Page 223 of Romeo

I looked toward Granny. She’d fallen completely silent now, absorbed in watching contractors remove the wall she’d already declared essential to civilization.

Every gathering in this house eventually ended in the kitchen. Holidays, birthdays, random Sunday dinners. Someone was always leaning against a counter while somebody else cooked. Kids wandered in looking for snacks. Adults stood around drinking coffee long after everyone claimed they were leaving.

It had never been the largest room.

Somehow, it always held everyone.

Me: Big enough for a ridiculous island.

Jasper: Define ridiculous.

Me: Enough stools that nobody has to stand around holding a plate.

Jasper: That sounds less like a kitchen and more like a cafeteria.

Me: You’ve clearly never seen my family eat.

Jasper: I’ve met some of them. I’m beginning to understand.

Me: And lots of cabinets.

Jasper: What the hell are you putting in all these cabinets?

Me: Things.

Jasper: Very specific.

Me: Dishes. Pans. Food. Normal kitchen things.

Jasper: You burn toast.

My mouth dropped open as I stared at my phone.

Me: ONE TIME.

Jasper: There’s photographic evidence.

Me: You’re never seeing another picture of anything I cook.

Jasper: Cher, I’m trying to protect my future kitchen.

I stared at the message.

Not your kitchen.

Not a kitchen.

My future kitchen.

There were probably a dozen harmless ways to read it, and every one of them disappeared beneath the warmth that spread slowly through my chest because he wasn’t hiding it anymore.

I forced my fingers to move.

Me: I thought I had complete control.

Jasper: Apparently I made a terrible contractual agreement.

Me: No takebacks.