wistful, and she could get lost in those brown eyes. “You ever think some people don’t have soulmates out there?”

“I don’t think any of us has a soulmate anywhere.” The pancakes finally needed flipping. “Soulmates are bullshit. There’s how many billion people on this planet? What are the odds?”

“Right. Not soulmates. Just … compatible people.” He sighed. “I wonder if it’s worth the effort.”

“You might meet somebody at the gala.” Maggie carefully watched each pancake cook. She was good at this, the one thing in her life requiring patience that she was actually good at. “You’ll be in a tuxedo.” She looked back over her shoulder. “Fancy dress events make everybody horny.”

“Right.” Blake rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Should’ve told me this before I leaned into the whole ‘fake dating’ thing.”