Chapter 7
Chapter seven
Jay
Another day, another rejection email. This time from Seattle. I didn’t really want to live that far, but I guess I don’t need to worry because they didn’t want me anyway.
So to keep my mind and hands busy, I cook.
The kitchen fills with that slow-building warmth only a stew can make. It smells like every memory I have of home.
This recipe’s been with me since before I left for college.
Mom printed it out for me and slipped it into a binder she swore I’d need if I didn’t want to survive off ramen.
Back then, I thought she was being dramatic.
Turns out, she was handing me something more than instructions.
Every smudge of spice on the page, every oil mark on the paper, it’s a record of the times I’ve come back to it.
Comfort. Routine. A way to make wherever I am feel like home.
My hands move with muscle memory now, but that doesn’t stop this morning’s antics at the store from floating back into my mind. Liv slipping her arm through mine. The surprise I felt at her body against mine.
I huff out a laugh under my breath, shaking my head. It was only so she could get the discount at the store, nothing more. I don’t need to read into it.
I toss in the bay leaf and stir. My mom would have teased me mercilessly for forgetting.
I stir the pot harder than I mean to, white plumes curling up into my face. This morning might’ve been fake, but it landed in that same part of me people always seem to point to, the one that says I’m reliable, solid, safe. The one I can never quite escape.
The truth is, I don’t mind being dependable.
I know how to be that guy. I just don’t know what happens if one day it isn’t enough, if being steady and reliable is all people ever see.
Being that got me that volunteer spot with the Jaguars, and that didn’t work out, so maybe I need to figure out a way to not play it safe all the time?
Maybe the fact that I’m living with one of the most impulsive people I know, I could learn a few things.
I lean against the counter, arms folded, breathing it in when the door opens, and in swirls my very own wild roomie, bags balancing in her arms, curls electrified around her face, jacket slipping off one shoulder.
When I notice the pale skin being revealed, I push off the counter and step in before my mind can wander.
“Shit, this is heavy,” she pants, nearly dropping one of the grocery bags. I catch it just in time, and seeing the eggs inside, it’s a good thing I did.
“You went shopping?” I ask, even though it’s probably the most obvious question I could’ve picked. “I thought you were going on a date tonight?”
“No, I found all this on the side of the road. Had to fight a badger for it.” Her face dances with mischief as she looks up at me.
I eye her, deadpan. “Worth the rabies shot you’ll need for fighting him?”
She kicks the door shut behind her with her foot and a smile as wide as the lakes. “Nah, selfish bastard kept the avocados.”
Setting the eggs down gently on the counter while she starts unloading, I watch what’s being pulled out. Bread, cereal, oat milk, grapes, three types of cheese, four different popcorn flavors, and a few cartons of peach iced tea decorate my kitchen counter in seconds.
“As for the date, I left within the first twenty minutes because he kept on calling me babe. Hence the grocery shop.”
“Ah, not a fan of nicknames?”
“It depends. He has no idea about me, at least get to know me first and let the nickname come naturally.” She pauses, her nose lifting and scrunching, inhaling deeply.
“Oh god, what is that heavenly smell?” She moans, and I suddenly forget how to function like a normal human being.
My teenage brain kicks in and demands an encore.
Fantastic, now anything I can imagine is absolutely not safe for work.
“Jay?” she asks again, looking over to the stove.
“Please tell me it’s something you made and I’ll be eating shortly. ”
I clear my throat, trying to reset. “It’s feijoada. Portuguese stew. My mom’s recipe.”
Liv’s eyes widen as she drifts closer to the stove like she’s under some kind of spell. “You made that? Just… casually? On a Sunday?”
“I meal prep, remember? Plus, I made extra,” I say, suddenly very focused on needing to stir the pot and not on the way she’s leaning over it, reminding me of earlier in the shop.
She sighs, dramatic and pleased. “Jay, I swear, this smells like something you’d write poetry about.”
I glance over at her. “Please don’t write poetry about stew.”
“No promises.”
She peeks into the pot again, eyes dreamy, then she turns to me. “Wait, did you say you made extra?”
“Uh, yeah?” Heat crawls up my neck at a rapid pace. “I thought you might want to try it.” I don’t know why that makes me feel nervous. I’ve cooked for my friends before.
Her mouth hangs open a little as she stares at me, completely dumbfounded.
“No one’s ever made dinner for me,” she says quietly, then turns to face the pot with a look I recognize from the other day.
She inhales the aroma, and I just stare at her and wonder why she’s never had dinner made for her before.
That’s bullshit. What kind of guys is she dating? Clearly not the right kind.
“Seriously, though,” she says, “if you ever need to win someone over, just make this.”
“Good to know,” I mutter, trying to play it cool, even though my ears feel suspiciously warm. Am I annoyed on her behalf or bewitched by her in general? Who knows. “You know, we should probably do grocery shopping together from now on.”
“Domesticating me already?” she teases.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Relax,” she purrs, placing a hand on my forearm, “I’m good with that, we can make a plan. I know you love things being a certain way with all your labels and shit, so it makes sense you need to know what food we buy. I just didn’t want you to think I’d move in and not contribute at all.”
“I never thought that. Besides, we can save money doing it together,” I suggest.
“Next, you’ll be telling me we can save water by showering together.”
My mouth opens, then closes, and my brain attempts to reboot completely before I can even utter a single sound. Except, all I can envision is Olivia naked in my shower, using my body wash because yeah, that’s also been on repeat since this morning. On. Repeat. N’aww fuck.
When she chuckles, the sound washes over me like a balm. “Easy there, honey, if I wanted to seduce you, I’d at least wait until you’d done the dishes.”
I force a laugh that sounds awkward and stilted and immediately regret it because Liv has this glimmer in her eye that promises mischief just like earlier.
“Besides,” she adds, snagging a grape from her haul, “we’d need a much bigger shower if you were joining me.”
I choke. Not metaphorically. I actually splutter on air, hand slapping the counter as I try to regain composure and dignity, both of which have left the building.
She watches me, all sweet and doe-eyed, pretending like she didn’t just implode my nervous system with ten words.
“I—uh—right. Space. Showers. Big ones. I mean, not big ones—just—normal-sized—I don’t even—” I stop myself, force my lips together, my fingers pressing against my eyes, and try to remember how sentences work.
Liv cackles. Her head tips back with laughter that makes my ears burn and my pulse race.
“God, you’re cute when you malfunction,” she says, still grinning as she starts unpacking cereal. “Living with you is going to be so much fun.”
I try not to look like I’m dying. I fail.
I have no idea how I’m meant to casually live with her when she’s so brazen and bold and unapologetically flirty. She doesn’t even wear it like armor; it’s just who she is. She’s the siren, and all the sailors answer her call. She’s chaos. Magnetic, sunlit, maddening chaos.
I mean, I was her fake husband this morning; she is the epitome of a wildcard.
And I truly think I might be in over my head here.
She starts asking me where she can put her groceries, and I appreciate that she wants to at least try to keep things organized with me, but it takes me a full five minutes not to feel like I’m being electrified again.
When she’s done, she just stands there longingly staring at the pot.
“It won’t be ready for a while.”
“I’m being impatient,” she says, fidgeting and finally leaning over the counter, resting her face on her chin. “So, I was thinking, there are some things I should probably know about my roommate. Like, you mentioned this is your mom’s recipe. Do your parents live here in Oregon?”
“They do, over in Aurora Valley. My siblings live all over, though.”
“Isn’t that where Hudson’s family lives?”
I nod. “Our houses aren’t far apart. My family moved there halfway through high school, and that’s when I met Hudson.”
“I’ll bet he was always at your house for dinner if your mom cooks as well as you.”
“Yeah,” I agree, “Hudson has always been the one puppy that everyone loves on and adopts, my parents included.”
“That tracks h—” Her phone buzzes on the counter.
I hadn’t even seen her put it there, but when her eyes catch whoever is lighting up her screen, she immediately changes.
Her eyes turn stormy, her shoulders slump, and she looks exhausted.
“I’m sorry, what were we saying?” She tries to regain control of the moment for herself, but I can see she’s not as bright as she was a second ago.
Now, I don’t know who that is, but no one should have the power to dim her light like that.
Keeping my eyes on her… “You okay? Was that your date?”
She hesitates, but doesn’t give me another look. “No, it wasn’t. I’m good.”
But she’s lying. I can tell. And even though I barely understand the mess she’s carrying, I already know this much: I’d rather walk barefoot across hot coals than see her look like that again.
“What about your parents?” I ask, trying to distract her.
“Ah, my parents,” she says, her focus still distracted. “Well, my dad works in insurance. He moved to California after they divorced. My mom…” She pauses, thinking. “She’s currently traveling the Mediterranean with whoever her current fling is… Gerry? Fabio? I honestly lose track.”
Her laugh is brittle, and the smile doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Have they been divorced long?”
Her mouth twists, and I can tell she isn’t comfortable. “Like five years now, I think.” She shifts, restless, eyes darting anywhere but me.
“That sounds like a lot to deal with.”
I watch the way her shoulders tense, like she’s bracing for pity. Her eyes flick to mine, quick and uncertain, before she nods once. “I mean, it wasn’t a party, but they’re better apart.”
And just because she looks like she wants to bolt out of her body, I offer something to keep her here. “I think dinner is ready now, if you want to try it?”
Her tired eyes meet mine in a silent moment shared between us. “I absolutely want to try it.”
I hold out the spoon, and she leans in, blowing gently before tasting. She closes her eyes and sighs so dramatically that I can’t help but laugh. “Oh my god,” she groans, “this is incredible. I’m in heaven.”
Her grin finally reaches her eyes this time, and the knot in my chest loosens. If all it takes to keep her smiling is good food, I’ll cook for her every damn night.